0 HE RAISE HIS LEG, STEPS OVER HER & KEPT MOVING

The escalator devours her dress. She’s on her hands and knees, twisting, struggling, trapped in the metal teeth. A man beside her leans, lifts his left leg over her shoulder, and walks away without looking back. Just like that. Pure weakness. Indifference in human form.

I move forward. The man in front of me steadies her as the woman immediately behind, realizing the danger, steps up to help. Seeing she’s being helped, I turn to the man walking away.

“You couldn’t help her?”

“Shut up, bitch,” he shouts, mad that I called him out.

“What kind of man are you that would step over a fallen woman and not stop to help?”

He walks away faster. As he moves off, he shouts again, “Bitch!”

I look back. The fallen lady is up and moving, all is well.

I glanced at the bus schedule. Nine minutes to my bus arrival. Walking to my stop, I spot him on the way, smoking in a slightly hunched posture. He sees me and mumbles, “bitch.” I respond, “You’re the bitch.”

As I pass, he continues yelling “bitch,” and every bitch he calls I echo back as I move closer to my stop. Then he yells “bitch” one final time.

I stop to make sure I have safely crossed the street, keeping my safety paramount—the bus terminal is busy, buses constantly moving, traffic lights guiding the safest times to cross—and yell:

“Weak-ass pussy bitch. Stepped over a woman and didn’t think to help.”

Silence. Complete and utter silence, except for the buses roaring their vroom vroom vroom as if to say—
Boom. Mic drop.

But the truth is, that moment hit me long before the shouting.

Because I’ve seen what an escalator can do.

When my daughters were little, we were coming from a Brownie meeting. My youngest daughter’s shoelaces got caught—she didn’t realize they had come undone.

Her sisters and my best friend’s daughter, who was with us, were ahead, already near the top. I was still at the bottom, stepping on, watching. Then suddenly my youngest was trapped.

Her sisters and my best friend’s daughter tried to help while I rode up, frantic, unable to reach her fast enough.

I screamed to the TTC conductor in the booth at the top.

“Stop the escalator! Please stop the escalator!”

Quick thinking saved her. The conductor called an ambulance immediately. I dare say my big mouth and loud voice helped too—the conductor reacted instantly.

By the time I reached my daughter, her palms—from the wrist down—were shredded. Her tights were ruined by the escalator. The night was cold. It could have been worse. Much worse.

I called my best friend, as I had her daughter with me. She met me at the hospital, took her daughter and my eldest home, and I stayed with my youngest in the hospital.

After the hospital visit, it was 2 a.m. I had to find an open place to get tights to keep her legs and feet warm. A little treat—a tiny ice cream cone—helped her forget about the pain in her hands for a moment.

So when I saw that woman on the escalator years later, dress caught, struggling on her hands and knees, I didn’t see an inconvenience.

I saw danger.

And what I cannot understand—what still shakes me—is how someone could look at that moment, calculate a way around her, lift his leg over her shoulder, and keep moving like she was nothing more than an obstacle.

Help doesn’t always look the same.

It can be one person hitting the emergency stop.
One person calling 911.
One person calling an ambulance immediately.
One person speaking calmly so the person trapped doesn’t panic.
One person simply reaching out a hand.

But it starts with noticing.

With stopping.

With remembering: the person in front of you is not an obstacle.

They’re a human being.

1 CANNIBALIZING THE MORNING

I sit up in bed and reach for my water; it soothes and embraces me, a cool companion to the silence that sounds like peace. I begin searching through my electronic library for my next read. There are plenty to choose from—51 to be exact—ranging from health and memoirs to biographies and romance.

I face my windows, which take up 75% of my walls and overlook the courtyard. Lights, both artificial and natural, are never shy; they shine boldly day and night, making sleep inconsequential to their brilliance. But this morning, that peace is shattered. A couple's quarreling rage barges in, intruding without apology on my tranquil rise.

I can hear their shouts in the midst of a heated argument. Though I don't understand the language they speak, the rage is clear. Lord have mercy, I think. It is only 8:50 a.m. and they are going at each other like rabid dogs. How can they allow their relationship to reach a place where, at the sun's first rise, they cannibalize each other this way? This is the sound of a dying relationship; nothing can survive in such ugliness.

It is truly sad. It seems they have both forgotten the beginning: why they got together and why they chose each other. Instead, they are consumed with finger-pointing, blaming, shaming, and demoralizing one another. The horrendous tones are hard to digest, and I am fast becoming distressed. It is too much for me to bear as an unwilling listener, imprisoned in those moments by my ability to hear.

The negative energy catapults me out of bed, desperate for distance. I pull up a Kirk Franklin playlist on YouTube and turn on the shower, blessedly drowning out the noise of a dying relationship.

Written by D.S.B.S.Rhapsodyphoenix © all Rights reserved 

29 IF THE WALLS HAD EARS

If the walls had ears it would be besieged by the joys and woes of the world, caught in the unpredictable abyss of the combined reverberating vibrations of emotions and impressions crying out in joy and agony vaulting simultaneously and tirelessly toward it. It would quake from the harmonious/disharmonious discord in unison vying for attention, to be heard, acknowledged, validated, selected as primary, superior, Omnipotent, being granted preferential treatment over all others, things, situations, circumstances. It would beseech the most high, the Divine master for a reprieve, permission to bask in its once state purpose of staying roofs, holding frames for doors/cabinetry, creating partitions for rooms, fireplaces, stores, buildings, looking pretty, strong, sophisticated, demure, demolished, polished, lacquered, crackled, stucco, in a colourful rays of grays, browns, reds, greens, pinks, blacks, purples, mauves, and all the shades in-between the betweens happily resigned to its stagnancy stoically submissive to the will of owners, renters and inspectors. To make no choices, to function solely for the purpose for which it is made, to transform only into itself, as it is meant to be, should be, ought to be with no desire to be anything other than it is, a wall, with no ears to hear, to simply be content with being a wall, as is, with no function beyond its intentioned.

Mindfulness Thought:

To be all that one is intended to be is a blessing.

---

Thanks TONILICIOUS & SIMPLYMEE 4D

award.

0 THE ITCHY, SCRATCHY, TOUCHY, FEELY GOT ME ANTSY - I GOT UP

He walked into the train car swinging his knapsack like a draw string bag and dropped it on the floor. A beer in his left hand, he turned himself and occupied both seats like a lounge chair as he talked to himself continuously. At first I thought he was on the, no a days, you gotta pause before you assume someone is talking to you or themselves. It was pretty apparent though, once we were underground where there was no cell reception. That put me on alert. I've learned a long time ago not to completely tune out on public transit, not if you can help it anyway. As the train move along the tracks he move restlessly. I kept an eye on him from my periferal in the event I had to move quickly. Suddenly, he put his right hand in his pants below the waist, in front, keeping it there. He started he moving  his hand around, seemingly like he was playing with himself. I thought to myself, 'Lord have mercy, father if this man is unstable, keep him calm in this train care under the ground with me in it'.

He removed his right hand and after about 40 seconds, he shifted in the seat and replace his right hand with his left hand. He just played with self. I look around inconspicuously to see  if there were any open seats so I can gently move. Eventually he took his hand out and started scratching his left armpit as his self talk raise in volume. The train stopped and let out and take in passengers. A six foot plus caucasian, tatted man with a large knapsack and a kick scooter 🛴 looked at him lounging and said, "can I sit here ". The young man who I'll call, Feeler man, pulls his hand out his pants, jumps up and moved to the corner seat saying, "sure, sure, sure". The man--who I'll call Scooter-man sits down.

Feeler-man still having conversations with himself, fidgets in the corner seat, then, to my horror, promptly puts his left hand in his ass. He digs around in there, then pulls his handir out, leans forward, bend and wipes it to the underside of the vacant seat where I was sitting. I thought, 'what in the actual royal fuck'! Only to see him do it again two more times. I thought, 'uh uh, hell to the fucking no'! 

While I have compassion for those that suffer from mental illness, which clearly can be applied to Feeler-man. I had finally reached my threshold of uncomfortable endurance. I got up. I still had a long way to go, with a sensitive hip but I simply didn't care, at that point, I needed to seek refuge elsewhere. It was all too much. I gently rose, walked to opposite end of the train car, ensuring that my face didn't betray what I was feeling, stood for a couple of stops as there were no seating. I was finally able to get a seat and enjoyed the rest of my ride in relative comfort.

©D.S.B.S.Rhapsodyphoenix

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"You can inform the people you love of what you want for them, but, you cannot transform them into living it out."–-Dr. Ronn Elmore. 

1 IT'S BASICALLY A TACO

Some shit just makes you laugh. 

Coming out of sneaky Dee's texmex restaurant, I paused at the outdoor patio to catch my bearings as the sunlight was super bright and reflective. As my eyes acclimated to brightness I saw and heard a man--caucasian, late 30s, holding up a hard shell taco 🌮 and said. 

"It's like a taco, see", and he holds up, saying, "except it's like a taco and you could ah break it like this," and he breaks it in half. Then he demonstrates with a scooping action how the boy can use the halk taco like a spoon to scoop the meat. 

I shook my head continuing on my way, laughing to myself. Thinking, the man picks up a taco and says, it's like a taco 🌮 😏. Seriously 😳, dude, it's not like a taco, it is a damn taco!!

©D.S.B.S.Rhapsodyphoenix