People Watching
Often after a big life event, I find myself in what I call a “melancholic fugue”; a trance-like state where hours slip away, and all I do is think. I like to think it’s me taking time to process, to slow life down for a while. On this particular day in late May, I was reeling from a recent breakup, and I decided I needed to get out of the house. I’d done enough thinking, and it was wearing me down. I needed to do something, so I decided on an activity I hadn’t done in a long time. I’d go people watching.
I sat down on my bench and surreptitiously pretended to read my book. If you were wondering what title I was pretending to read, it was Infinite Jest, so any other people-watchers would think I’m cultured and interesting. That would be a lie, but they don’t need to know. My people-watching session started out strong when I heard someone yelling, “Fuck You!” from across the park, followed by other expletives that I won’t write down here. I’ll summarize for you: someone was caught cheating, someone was going to owe a lot in child support, and it sounded like someone was going to have to crash on a friend’s couch tonight. The two people arguing were slowly making their way closer to me, and I considered moving, but I didn’t want to miss a detail. Eventually, the person being berated walked away, and the other person continued to walk right past me. I wonder why they couldn’t have this argument anywhere else, but then I thought, we don’t always get to pick a stage for our arguments, do we?
It baffles me—the number of people who will have arguments in plain view of the public. I’ve seen many arguments on Facebook, anything ranging from personal family matters to why the electric company would even dare to install smart meters. If you’re ever bored, join your local community’s Facebook page. It’s free entertainment.
A few moments passed, and I saw a group of teenagers with bags of fast food and blankets trying to pick the optimal location for their picnic. They were loud, rowdy, and laughing. I felt a moment of irritation, but then quickly corrected myself. My friends and I were the same exact way in high school. I felt a warm breeze hit me, and I was hit with a wave of nostalgia. I remember how it felt to walk out of school on the last day, a lazy summer ahead of me with pool parties and pizza and video games. Months of nothing to do but be alive and have fun. I yearned for that feeling again. At times, I consider walking into my boss’s office and telling her that we, too, should have a summer vacation. Just shut the place down for three months, and the world will move on without us.
I thought then of my first car, the one my dad paid $200 for and would constantly stall, and my dad would swear and sweat and stomp trying to fix it. I remember taking my first date to Dairy Queen in that car. We both got a dipped cone. She was wearing purple eyeshadow. That relationship only lasted a few months, and I remember feeling like I was dying when she broke up with me. I wish I could somehow reach back in time and give my younger self the context of life you only get when you grow older. The knowledge and wisdom that losing your first girlfriend is not the end of the world, however much it seems like it in that moment. The painful lessons of youth.
A small child and her mother walked past me then. I heard the child matter-of-factly telling her mother, “And then we’ll go to Wal-Mart, and then we’ll go to Pizza Hut, and we’ll have pizza and watch Air Bud.” Her mother smiled and replied, “You’ve got this all figured out, huh?” to which her daughter replied, “Yep!” And for a moment, I ached for fatherhood. I was never quite sure if I was cut out for it. I think of my father and all his infinite knowledge of how to fix things, how the economy works, how to put money into a mutual fund, and how to turn the generator on when the power went out. He taught me things, but I don’t even remember how to change a tire, nor could I accurately describe a mutual fund without googling it. I guess I could teach my child how to waste time in the most efficient manner, but I think that’s something you learn without guidance.
There was a lull in activity for about a half hour, and I actually started to read Infinite Jest, but was almost immediately bored, so I started scrolling on my phone. I know what you’re thinking: typical millennial. Well, I’m guilty. Suddenly, a stray cat jumped on the bench next to me and interrupted my doom scrolling. He was massive, with long, mangy, orange fur. A huge scratch across his right eye led me to think he’s been in a fight or two. He gave me a once-over, decided I wasn’t a threat, huffed, and immediately went to sleep. This looked like a guy who had a rough life. I imagine he probably had a lot to pay in child support.
He looked like a Max to me, and so he was named that for our short time together. “Tough day?” I asked him for some reason. He didn’t even open his eyes to acknowledge I was speaking to him. I let him be.
Max and I were both startled by a man driving a car down the street, windows down, music blaring, and, believe me or not, he was hitting a cowbell repeatedly as hard as he could. I imagine he was steering the car with his knees. He was singing, banging that cowbell, with a huge grin on his face. I envied him; how nice would it be to do what you want and not care what people think? Or, on the other hand, maybe this was for attention? Was he having fun or having a mental breakdown? It looked like fun to me. But it was also a nuisance. What would possess a man to do this on a sunny Saturday afternoon, I’ll never know.
I was pulled out of this train of thought when I saw a woman walking towards me, and for a minute, I was convinced it was my most recent ex-girlfriend. They were about the same height, same colored hair, similar features. My heart started pounding in my chest, and I ducked my head into my book, but I noticed as she got closer that it wasn’t her.
I told myself I wouldn’t let my thoughts linger on her today, but one memory of our short time together kept popping up in my mind: We were at a diner getting breakfast, chatting casually, comfortable silences filling the spaces between bursts of chat and laughter. It was a rare moment in life where everything felt fine. I didn’t have a worry in the world for just an hour. It had only been a few months since we broke up, and selfishly, I hoped she thought of me too, from time to time. I felt like I was dying when she broke up with me, just like my breakup in high school. I realized then that the lesson I wish I could have taught my younger self was a lesson I still haven’t learned in adulthood. The painful lessons of life.
Max, my battle-hardened companion, was gone. I wondered what he would be up to today. Hunting mice? Getting into fights? It wasn’t long before a new companion joined me on the bench, this time a human. I immediately got weird vibes from him, so I didn’t engage. He decided to engage me, though. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a rock with the word “peace” painted on it, and handed it to me. “Peace, man,” he said to me, and then he got up and walked away.
This wasn’t the first time a stranger had given me a gift while I was people watching. I keep a small collection of the trinkets I’ve been given, which include a religious pamphlet, a small toy car that a child insisted I keep (the parent gave me express permission), a copy of The Exorcist that a person handed me and said, “Here. I can’t. I can’t do it. I never want to pick up this book again,” and an expired coupon to a local burger joint. I keep everything that’s given to me on my excursions, as they hold some kind of sentimental value to me, no matter how worthless they are. A random human being deemed me worthy of their treasure, and I am honored to receive it.
Fiddling with my new treasure in my hand, I noticed a lone croc shoe lying on the sidewalk. I wondered how it got there. I wondered where the other half of this pair might be. Why would someone just leave one shoe behind? Maybe they were the passenger in a car and had their feet dangling out of the window, and it just fell off. Maybe they changed their shoes mid-walk and decided it would be too much effort to pick both shoes up. I wondered if I was the only person in the entire world that would give this croc even a paragraph’s worth of thought. I wondered how many small details of the world go by unnoticed, left to wither away or to be picked up and taken to a landfill, never to be thought of again.
Then I wondered if the man driving by just now realized that you can indeed see through a car window, and people can indeed see his finger halfway up his nose. Maybe he didn’t care? I would be embarrassed if someone caught me digging for gold in my car. I think sometimes that we feel our cars are a very personal space, and while we can see out, no one else can see in. I made a mental note to be aware that people can see me in my car. I wonder how many people have caught me singing as loud as I can.
I got a call from my mother then, inviting me over for lunch. As much as I loved watching people, I figured it would be more important to spend time with my aging mother. One day, as I was pulling out of my parents’ driveway, my mother stood outside to wave goodbye. Looking at her face, I realized for the first time that she looked old.
