Bump.
Buh-Bump.
Bump again.
New Yorkers weave fast-paced trails through mass groups of tourists, looking for holes in the foot traffic like my granny's knitting needles look for the next stitch. Their bodies move and bend, hokey-pokey style toward the subways... toward something.
Buh-Bump.
No "excuse me" or "sorry" as elbows find their ways into my side, hit my bag, knock me hard. I move forward, am pushed back, know bruises are surfacing in angry response, feel my body tense up to defend itself... but my heart just isn't in it.
Bump.
I am nothing... no one... another beating heart beating the pavement in search of something with nowhere to go. I would say I am lost, but have no destination. No friends to meet after work, no work to meet new friends... a transplant from anywhere-other-than-here-USA. I head North, wander the streets, ponder the lights, feel a tear slide down my cheek, hear myself sob - not one person notices.
Buh-Bump.
"Look at me!" I want to yell. "See me!" No eye contact, no existence. This is the only time in my life that another human being has physically touched me and has not felt my heat... my life.
Bump.
I have never been around so many people.
Buh-Bump.
I have never been so alone.
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