Eliza Hodgkins 1812
01-26-2005, 10:55 AM
I got a call this morning - 7 a.m. - from a friend of mine in San Diego. We talk less frequently than I’d like. We’ve been close since high school but fell out of weekly touch after she was married. It happens. Married life can take up a lot of time, especially when it’s new. Sometimes the last single friend left standing (usually that’s me) isn’t entirely sure how to fit in. You want to visit your friend, but you don’t necessarily want to visit her husband, as well. You hope she’ll come and visit, but then they plan to come us a pair. And you like the husband, really you do, but his presence is sometimes a blight on your nostalgic longing for a friendship to remain as it once was. That is, once I called Maggie “My Maggie”. And I remember watching them say their vows and thinking, “No, Audra, His Maggie.” It was the first time I ever cried at a wedding, and it’s when I really understood why people sometimes *do* get so damn sappy and teary-eyed watching the ceremony. I used to make fun of those people and now I have to make fun of myself for being one of them.
You cry ‘cause your happy for them, and you cry because – on some level – you're sad for yourself. I get tired of all these graduations.
Anyway, His Maggie called me because she was up early watching the news when she saw that there was a train accident in Glendale involving two Metrolink trains and a freight train. I used to take that line and Maggie got choked up with unnecessary worry when she couldn't remember if I still commuted that way. A few people have already been reported as dead, and the casualty total was nearing 100 when I left my apartment at around 8. I used to take one of those trains to work when I was still living in Northridge at my parent’s house, though I rode the later morning train. It’s an easy breezy ride. I love the Metrolink, though it’s pretty expensive. It’s still one of the best forms of public transportation offered to the work force in the Los Angeles and surrounding areas. Now families are struggling to find out if the lives the wreck claimed are ones indelibly linked to their own.
It’s a moribund morning here in L.A. It was good to listen to the The Shins on my bus ride instead of reading. It’s going to go down in a few personal histories as a truly tragic day, and even the City will feel its effects long after, I think. There’s already such a distrust of public transportation here. I have a feeling more people will once again take to their cars. At least, as a driver, you must feel like you have some semblance of control, even if it’s illusory.
So. Today, I hope everyone I like, love, care about, respect, am interested in, saw one day and thought was attractive, noticed the hat they were wearing and thought they had a kind face, the beautiful old crone-ish woman I saw on the bus yesterday morning, the homeless guy I gave a dollar to last night but who I rudely ignored when he kept talking to me, telemarketers from India who annoy me with messages, my next door neighbor’s kid….so many people one knows or comes into contact with in some small way…I hope you’re all alive and well, and if not well, at least semi-okay. And if not semi-okay, at least alive and kicking. And if you can’t kick, give a wail. Holler. Holler. Loud enough to wake the dead.
You cry ‘cause your happy for them, and you cry because – on some level – you're sad for yourself. I get tired of all these graduations.
Anyway, His Maggie called me because she was up early watching the news when she saw that there was a train accident in Glendale involving two Metrolink trains and a freight train. I used to take that line and Maggie got choked up with unnecessary worry when she couldn't remember if I still commuted that way. A few people have already been reported as dead, and the casualty total was nearing 100 when I left my apartment at around 8. I used to take one of those trains to work when I was still living in Northridge at my parent’s house, though I rode the later morning train. It’s an easy breezy ride. I love the Metrolink, though it’s pretty expensive. It’s still one of the best forms of public transportation offered to the work force in the Los Angeles and surrounding areas. Now families are struggling to find out if the lives the wreck claimed are ones indelibly linked to their own.
It’s a moribund morning here in L.A. It was good to listen to the The Shins on my bus ride instead of reading. It’s going to go down in a few personal histories as a truly tragic day, and even the City will feel its effects long after, I think. There’s already such a distrust of public transportation here. I have a feeling more people will once again take to their cars. At least, as a driver, you must feel like you have some semblance of control, even if it’s illusory.
So. Today, I hope everyone I like, love, care about, respect, am interested in, saw one day and thought was attractive, noticed the hat they were wearing and thought they had a kind face, the beautiful old crone-ish woman I saw on the bus yesterday morning, the homeless guy I gave a dollar to last night but who I rudely ignored when he kept talking to me, telemarketers from India who annoy me with messages, my next door neighbor’s kid….so many people one knows or comes into contact with in some small way…I hope you’re all alive and well, and if not well, at least semi-okay. And if not semi-okay, at least alive and kicking. And if you can’t kick, give a wail. Holler. Holler. Loud enough to wake the dead.