Stairwell Commute

I wait; as an ambitious student, a hard-working mother, and as the father of a daughter I wait. Although there be a chill in the air and it’s unknown if it will worsen or not, I wait. Engines each filled with a soul or two or more roar by as I await transport, and ultimately it arrives. Passing onto my method of transportation awaits a rare greeting to the operator, which possesses disconnection, yet we speak as kindly as friends.

The commute has begun and there, at the end of this bus awaits a comfortable seat always to my liking. There, under drapes to the soul, I watch myself enter again and again, every time for a different purpose.

In one instant, I’m a dark, blue-haired girl with a cold glare at the world striving for an education. In another, I’m a hardworking father with a contemptuous look, for I fear for my daughter and myself due to our skin pigment.

Truth be told, I’m a broken adolescent hoping to unbreak myself at my destination.

The girl, the father, and many more transfer to the next method of transportation and wait a minute more in a sharp cold before transport arrives doors closing; the commute continues. There again, through curtains to the soul, I watch many of me enter and exit, every time with a dull expression.

At 27, I reapply my bold red lipstick and fix my brown locks just before I continue to watch out the window with the powerful eyes of a young woman en route to her profession. At 55, it is an awkward struggle for a man like me to remain awake as the tracks beneath my feet sing a rocking lullaby en route to my shift as a security guard.

At various ages, a majority of the time is spent on a screen, sometimes standing because I don’t dare sit next to myself. Instead, and frankly, I declare my hatred toward humanity while simultaneously guarding over it, failing to live their lives.

My 27-year-old self departed seven stops previously. And my 55-year-old self made an exit two stops earlier. Many more peel their eyes from their screens only to move onward. The doors open and the cold, which has made reoccurrences since Pulaski, embraces my departure.

The commute has ended.

But it continues in disbelief of ignorance amid the common struggle. This thought is pondered as streets are crossed and stairs are climbed, finding myself timelessly gawking in ignorance at Cloud Gate.

Though I’m only a tourist, I’ve seen it before, and pass on as others do. However, something else has interest piqued.

A stairwell humanity seems to avoid, in an area of life and travel and sights. Carefully, the depression that enticed curiosity lures me in from the opposite end of Cloud Gate, and heavy vibrations hit. Cautiously stepping down, a pressure impacts my chest... anger, sadness, regret, hopelessness, death... All lingering in this depression where life seemed to end amidst a full and lively sight. The ugliest aspects of my adored and windy hometown creep through timeless life, and yet remain unbeknown to most. Ugly aspects that used to be human, if not still.

Evacuating the ignored sight leaves the realization of the disconnection amongst various humanities. Struggles and emotions and ambitions insulted and attacked without consideration. Perhaps humanity then would thrive, if I were to tell myself and know that I too am struggling, dreaming, and feeling.

Even so, I’m a broken adolescent hoping to unbreak myself.

Till then, under blinds to the soul I watch myself again and again.