She said, "Good morning", after I made her move so I could sit down.
To be brutally honest (and brutal only to myself for even thinking the way I do), I often hold my conversational breath and try not to stare when riding this certain train. It brings people from the deep south side of Chicago into the city and runs through The Loop to service some of Chicago's worst neighborhoods on its way to a nearby suburb. (Don't worry, Mom, I get off the train before it hits the bad 'hoods.)
This part of my commute is rarely quiet, full of single moms with too many babies and too few hands, men on cell phones yelling expletives too loudly for the morning hours (as if there's ever a good time to do that publicly), large women taking up 2 seats each and talking at (not to, but at) one another from across the train, and not to mention the headphones that ironically share unwelcomed music-for-one in the form of rap-crap and someone's basement acoustics.
So when this woman greeted me kindly and then went back to reading her book, I was startled and then wary that she might try to talk to me. I like my commutes like I like my sleep - cool, quiet and comfortable (and I'd add clean, but that's not a CTA priority... although I did see someone Cloroxing the turnstiles once!).
The woman went back to reading her book but then muttered in my direction 4 stops later, "Excuse me?" Good gravy, I thought. It starts.
"Do you know what this word means?" She pointed at the page and mispronounced it, stuttering.
A quick panic washed over me. This is every writer's/literary's test. Put your grammar, language and vocabulary skills to test in the real world! Oh glory be, I should get this right. I had to think about it, but was able to come up with the correct pronunciation and defintion quickly enough to appear credible. She said thank you and we shared a weird giggle (I think it was a giggle).
I strutted off of the train as she said, "Have a good day", to me. I squeaked out after a too-long pause, "Thanks, you too". Walking with pride all the way down to the street level, I fished for my phone among the beverage fixings in my purse.
The beverages in my purse (not the water, but you get the idea).
And then the guilt filled in where the relief subsided. I was so wonderfully proud of myself for getting an SAT word right on a real life test, that I forgot to return her verbal well-wishes for the day until an awkward beat later.
I may have puffed with pride at my book-knowledge, but where would that get me? How often will someone feed me a line about needing to know a word or a definition? And, by comparison, how far will that woman's kindness get her? I may have access to good jobs, have a great education, be a shameful iPhone user - having the world at my literal fingertips. But she, she has everything and then some because she's kind to strangers, doesn't see color or class and is humble enough to ask questions.
The world is her oyster and I'm the sand feeding into the pearl.
