la raza

let me tell you about george. the banker.

tuesday, my girl and i go to the city. we're all duded up for a cold day. turns out, we could get to the natural history museum without ever seeing the sky. there is a subway entrance, which while convenient, is kind of odd. but we were grateful, no where to get lost when there is an underground entrance. and getting lost is always a threat with me. but i am readily and willingly found, that is a good thing.

so we hop on the last train to the city, and i am standing eye to eye with a hispanic man dressed to the nines. he was a sight to behold. first of all, any man who can see eye to eye with me has a rough row to hoe. he's short. i'm no taller than 5'1" on a good day. even my sister is passing me by leaps and bounds. her tall family is stretching her somehow, she used to only be an inch taller than me, but now she's a full three inches taller. i should tell this to my girl, it will please her. i'm trying to detail the merits of being short to her. as she will likely not pass my sprout of a sister.

so george is standing there, shiny black shoes, a navy pinstripe suit. a gold ring on his right pinky finger. hair closely cropped. but swarthy. the dark eyes i know so well. they looked down into my crib, they look back at me now, they are the kind of eyes i looked everywhere for growing up and were nowhere to be found in mainstream media, ads, beauty campaigns. i'm glad to see much changing in that realm for my girl's sake.

counting crows has a song about a spanish dancer with big dark eyes, a beauty, he went on to say. i ran into the lead singer one night as i was visiting my brother in hollywood, and thanked him for those lyrics.

very encouraging,

i said. he didn't seem to care either way. but it has not changed my appreciation for the image.

anyway, i asked him, george,

what do you do?

you see we're standing not two feet apart in the entrance to the train, it was packed, we had only one stop to go and i'm rolling a contraption with our jackets and backpacks in it (my people run hot, so we peeled off our outer layers as soon as we got on the train. all the people, the heated space, we were melting. what can i say, it's the latin blood).

are you a lawyer,

i asked.

finance.

ah. good. what do you do in finance?

he was so finely dressed i had to know. he worked in manhattan. and looked the part. but he was still a hispanic. someone of my culture and heritage. i knew him though we were unknown to each other. but these are all assumptions i'm making and he probably felt no kindred to me with my long braid, tennies and homeschool t-shirt.

business. risk.

he was a fragmented fellow. probably not used to being questioned by strangers. but i'm partial to fragments.

we were escorting an older gentleman,

first time on the train,

i heard him tell the lady going to hoboken in the row of seats ahead of us. he was headed to penn station. this man then asked me,

what is the learning community?

a homeschool group.

the back of my shirt reads "learning by living" so i had done a spin in the small area, i'm standing in, across from george with my daughter beside me. looking up eyes all wide with wonder. listening. taking it all in.

we're getting out on that side mom,

she said.

so i spun around to face the other doors, only to see people packed like a choir looking at me. all kinds of people. tall white people. blonde men. women in those stay-puft marshmallow jackets, white women, cold blooded types. short brunette women many with ipods, most just expressionless watching me talk to george or looking out the window. with the uncomfortable closeness of an elevator. and the jarring movements of a sluggish escalator, we a band of merry commuters waited for the doors to open.

i didn't get the name of the man we were escorting to penn station. he was grandfatherly. headed to 47th and 6th i think.

a nice walk will do me good,

he said as we discussed getting the subway with other passengers.

so we pull into penn, and george turns to leave. i said,

tell me your name.

george.

ah, george, the banker. i shall have to write about you.

he smiled. and we parted ways.

but i wanted to speak spanish he evoked so much familial feeling for me. it was strange. if i knew some crazy thing to say (which i do) and had more than five minutes, i would have. but i didn't. saved my dignity. and, well, have a story to tell.