The Train

The train is mildly crowded, and there are only a few seats available as I enter at the Washington Street station. There is one seat partially available, since the older, poorly dressed black gentlemen is taking up the one of the positions on the dual seat, where the indentations indicate the actual place where you are supposed to place your glutes. He is not a large man, but nevertheless he is taking up a little bit of the seat next to him, so I sit in the remainder, so that our legs press against each other. He then moves away a little bit, into his own space, but gradually his legs shifts or sinks back against mine, which is not abnormal on the train. What IS abnormal is that after a few seconds of pressing against me, he jerks that leg back quickly, as if he abhors the touch, but then over the next minute or so lets his leg drift back, again touching mine, and then again, after a few seconds, violently retracts it. This sequence repeats over and over again for the full length of the ride back to Rosemont, where he exits the train. I wonder if this was due to the racial difference, but then I wonder why do I always assume that, in other words would he have withdrawn his leg if her were sitting next to a Black woman? I then started wondering about his life, what had affected him, was he one of the many blacks who had moved to Chicago from Memphis, or Mississippi, and what unknown horrors had existed in his life, or maybe it had nothing to do with horrors, maybe it just had to do with me, since I generally think that I am the problem in a variety of circumstances.

I am too tired to talk, which I generally am, but should talk to him. I need more boldness to speak, especially as it pertains to the gospel. Today, was Matt Holmes funeral, and many of his friends spoke about how influential he was for Christ, even though he could not move since he was a vent-dependent quadriplegic. He was totally restricted to his own house yet effected so many for Christ and here I am, totally mobile with almost no restrictions, and yet don't even make the effort. I sit there, listening to the testimonies, and become more and more uncomfortable as I realize my lack, and then commit myself to change, to use my freedom in a positive way, not just for my own enjoyment or comfort, but to climb out of my comfort zone and lead a life of risk, and yes, sometimes I will be hurt but as the saying goes, " No Pain No Gain" . The real freedom in life is being fearless, and that something that Matt seemed to grasp, even as his windpipe closed for good, sealing his fate. Yes, I feel like a sorry excuse for a Christian, however, the saving grace is that I have potential and I'm still living, so there is still hope. Another positive is that I don’t always feel this way, sometimes I feel fine, but I used to almost always feel fine, and it seems that the feeling of fineness happens less and less these days, which could be just an increase in my self-awareness quotient. In any case I should have talked to him. Next time.