Today’s Music Sample: We Cry – The Script
I sit upon my perch, the same spot I’ve come to for the last 6 months, and just look around.
Every day I stick to the same routine, studying all of the people that filter in and out of my line of sight. It’s become my addiction; if I don’t come to this exact bench, on this road, at least once a day, I can’t sleep at night. I’ve tried a couple times, but the truth is that I enjoy this too much to let it go.
These people, nameless faces, have become my inspiration. I’ve started to craft intricate stories about their lives, adding happy moments and sad moments depending upon their facial expressions and how they hold themselves when they walk. You can really tell a lot about a person from the way they carry themselves.
My favorite person is Silvi. That’s not her real name, it’s the name I gave her after watching her walk by, every day, at exactly the same time. She was the first person I noticed, mostly because she has a very distinct walk and air about her.
Her hair is a beautiful shade of silver, which contrasts beautifully with her dark chocolate skin. Every day she ties her hair back in a loose braid that reaches down the middle of her back. She’s always dressed in a light colored pants suit, favoring light greys and tans, though occasionally she wears a navy suit to throw me off. She walks with grace, her head always held high. She looks as if she’s had a long and painful life; the lines etched into her face tell me all I need to know. But regardless of the pain that is visible for all to see, she always has a bright smile on her face and greets many of the people she walks past.
It was when she stopped to help a homeless man in front of me that I knew I had to tell a story about her. I had watched the man for the better part of an hour, he was piss drunk and sitting on the curb of the road. Nobody else paid him any attention, preferring to carry on with their lives rather than worry about the one man who clearly had nothing to offer them. I tried to keep my attention on both the man and the people walking past, but it was starting to prove difficult. Just before I was about to get up and escort him to a bench as far away from mine as possible, Silvi popped up. He had fallen backwards, his head about to connect with the pavement, when she fell to her knees, throwing out her arms to catch him. She cradled him gently, showing him more compassion than I’m sure he had seen in years. He looked up at her, confusion evident in his eyes, before promptly turning to his side and vomiting on her shoes.
She didn’t yell, she didn’t scream at him, instead she rubbed his back while the contents of his stomach spilled out of his system. It wasn’t much, and soon he was dry heaving against her. They exchanged no words, she didn’t need to. But when I looked closer, I could see unshed tears in her eyes. It was at this point that I got up to help her move him to a place where he could rest. Neither did we share words, we worked soundlessly to achieve our common goal. When we finally had managed to lay him on a bench and his eyes drooped into sleep, she gave me a curt nod and continued on her way.
I watched her as she walked away, her strong and solid posture a stark contrast to the tears that were spilling out of her eyes. As I stood there, watching her back as it retreated in the distance, I felt my own tears begin to fall down my cheeks. I touched a finger to my face, tracing the trail of saline as it curved down my cheek and off my chin. I stood there, staring long after I could no longer see her, captivated by my thoughts. I started writing her story right then, my fingers flying mercilessly across the keyboard in my head. When I finally found the strength to move, I ran home, willing every thought I had collected from that encounter to stay firmly in my mind until I had a chance to put my fingers to the literal keyboard.