Noticing

March 3rd, 2011 | Meera

There is so much I do not notice. Even expecting you, I disregard your approach. When you arrive I receive you with surprise, as if struck by a drop of rain from skies as blue as Prussia. So much passes without scrutiny. I am aware of its passage, but only vaguely. The weight of the things to which I do not attend is enormous. A great ocean swell crosses overhead, far distant from the seabed sands in which I am burrowed.

Most days I fail to notice anything at all.

Waiting for the number 6 bus on Columbus Drive today, there was Superman. There wasn’t much to identify him; he looked like an old man, twig-thin. Too-short pants and too-big ski jacket. Leather satchel bleached and worn. Beard halfway to Gandalf, twice as wild. But behind the generosity of his glasses I could see his eyes, and they were made of cobalt and tin.

They weren’t quite piercing, not anymore; not like when he was a young whippersnapper and still working for a living. Someone had poured milk over them in the gone-by years. But there was still metal behind that milk, and I could see it when he walked past me. He did so three, four times. That’s how I knew who he was, I guess. He danced around the stop like he hated to waste time, like he had someplace more important to be. Or like he was measuring something. Pacing to size up the little house he used to want to build someday for him and Lois.

Superman got on the bus ahead of me and sat down next to someone else. Some nobody burrowed in the seabed, not noticing him. I saw him switch seats once. Maybe there was something he had to see out of the east window, some evil he wanted to keep an eye on. Or maybe he just wanted to be alone.

I looked away. Across from me a man wearing earphones was teaching himself English. Beijing said his skull cap in Chinese and I am new here and I like it said his face and The sands of time are passing said his mouth, as he listened to the little computer on his lap and repeated the common English phrases it pronounced to him.

I am lying to you. I did not really hear what his mouth said, although I noticed its movements and strained to read them. He spoke too softly and I saw too slowly.

But what you do not observe, you must imagine. So: I can read the writing on the wall, I imagined him repeating. Please call me back at your earliest convenience. Take it or leave it, baby. I am chilled to the bone. I will pay you back in kind. With the most joyful of smiles he repeated these things, or others; I did not imagine the smile.

Superman got off the bus outside a corner where a school stood, and disappeared into a crush of children let loose. English got off four stops before my own. I watched him walking westward till the wheels pulled away from the sidewalk.

waiting for the number 55

4 Responses to “Noticing”

  1. I think you would find the streets of Miami very fertile fields from which to harvest things for this kind of writing. I expected some kind of memorable ending from tin man and “the moon will rise over the sea” guy. But you remind that people come into and out of our lives in fleeting moments of intersection and remind that the big picture is full of stuff that is much greater than we think because of the limitations of our minds.

  2. Chelsea says:

    Wonderful, and I like the new design… beautiful!

    • Meera says:

      I find your comment a little cryptic, Carl, but I am grateful for it, and for your reading!

      Chelsea, thanks! I like the way things look around here much better now.

      Carolyn—well done for having a name that also starts with a C. And thanks.

  3. CAROLYN says:

    Mmmmm. I like this post.