Touch Me In The Morning

Every morning at 5:40 a.m., I make my daily one (1) hour forty (40) minute pilgrimage on a Metrolink train followed by a subway, bus or shuttle tour of downtown Los Angeles where it is my job to bring balance to a building that was literally built on a crooked foundation. (this place )
During all of this, when I’m not asleep I people watch. I like to think of this as a sociological or psychological exercise. This sounds much better than “stalker.” I see women enter the train without a speck of make-up and by the time they exit they’re ready for their close-ups. I’ve met a guy that I would swear (if I were a swearing-type of man) was the son of my father’s illegitimate daughter. I considered talking to him, but what would I say? “By the way, you look exactly like my dad. I think your grandma gave it up when she was seventeen and my dad, your grandpa had to choose between going to war and going to prison.” I settled for taking his picture with my cell phone repeatedly while he slept and showing it to everyone I knew. “Do you want to see my nephew?” (It’s only stalking after they tell you to stop, right?)
I’ve seen couples go from introduction to flirting (that’s a hoot) to relationship and sometimes to bitter breakup. For several years, I sat near an ex-priest and his wife. She told me he consecrates the Eucharist every Sunday morning for her in the living room of their house in Banning. (It’s a two bedroom, Mediterranean right on the golf course.) On more than one occasion, I’ve witnessed sympathetic women holding hands with married men as they listen to how the old shrew just doesn’t understand him and how all he wants is to be close to someone. Believe me, my biggest challenge is not yelling, “Hey Juliette, I think Romeo’s wife has a pretty good understanding how her man is and if you’re smart you’ll keep both hands on the table.” Once, I made a point of introducing myself to the bum’s wife as she picked him up at the train station in the afternoon. After a few moments of conversation, I gave Mr. Misunderstood a smile and an “I’m on to you.”-look. He soon found another area of the train to sit. I would have followed him, but again with those darn stalking laws I would be the bad guy. (Go figure.)
There are so many different types of people; knitters and readers; sleepers and talkers; the casual and the constipated. A few weeks ago, I got on a bus that is always standing-room only and takes me to great coffee. I was lucky to get the last seat and even luckier that a woman didn’t come on so I was able to keep it. (My mother raised me right. You should see some of the beasts that won’t get up.) I sat down as people filed past me to stand in the open areas. As I did this, I oh-so-barely brushed the elbow of the stone-faced woman sitting next to me.
Immediately, she jerked away, pulling her arm as close to her as she could. This troubled me deeply. I thought to myself, “This poor woman. What is she feeling? Am I threatening her? Does she think I have an ulterior motive?” I swear it was just my elbow. I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt AND a jacket. There was a good quarter-inch of material between our naked, pulsating bodies. I wondered what happened in this woman’s life that made her recoil like she did. What events in her life damaged her ability to be touched, nay brushed by a freshly-showered, extremely handsome gentleman who was wearing deodorant? I felt the need to say something, to do something. Unfortunately, the bus was very crowded and was just about to pull off from the stop. Something stirred me to act. I did the only thing I could think of doing; the only appropriate thing to do in this situation. I touched her again. And I kept on touching her; every bump in the road, every curve that we took, my elbow tapped her. I bumped her so much; you would have thought we were on the Cyclone at Cooney Island. By the time we got to good coffee, you could have fit three people in the space between us. She was folded into something that looked like a cross between twisted pipe cleaner and an origami crane. I knew that this snotty, rude woman who never said, “Good Morning” was going to immediately go to the washroom at her office, neatly place several layers of paper towels on the counter and wash off my kooties with the individually wrapped wet wipes and bottle of Purell she kept in her top desk drawer right behind the can of Lysol. And you know what? I didn’t regret my actions; not one little bit. Until….
…until this week. I was standing in the same bus and I saw my sanitized friend do the same thing to an overweight woman wearing white stretch pants, an oversize top and large hoop earrings. (I’ guess she didn’t get the memo about wearing white after Labor Day.) “Stretch” must have touched Miss Sunshine at least once because she looked like someone whose back went out in the middle of a game of Twister. But Stretch wasn’t bothered by any of this. It was obvious she was very comfortable with herself. I mean, besides not wearing a bra. Stretch was happy and nothing was going to change that. It was a good day. God gave her the last seat on the bus. (I’m just assuming the seat next to the pickle is always the last seat.) I started to think about the way I reacted to this one person’s bad attitude. Instead of apologizing for molesting (I mean brushing) her elbow with mine and going about my day; or even trying to show her some kindness, I let her bad attitude get me down. I let her steal my joy. Whatever made this person behave the way that she did is really none of my business. God doesn’t call me to correct, or to teach or even to understand her. And He’s not asking me to treat her the way I treat my friends or my family. He’s calling me to love her as much as I love myself; to share just a little bit of the infinite love that He’s shared with me. I sat with that a minute. (Well, stood with that.) I was thankful that God doesn’t treat me the way I treated this person. I thanked God for not nudging me with His elbow and for His grace and His love. And then I became very happy; so happy I had to hug someone. (Is it stalking if you’re doing it because God gave you a revelation?)