The Daily Chaos of Kalamity K
Tears in the Subway
I was coming home tonight and almost started to cry in the
subway. It's bad enough that I'm always on edge, always
ready to burst into tears, but today was different. Shaky
from too much bloody anti-cold medication, chills and
fevers from not feeling well, the whole nine yards. And
then, in a flash, everything gets put into perspective.
Yesterday, in the subway, it was magical. On my walk off
the platform in the morning and to the platform at night,
there was a gleaming black grand piano (Yamaha) complete
with pianist in tuxedo, playing for the rush-hour crowd.
It was fantastic. I could have cried for the unexpected
joy it brought me.
Today, I stopped to read the front of a newspaper and
could have cried for the senseless perverted irony
(incorrect usage of the word "irony", I am aware of this)
On the front cover was a picture of a woman crying, her
head semi-bowed, one hand, her right hand, wiping at her
Behind her, a striking site. A long white figure lying
down. Instantly recognzable as a body wrapped in a white
sheet or something else white - not covered with it -
wrapped in it. Though I knew what it was, a person newly
passed away, I had the fleeting thought that it was a body
washed up from a grave in one of NO's famous cemetaries
(the ones above ground whose name is alluding me right
now). I knew the sheet was too white, the body underneath
too clearly intact, but you think random things at times...
The caption read something like this: (Insert woman's
name) mourns her husband. (Insert husband's name), who
suffered from lung cancer, survived Katrina but later died
when he ran out of oxygen as they waited on the roof their
house to be rescued.
I cannot tell you the number of things that ran through my
mind. I cannot tell you the pain that just cleaved
through me as I stared at that picture. I don't know. I
just don't know.
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