Woman number two opens a can of cola, puts in a straw and offers a sip to the baby. He reaches out and drinks heartily. I cannot believe what my eyes are seeing.
“Oh look! Look at him drink! He thirsty, yo!”
“Yea. He thirsty and he like it. Hey, you want some of these baby?”
Peanut M&M’s are offered to the baby and he begins to suck on one. The women laugh and woman number two glances at me again. I go back to my book and angle my body away from them. I really want to change cars, but I don’t. My feet hurt and I need a seat. The baby starts to cough, sputter and cry. Woman number two takes him up out of the stroller and pats his back until he recovers.
“Take it easy,” she says. “Take it easy. After all, you’re only six months old.” Another look at me.
Men and woman all over the car continue to stare. I want it to stop, but the Theatre of the Absurd continues. The boy and girl stand on their seats to look out of the window and loudly comment on the trains going by. The women ignore them now. They are only interested in speaking of the trifle of their day: Men, money, clothes and hair. It’s a public three-ring circus everyone can see and hear.
I switch at Nevins and get on the two. At Grand Army Plaza I sprint up the stairs to my neighborhood, my refuge, until I’m out of breath. The sun is shining on Plaza Street and I am reminded that it is still, in fact, a beautiful, wonderful day. I don’t have to look back—at least not until tomorrow. It’s much too unpleasant, you know? I take a deep breath and move on. I’ve got my own world to live in and my own bike to ride.
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