Tuesday, July 29, 2008

uh... a little early, isn't it?

So it's 9:30 am and I'm on a train down to San Jose. There's a woman sitting up on the upper level. She's perhaps in her early 50s. Blond, in a suit, looking pretty well-put-together. She rifles through her leather backpack for a white paper bag, and pulls it out. It's a small bag, the kind you'd put lunch in for your kids. She pulls out an airline bottle of Absolut Citron. Yum, I think. Oh wait, it's morning. Surely she's got something else inside that bottle, like water. Oh wait, no, I guess it's never been opened before; she's really struggling to open it. She can't get her well-manicured hands to grip the lid tight enough when she twists. Oh my god, she's not going to ask for help, is she? What would I do? That's a lot of random enablement for this point in the day. ... Oh, thank god, she got it open. Oh, how about that, she pounded it. Wow.

Part of me wanted to go up to her and say something like, "you're not hiding it well. Everybody knows." Maybe that would be the thing to really knock some sense into her, when a stranger calls her out like that. But then she's on the phone making a call. It sounds like it could be her adult daughter on the other end. "I'm on the train, I'm coming to see you. ... no, I'm really coming to see you. I'm dead serious. I get there at 10:22. Menlo Park." I'm thinking, ok, she's springing a visit on someone close to her. She's not going to work like I thought. Sounds like the unpredictable actions of an alcoholic. More talking. I'm trying not to listen, but at the same time it's impossible not to. And then the money shot: "OK, can I just get through one day without you reminding me that I'm an alcoholic?! Just ONE DAY." Ahhhhh. So I guess it wouldn't make a difference if I called her out. Sounds like her family is already deep in that mire. I don't envy them one bit.

She packs up her bag, and walks to the next car. Do I follow her? No... I've invaded her privacy enough for today. But I think I'll move to another car anyways... this one smells really strongly of kerosene.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

that is sad. :-( i often wonder about people on the train too and think.. what if....?