Sunday, April 15, 2007
Pick Me Up

I wish she'd just picked him up.

It was cold. I remember that, because I kept checking the window to see that my hair still looked gorgeous, and it kept misting up when I breathed on it. Damn. Should have just grabbed mom's ugly cardigan. But I was OK, I looked quite lovely, I had a Mars bar and a book, and I had five hours on a train to kill.

"I know, and it's so f*ckin annoyin' that they won't even let me get out and have a smoke. Yea, I'm a smoker."

I looked up. The lady behind me was speaking to another passenger, a young mother behind her, and complaining about the fact that smoking wasn't allowed on the train. She would say "f*ck" 26 more times that I would count until I simply grew exhausted. The last ten or so were directed at another passenger, with her declaring, "I am NOT in the f*ckin mood, mate, seriously. Whatever! I am NOT f*ckin joking with you, ya f*ckin bastard!"

A little while before, she'd been on the phone with some guy, her husband I assume. They were talking, and it got really heated: he seemed angry that she couldn't message him or call him or anything.....and she was similarly furious because she COULDN'T send the message: no reception.

Anyway, back to the cheery banter: it continued for about twenty minutes until she angrily got up and took the fight with this guy outside the cabin.

Now, this isn't what makes this experience sad. It's what made it a bit scary to witness, but it wasn't particularly heart rending until I realized who the other passenger was.

Not her husband, not some jackass, not some pervert, but her son. Her six month old baby son.

This is where I got angry. For one, FEMALE, he's not your "mate". He's your SON, goddamnit, your SON. My parents wouldn't let me say the word "hate" till I was like, 8. And here you are, you stupid irresponsible woman, saying WHAT?

I was seriously angry!!! That poor kid's only crime, for which he was abused thus, was to cry, i.e. do what approximately 99.8% of babies DO. The other 0.2% are MUTE.

She came back in, and I was still rather fumingly reading my book. This was when I looked up. She yelled at the kid again, swore and pretended to ignore him....and that's when I saw it, saw her expression.

It was a look of such self defeat and desperation that any judgements I'd been making ground to a halt. She looked thoroughly exhausted, and as if she was simply too tired to flip the world the bird anymore.

I don't know....maybe her husband's a controlling jerk and she can't say anything. I noticed she barely said the F word while on the phone with him....perhaps she's just taking her anger out on the one person she CAN control. It's not a justification as much as an explanation.

Or maybe she didn't want this kid, but for his sake has decided to raise him. Maybe it had been hell at work that day. Maybe she fought with her mother in law. Maybe she's trying to QUIT smoking and is having such a hard time. Maybe she's just a horrible mother. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

No matter what, I had absolutely no right to judge her, and even worse, no right to compare her to my own parents. They're not the same people. Her little boy could end up a convict, he could end up an astrophysicist, who's to know? Sure as hell, not me.

All the same, though, I have to say....

I wish she'd picked him up.