A too short Subway Story.

January 21, 2013
I’ll never forget the day we stood on that subway. I wondered what the world thought as we passed it by. The subway filled with people, all in the right place. Business men sending out emails on a smart phone, college kids chatting away, old women tugging grocery carts, tourists - even they seemed to belong. Then there was me and you. You were tall, I suppose you still are. Tall and stately, with an air of someone who would probably be important someday. Twenty-three were you? But much more then that. I remember I always felt tall when I stood next to you. Tall and stately, even important - which was funny since your towering 6”3 made my slender 5”1 look pretty wimpy. I always felt strong with you. That was it maybe, not tall but strong. Or maybe it was safe?
You looked down at me. Way down. A little girl - I guess that is how you looked at me. Or maybe just a little charge. Another volunteer project you had to get done on your way to becoming president and making the world a better place. A project- was that me? A slender project with bleached blonde hair and a blue streak all cut up into wacky layers. My dress was a little too short and my boots awkwardly too large. A bronze ring shot from my nose and sparkled at you whenever you tried to say something serious; I could tell it annoyed you. In the middle of our deeper conversations you’d steal quick glances at my little nose jewel. You kind of turned up your nose a bit without really knowing, as if wishing it weren’t there.
If you had said just the right words, I would have spoken. That was your objective wasn’t it? Some kind of a campaign to help troubled teens, wasn’t it? That is how you met me? And I never agreed because I liked being troubled. As funny as it sounds, I liked being alone and misreable. That is until I felt strong again for the first time since I was a five years old with the naive belief that my father loved me and that the world was an exciting place. And so somehow I let you take me on those trips to the church, and the museum, and the shelter - you thought it was therapy but you didn’t know that you were the therapy.
And then we were on the subway looking rather uncomfortable because your project was done. I was not done, but somehow the project was. Still you felt unsatisfied, maybe because I still hadn’t replaced that nose ring with something a little less flashy, or maybe because you really could see a little deeper into my highly fortressed heart. A little deeper then I thought? It made me feel rather uncomfortable, and yet I still hoped it was true.
If you had said the right things, I would have told you everything. That is what you wanted right? You wanted me to be able to pour out my troubles. You thought it would be therapy and I almost fell for it. I almost took your therapy. Who knows it may have worked, who knows it may have made a difference. But my therapy walked off the train station, turned around once to wave goodbye, and then you were gone.

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