Crowd

I got off the train at the wrong stop a while ago. At the wrong time. Living so close to a major league ball park, in a sports mad city, needs an alert mind, and a link to their home game schedule. That day, I had neither. I'd worked a Sunday 7-3 shift, got off hungry and wanting only to be home.

The trains were full, and I was annoyed by the crush, and the bulging woman leaning on me, her crotch rubbing against my knee, her incessant chatter about the movement of the train to anyone who would listen - in this case the accommodating young asian woman next to me - her florid body intruding, her grip on the handrail inadequate. So when she got off at the stop where I should have changed trains for the line that lead away from the ballpark, towards the lovely walk through the grassy park with a stream and little bridge to home, I simply sighed relief, and kept my seat.

My irritation and lack of compassion would manifest two stations on. Everybody on earth with a Red hat or shirt was either getting off the train or getting on. A long shuffle in the subterranian halls and stairs, leading to a chaotic mob of meandering fans. I scooted and stopped, desperate to get home past the clots of gob-smacked rubber-neckers, the strolling parents and strollered babies, the shouts of "Needtickets, needtickets, needtickets?" interspersed with "Igottickets, Igottickets, Igottickets!" by men standing like rocks in the turbulent stream. I ran in the gutter, along the curb, a dozen steps, then had to veer and stop, sidestep and stop. I cut down the nearer, hopefully less congested, asphalt on the near side of the Park, following the slow moving cars who cleared momentary paths for me to march behind. I skittered past skinny chicks in pink hats, obliviously stuck on cell phone leashes, the frustration heating my chest. I scanned for any potential space, exploiting any opening ruthlessly. Until the crowds thinned, further from the venue, and I simply ran the rest of the way home, a couple of blocks, to home and quiet and solitude.

I don't always mind crowds. I used to love going to Eastern Market on Christmas Eve morning. The Toblerone samples at Hirt's didn't hurt, but the surge of shoppers hunting treat foods to share was happy, energizing. I loved going to the Hudson's Christmas displays, not minding the other children, or the lines for Santa. It felt warm and inviting. The million people downtown for the International Freedom Festival fireworks were oceanic, powerful and inclusive.

Perhaps it is just a matter of being at cross purposes.

I loved slides and swings. Small, I was brought to a park where a large bunch of children were queueing for a slide, round and round, climb and slide. I tried to wait for them to leave so I could play. I was instructed that I was to join in. I climbed up, one child per rung (or so), was trampled slightly. Slid down, sticking a bit, and a big boy slid down behind me, overtaking me, leaving me crushed and ruffled. I declined to try again.


There is an anonymity in large masses of people, which is appealing to me. And abhorrent. A loneliness more profound, as well as a sense of belonging more powerful. I have marched in step with a thousand others, and have felt immense, and miniscule in the same breath.


I think I'd like to be alone right now.