Baptism on the # 83
Nov. 4th, 2009 12:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonI'm sitting on the #83 docked at Oakland City Station when the old woman staggered onto the bus. She has on this bright crimson pill hat with the refractive surface of Christmas wrapping paper adorned with a smoke puff of red veil hovering over tired eyes. Her long rain coat is a stark Dick Tracey yellow of which she has only one arm through with the other half of the coat trailing behind her like a forgotten cape. Everyone looks up at her with that weary curiosity passengers give each new arrival, as if hoping to see someone they'll recognize or failing that not soon forget. The old woman takes us all in with this jolt of a gaze, aware suddenly of the audience before her. Stopping dead in her tracks, she begins croaking out some old gospel number which sounds somewhere between a smoker's cough and a death bed prayer. Making her way down the aisle, the song builds in power and volume, a gravely boom that scrapes the ears raw.
"Throughhhh my triumphs and tribulations..."
Every conversation stops. Cell phones snap off. Three teenage girls begin giggling behind me. Across the aisle, a large man in a white track suit who gives off a scent of butterscotch and fresh dollar bills, shouts playful 'Amens'. The passengers all erupt into laughter. Little Ms. Fine Young Thing three seats ahead of me takes a swig from a brown paper bagged bottle, snorts a - 'Hell no' - before filming the performance off a camera dug out of the depths of an imitation designer purse. The hymn grows louder now and the bus driver responds by closing the door on a flock of just arriving passengers before pulling out of the station.
Halfway home and my Crazy Magnet's kicked into overdrive. The old woman is standing directly before me, huddled in the walkway space at the rear exit of the bus. After having shouted about being a member of something called 'the Church of Love', her recent baptism and subsequent finding of Jesus Christ, she focused in on me with a squint. At first I tried to bury my attention in the book I was pretending to read, but when she started seranading me about Pain & Jesus & Salvation, I had no choice but to play along. I smile. I touch my heart. I tune out all the snickering around me. When the song's over, I applaud lightly and mutter an 'amen', because that's the sort of thing I think you're supposed to do in these situations. The old woman lifts her palm up as if going to high five me. I lift mine own up in response and her frail fingers wrap around mine in a sudden grasp.
"Do you believe?" she asks me, her voice strong and carried on a breath spiced with rum.
"Yes." I answer, politely avoiding any hint of the 'in what?' that would normally arise.
She squeezes my hand tight and solemnly stage whispers for all to hear - "You're gonna be just fine, okay?"
"Okay." I agree, feeling uncomfortable in the warm bask of stares radiating off the other passengers.
"This is your baptism. Do good things."
"Okay."
She releases my hand and wavers a bit on her feet. For a minute there I think she's going to pass out, when Mister Butterscotch & Dollar Bills barks - "What about me, Sister?"
The old woman's eyes bulge open and narrow on the man - "What about you?"
"Don't I get a 'baptism' too."
"Nope!"
"That's messed up. How you going to just tell me 'nope'. Don't I deserve some love too?"
"You must be a beggar!" the old woman snaps the accusation before stomping over to an empty seat and turning her back on us all.
"A 'beggar'?" the man protests, the gold rings sparkle faintly off his fingers in an attempt to purchase her attention. But it's too late. The old woman begins a fresh round of biblical throat singing. Mister Butterscotch and Dollar Bills looks over at me as if I just farted on a bible, twisting his wide face up in blatant disapproval, shaking his head slightly and muttering a final -
"That's some messed up shit, right there."
A few stops roll by before the old woman finally gets off. Right in front of the liqour store. Who knows? Jesus has been found in worse places I suppose. For the rest of the ride I got all eyes on me, covert in glances or just long obvious stares. No one can quite figure out why the 'White Man in Hammersmith Palais' here got all the Love and attention. I try to keep my eyes on the book for the next few stops, pretending to read while trying to work out the puzzle behind my salvation. When I get off at my stop even the bus driver has to ask -
"You know her?"
"Well..." I offer my smile sly and my shrug slippery before stepping off the bus, "I guess I do, now."
"Throughhhh my triumphs and tribulations..."
Every conversation stops. Cell phones snap off. Three teenage girls begin giggling behind me. Across the aisle, a large man in a white track suit who gives off a scent of butterscotch and fresh dollar bills, shouts playful 'Amens'. The passengers all erupt into laughter. Little Ms. Fine Young Thing three seats ahead of me takes a swig from a brown paper bagged bottle, snorts a - 'Hell no' - before filming the performance off a camera dug out of the depths of an imitation designer purse. The hymn grows louder now and the bus driver responds by closing the door on a flock of just arriving passengers before pulling out of the station.
Halfway home and my Crazy Magnet's kicked into overdrive. The old woman is standing directly before me, huddled in the walkway space at the rear exit of the bus. After having shouted about being a member of something called 'the Church of Love', her recent baptism and subsequent finding of Jesus Christ, she focused in on me with a squint. At first I tried to bury my attention in the book I was pretending to read, but when she started seranading me about Pain & Jesus & Salvation, I had no choice but to play along. I smile. I touch my heart. I tune out all the snickering around me. When the song's over, I applaud lightly and mutter an 'amen', because that's the sort of thing I think you're supposed to do in these situations. The old woman lifts her palm up as if going to high five me. I lift mine own up in response and her frail fingers wrap around mine in a sudden grasp.
"Do you believe?" she asks me, her voice strong and carried on a breath spiced with rum.
"Yes." I answer, politely avoiding any hint of the 'in what?' that would normally arise.
She squeezes my hand tight and solemnly stage whispers for all to hear - "You're gonna be just fine, okay?"
"Okay." I agree, feeling uncomfortable in the warm bask of stares radiating off the other passengers.
"This is your baptism. Do good things."
"Okay."
She releases my hand and wavers a bit on her feet. For a minute there I think she's going to pass out, when Mister Butterscotch & Dollar Bills barks - "What about me, Sister?"
The old woman's eyes bulge open and narrow on the man - "What about you?"
"Don't I get a 'baptism' too."
"Nope!"
"That's messed up. How you going to just tell me 'nope'. Don't I deserve some love too?"
"You must be a beggar!" the old woman snaps the accusation before stomping over to an empty seat and turning her back on us all.
"A 'beggar'?" the man protests, the gold rings sparkle faintly off his fingers in an attempt to purchase her attention. But it's too late. The old woman begins a fresh round of biblical throat singing. Mister Butterscotch and Dollar Bills looks over at me as if I just farted on a bible, twisting his wide face up in blatant disapproval, shaking his head slightly and muttering a final -
"That's some messed up shit, right there."
A few stops roll by before the old woman finally gets off. Right in front of the liqour store. Who knows? Jesus has been found in worse places I suppose. For the rest of the ride I got all eyes on me, covert in glances or just long obvious stares. No one can quite figure out why the 'White Man in Hammersmith Palais' here got all the Love and attention. I try to keep my eyes on the book for the next few stops, pretending to read while trying to work out the puzzle behind my salvation. When I get off at my stop even the bus driver has to ask -
"You know her?"
"Well..." I offer my smile sly and my shrug slippery before stepping off the bus, "I guess I do, now."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2009-11-04 07:30 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-11-04 03:39 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-11-04 07:44 am (UTC)they sometimes require a little translation...
:-)
no subject
on 2009-11-04 03:45 pm (UTC)crazy magnet, eh
on 2009-11-04 02:57 pm (UTC)Re: crazy magnet, eh
on 2009-11-04 03:51 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-11-07 05:07 pm (UTC)