Tabatha Deans

Bringing Integrity to the Written Word

I began my day basking in the glow of martyrdom. I had agreed to work today, Mother’s Day for my co-worker, since Jess isn’t here yet and my co-worker has children in town waiting to lavish her with gifts and love. What a great person I was to give up my Sunday for her. As I lay in bed patting myself on the back for my high moral standards and outstanding character, I abruptly realized that the Sunday train schedule was completely different, and if I wanted go make it to work on time I had to be on the 7:46 H line. I bolted out of bed, showered and took way too long deciding which shorts to wear. Notice I said shorts, as in a beautiful day with no snow or rain.

I hurried to McDonalds and got a biscuit and diet coke, which I devoured as I hurried to the Civic Center station. I needed to buy a ticket book of transit passes before catching the mall shuttle. Usually the shuttle runs about every three minutes, but on weekends it runs about every 10 to 15 minutes. So if I missed it I would have to walk the seven blocks to the light rail station. The shuttle was parked at civic center station when I arrived, a good sign because it usually idled there for a while waiting until its next run. I darted inside and raced to the ticket dispenser, only to see the red light flashing, indicating the book I needed was sold out. I noticed a second dispenser, but it had a note taped to it stating it was cash only. Damn. I have been trying very hard to keep a 20 bill stashed in my wallet for emergencies, and hated to use it now but, I guess this was an emergency, so I dug the bill out and bought my book. I left the building just in time to see the mall shuttle pull away.

I began my hasty jaunt down the eerily quiet mall. The transients were nowhere to be seen, and I walked a full block before I happened upon another person. I actually heard her before I saw her. A beautiful voice floated on the wind, singing a song I didn’t know the words to, but it was beautiful. The melody could only be coming from the woman up the block. She was middle aged and quite large around the middle. She stood next to a rolling suitcase, I assumed she was a guest from the Sheraton waiting for the shuttle to go to the airport. As I got closer I noticed she was holding a piece of paper in front of her, reading the lyrics to the song she was singing. Her voice was truly beautiful, and as I passed her I understood some of the words. The lead up was about big corporations, and the chorus went something like “you are just another slave, taught to behave…”

I hiked the seven blocks to the station, where more people were milling about. A few transients searched through the garbage cans, and pigeons followed behind them hoping for dropped crumbs. But I noticed most of the people waiting on the platform were middle aged women like me. Nice hair, makeup and handbags, I could only assume they were headed out to the burbs to see their children, or families,or maybe their own mothers. It felt a bit like relief society, minus the dresses and gossiping.

May 16, 2013 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , , | Leave a comment