Now You See It…

I saw a Christmas tree that had been left on the side of the road today, and I wondered how long it had been sitting there. Perhaps it had been covered over by several snowstorms, then unearthed and buried again time after time, until the final thaw. Or maybe it was inside, still bearing the weight of lights, tinsel, and enormous bulbs, until finally someone decided to take it down. As a sort of April Fool’s joke, maybe. There you see it, there you don’t. And it still had leaves on it, not like the Linus tree, all bare and unloved. It was also trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, with twine holding its branches close together, almost as if the tree were hugging itself, Harry Houdini-style. I could almost imagine it twisting and turning, trying to extricate itself from the straitjacket keeping it pent up. So, there it sat, by the side of the road, waiting for the trash man.

I saw an old, red apartment building today. It reached up into the sky, as if it were stretching up to be lifted by God. But then it slumped back down at the top, seeming to collapse into itself. What a dichotomy it presented, with its red brick facade, cracked and faded, and it wasn’t alone. Outside were three police cruisers idling by the curb, with two officers heading up the stairs and two sitting behind their respective steering wheels. As I passed slowly by, the two in the vehicles looked me over, maybe profiling, maybe not, with an attention to details that was uncanny. But I was focused instead on the building, a reminder of time gone by, when it was sparkly and new, as clean as a baby’s bottom, all powdered up and ready for the day. And this is what became of it. Rather sad, indeed, it watched me go past and dreamed of better days.

I saw a mother yelling at her son today, and I thought about how they got into the argument. He wasn’t just taking it either. He was giving it back as good as he got, until she just exploded and backhanded him across the face. The kid couldn’t have been any older than six, and he clearly felt the reverberations of the slap echoing both physically and emotionally off of him. He instantly burst into tears, the kind that reminded me of a sprinkler, continuous and everywhere. His mother didn’t seem to notice as she dragged him by his hand down the street, and with her other hand pushed the stroller with a baby inside. The conversation was effectively ended, and even though she had won, I think in the end she really lost. And in time that boy will grow into a man, and he will hate the woman who gave him life. Unless something changes, and I suddenly doubt it, the careless nature of the slap speaking volumes. He glanced my way as the tears began to dry on his face with a look that said, “Help me,” but I turned away. It wasn’t my place. Is it ever? I watched him get carted off like a prisoner on his way back to jail, and I felt for him.

You know, you can see a lot when you really start looking.

Sam