Musing in Manhattan

Today in the midst of the wind and driving rain I managed to get my son to school just as the bell rang–Thank God, he’s not late.  Now begins my mission:  Get to the bus stop before the bus leaves.  As I near the boulevard I see him pull away.  UGH!  I decide that as he swings around to pick up the passengers on the local streets that I will pass him and meet him a few stops further –I can beat him there.  Congratulations to me–I caught the bus.  Actually I beat my bus to the stop and caught the earlier one somehow.  So I sit my wet self down in the first seat and put my wet bag of extra shoes on my legs and my umbrella tucked inside the bag to keep my pants from getting completely wet.  One stop later my single seat island of paradise is invaded by a woman who eyes the empty seat next to me.  She lines up her “opportunity” and in doing so her wet shopping bag smacks me in the head as she begins to move into the seat to sit (she doesn’t realize it) and her arm bangs me in the ribs as she finishes the job.  UGH! UGH!  Two shots to the body without any sorry and without my being able to even prepare for it.  “Good morning sweet heart she says.”  “Morning” I say.  Well, I guess she didn’t realize that she almost rendered me unconscious.  “Terrible weather isn’t it?” she says.  “Yes” I said.  “May I hang this over here?” she asks regarding her large handled umbrella.  “Sure,” I reply, thinking that she is going to put it in the corner of our seat away from my legs.  She lays it over my legs and hooks it onto the window just above my knees.  I am thinking:  Is this lady for real?  Now I am laughing inside because it is just unbelievable how my day is progressing.  She settles back into her chair as the umbrella drips on my legs.  I move it a bit so it isn’t resting on me, and she says:  “Oh I’m sorry.”  “That’s okay” I reply.  We are both quiet for about a minute and then she begins to rifle through her pocketbook. With each dig and shuffle of the items she elbows me in the side.  What the heck is she looking for anyway?  She is still digging and finally comes up with a compact.  She begins to fix her make-up.  I am not sure what for as she needs to go back out into the rain  again and she will be wrecked shortly thereafter.  I stare out the window as I contemplate how long the ride is going to be.  She puts her compact away and closes her bag.  Approximately 3 minutes after, she unzips the back again and begins to rifle through it–again elbowing me.  She pulls out her ipod and plugs in.  THANK GOD–she is going to settle in now.  I put my head back and close my eyes for a minute.  What happens next?  You know there has to be more of course, she begins to hum the greatest tunes of Bollywood.   Come on now-I’m thinking this has to be a joke.  She has to be working for some practical joke show.  I kept waiting for the next punch.  We were stuck in gnarly traffic because of the UN meeting in Manhattan so I endured an hour and a half of this ladies company.  She kept complaining about the traffic loudly without taking her head phones off”.  Everyone on the bus was staring at her and I was sinking lower into my seat.  About an hour into the trip her attention and everyone else’s was fixed onto a woman who had fallen asleep  in the seat across from us.  Her snore was as loud as a grizzly bear snarling at the world.  I was embarrassed for her.  She had no clue that everyone on the bus was staring at her.  That was until my partner said:  OUT LOUD–”I guess SOME PEOPLE don’t realize that they are disturbing others.”  “Isn’t that embarrassing?” I said.  I could not wait to get off the bus!

“I didn’t steel the car, I only borrowed it,” he said. “I had to…”  he was waiting for me to ask why, but I didn’t.  I only listened and watched him for signs of a potential break down. 

“I had to borrow it, how else was I going to get over to the Democratic National Convention?”  He continued and separated the sides of the button down shirt he had on to show me the same _____________ designer shirt covered in sweat that he had shown me about two minutes ago.  Apparently I was supposed to comment on how well dressed he was for the grand theft auto scenario and the showdown with the presidential candidate. 

“Because I wouldn’t steal it-that would be the antithesis of me.”  I envisioned in my head the scene where his mom calls the cops on him and accuses him of stealing it.  I imagined him living at home with her and how he must drive her insane.  I felt bad for her, and I didn’t even know why.

I looked at him not knowing what to say.  Should I say something?  If I say something he will think I want to talk politics, or fashion, but if I don’t, he might snap and think I was just another woman who had shunned him.  You know how you hear all of these crazy stories of people just snapping and hurting other people for no reason at all?  That scenario was running through my head.  I decided I would be cordial, but not friendly.  I replied in a light joking manner:  “Well, at least you had your nice shirt on just in case you met  Mr. Obama. ”  Do you know how you say something and hope that it is received the right way?  How you feel like your throat is closing and you take that big gulp and say:  Oh my God please don’t let that have come out the wrong way.  What a stupid reply.  I knew that he wanted me to make a comment about that damn shirt though–so there it was.  Now where is my bus?????   Please don’t kill me mister!

Totally oblivious to my comment he went on with his one sided conversation:  “Well, I had to go.  Who else is going to go and speak on behalf of women?  “Who is going to fight for women’s rights–if not me?”  (Oh Lord–he wants to be a hero.)  He continued:  “…..And as I stood there listening to the speeches, and looking out into the crowd I thought of the young women of centuries ago who couldn’t vote and got down on their hands and knees in their cinched tight dresses and scrubbed the porcelain tile floors with a tooth brush beneath a picture of Pompeii.  I gave him a small smile.  I had a feeling that the picture of Pompeii was symbolic of something but again the reference was lost to me.  I will have to google that one.  But gee crazy  man thanks for giving me enough credit to think that I would get the reference.  Apparently he thought I was a women’s libber, and a highly educated woman simply by noting the black and white polka-dotted silk shirt and high heeled mary janes that I had on.  

I must have looked at him strangely… or maybe it was the fact that I looked over to his dog, because he dropped the convention talk and looked me straight in the eyes and tried to reassure me that he meant me no harm.

“I would never hurt you.  That is the antithesis of me.  Your sweet.  I won’t hurt you….”

“I know-” I said (but I wasn’t so sure) “I’m okay.”

“No, really, I wouldn’t hurt you.  That’s not me. Don’t be afraid, that would be the antithesis of me.”

Okay way too weird now.  He kept repeating it and I grew more and more uncomfortable.  I didn’t even know if anyone else was listening or watching the conversation between us because I hadn’t taken my attention off of him. But they had to have been listening–people are nosey and he was too loud to ignore.    I was too freaked out by him to not watch his every movement.    Uncomfortable, I shifted myself away from him a bit and he in turn moved a bit infront of me to look me in the eyes as he tried to reassure me that he wasn’t going to hurt me.  As he tried to continue talking to me, I tried to look passed him for  the number on the bus that was just pulling up to the curb. ….

A bus!  Thank you JESUS–a bus!  I don’t care what bus it is–I am getting on it and I will worry about where it’s going later!

 ”Oh that’s my bus” I said excitedly and with anxiety because he had stopped, opened the doors, and then closed them really quickly as no body made a move to get on. The bus was getting ready to pull away already! 

 ”I gotta go!” I said abruptly as I left him standing there. 

As I dashed passed him he kept saying: “I would never hurt you.  That’s not me!  I would never hurt you…..”

The bus doors closed behind me and I took a seat in the back.  As I looked out I could see him just staring at me through the window.  He looked disappointed.  He looked upset that he scared me and sad that I had left.  I sat there thinking:  Was I making too much of it all–or was my gut feeling right?   How do you know?  How could I know?   I thought about it all the way home.  Now I will be watching for him out of the corner of my eye every night.  The city is beginning to lose its charm for me.  =(

“That’s an imitation Diane Von Furstenberg top”, he said loudly so the entire line of people waiting for the bus could hear him.  He approached me from the left side as I was speaking on the cell phone to my mother.  “Oh is it?” I said as I continued my conversation on the phone.  “How are the boys?  Are they being good?” I said.  “It’s not a cheap one–it’s a nice one.” he said, continuing to speak to me as I was trying to concentrate on my phone call.  “This is a ____________  Top–not a fake one” he said as he opened up his outer shirt to model his first layer that was quite sweaty–GROSS.   The designer’s name–apparently a famous one was lost on me and I gave him a half smile but not one that said—sure keep talking to me.

“Who is talking to you?”  my mom said.

“A stranger,”  I said.  What I wanted to say was “Some KOOK!  Some WHACKO!  Some NUTJOB who apparently feels I need to be schooled in high-end-fashon!”

He continued to try to engage me and rather than try to speak to my mom over him I told her I’d be home soon and ended the call.  What was I stupid?  Wait, don’t answer that, I know the answer.    I should have stayed on the line with her.  Lord only knows what could’ve happened on the street of Manhattan.  Ah, how bad could it be, there were about 30 other people there waiting for the bus and a constant stream of people walking passed.  I would soon find out that he really was a bit — how do I put it?  “Not Right” in many ways.

He wasn’t scarey looking or menacing, but he was way too engaging and way too focused on me.  It was unsettling–really.  I am usually polite to EVERYONE–but I really didn’t feel the need to be 100 % nice to this man.  There was just something about him that made me uncomfortable.  Why come up to me?  Why single me out?   He wasn’t slow mentally–he seemed very educated, the scarey type of educated.  Like he knew how to work the system (or how to hack up a body and hide it without evidence.) He wasn’t normal.  He wasn’t the type that talks outloud to people passing saying stuff like the government is out to get us etc etc–you know the kind that is just a danger to themselves, and the kind you feel bad for.    He had crazy eyes–he just wasn’t right.  There was something missing in them.  He had a black lab leashed who seemed to be trying to get away from him–not paying any attention to him or anyone on the street including me, and a newspaper tucked under his arm.  As I scanned this man I grew more and more leary.  I hadn’t been at the bus stop even two minutes and this man had zeroed in on me and swooped up and began to try to engage me in conversation , and I had just hung up with the only person I could communicate with.  Where the heck did he come from?  What was it about me that made him come straight for me?  He hadn’t been following me-he came from the opposite direction.  ”UGH–leave me alone” I thought.

“I didn’t mean anything by saying it was an immitation,” he said.

“I’m not insulted” I replied shortly

“It’s a nice one”

“JC Penney” –I said even shorter

I was looking around a bit to see if anyone else was paying attention, trying to make eye contact with someone-anyone, in case I needed a life line.

“Because I am not mean,” he said.  “That’s the antithesis of me–I am not mean, that would be the antithesis of me and my beliefs.”

“It’s okay,” I said, “really-forget about it.”

“No, I really am I nice person, I don’t do things to hurt people.  That would be the antithesis of me. I only borrowed my mother’s Jetta.  I didn’t steel it.”   “I had to….”

TO BE CONTINUED

A few weeks ago I joined FACEBOOK so that I could find out info on a call for scripts that I was interested in and found to my great pleasure that it is absolutely positively so much easier than MYSPACE could ever hope to be.  The first day I was on, I received an email from an old friend out of the blue.  By day two I was searching the facebook database for old friends that time has never erased from my heart.  To my great joy, I have found quite a few friends that I have not seen in years–20 something years.  Suddenly we are all best pals again and catching up on eachother’s whereabouts and whatabouts.  It really is such a great social site.  It is so easy to post pictures, write notes, instant message, play games, share memories, and make new ones.  I can’t believe how many people I have found and who have found me in such a small amount of time–it’s crazy.  One of the great things about FACEBOOK is that you can control who sees you, messages you and it gives you greater control of your settings.  Of the two social “utilities”, FACEBOOK is the better choice for me–and apparently a whole bunch of other Adams High School graduates.  =)

A friend talked me into joining myspace so that I could keep in-touch with her.  So far, I haven’t been able to do that.  I find MYSPACE way to frustrating to even want to log on.  I set up my page as best as possible–that part wasn’t hard, my pic is there, the bio part is self explanatory except I don’t know what I want to say about myself, so I left it blank.  The complicated part is finding people you know.  I haven’t found ANYONE I AM LOOKING FOR!  My best-friend is on and listed under her real name and it took about a half hour to find her.  THERE ARE WAY TOO MANY PEOPLE ON IT and thus you have to comb through all of them before you find the one person you were really looking for! I found a friend through the HS application, but once I found him, I could not figure out how to contact him.  I find it hard to believe out of a graduating class of over 500 students I only found ONE PERSON!  How is that possible?  Another problem is that people don’t use their real names–  William Jones becomes Willy J and Thomas Peterson becomes Tommy GUNS.  Holly Hudson turns into luscious4you.  Come on people–help a sister out!  It drives me crazy.  I don’t know–everyone is so amped up about MYSPACE, but for me, it is more frustrating than fun.  Perhaps with time I will come to get the hang of it, but for now I just feel a whole lot lost in space!

I have been slowly researching the publishing industry.  Writersmarket.com is a wonderful resource for starving writers who are agonizing over the huge market that seems to accept so few proposals and even fewer “first time writers”.  The publishing companies all want established authors, CELEBRITIES, or agented writers–all of which I am not.  There is however, a little glimmer over the horizon; apparently magazines are always looking for submissions and many pay very well.  When you think about it, it makes a lot of sense that they would be searching for fresh authors and articles as they have to mass produce on a monthly basis.  The larger circulations even pay as much as $2.00 a word.  A 100 or 200 word article pays quite nicely.  With that in mind, I am now going to begin submitting to magazines.  I am starting with one article.  I have my query letter written and my clips enclosed, my envelope is addressed and stamped and my prayers are addressed to God.  In about two months I will know if the one magazine I have chosen to submit to would like to see the entire article and potentially buy it.  I hate the fact that many companies will not allow you to submit to other magazines while you are under their review, but if being chosen is my reward for playing by the rules, then it all be worth it in the end.

Those who are close to me know that I love to write–otherwise, why else would I be posting all over the internet?  For a very long time, my dream has been to become professionally published.  I would love to write a novel and have it accepted for publication.  I have a wonderful story in my head and in my heart, but lack the patience to sit down and write it because it will take so long to finish it.  I keep thinking that I should try to publish something short first, that way, publishers will say:  “Hmmm…. she has had other smaller things published, she has some potential, let’s give her a shot!”   Sounds plausible right?   Even if you don’t agree with me, please say that you do–I need a few friends in my corner.  With that in mind,  I began working on my shorter pieces a few months ago.  I have a children’s story written for which I am now creating the illustrations. Dearest GOD how I wish I had my brother’s artistic talent-my pictures are cute, don’t get me wrong, but the story would sell so much better if I had BREATHTAKING illustrations of the moon and the midnight sky.  I am thinking maybe it is not meant to be.  The story is cute, at least I think it is.  My sons liked it when I read it to them, but I guess they are pretty biased in my favor–God Bless their sweet souls.  Still, it would be so wonderful to have my story published so that some day they could read it to their own children and say:  “Your grandma Cheryl wrote and illustrated this book just for us.”  Perhaps someday.  Yes, maybe someday.  Until then, I write here, I write everywhere, waiting for that day.