The unbearable lightness of being….

The man ahead of me this morning was blind.  I felt the knee jerk reaction of pity and almost had the urge to pull him towards me when the train came barreling through the station.  I was pleasantly surprised that he knew exactly when it was safe to approach the railcar and make his way safely inside. 

Walking stick folded neatly on his lap, and with his Tony Bahamas shirt and dark glasses, he just looked like a regular tourist. I was busy observing the crowd that I almost missed the surprise that was Mr. Bahamas.  He was craning his neck slightly to the right towards the window as he tried to suppress a smile.  I looked around to see what was so funny and observed that there were two ladies behind him animatedly discussing something that sounded like cooties and hoes. 

Then Mr. Bahamas inclined his head to the left, reacting to a guy dropping one of his ear buds, momentarily exposing nearby victims to his screaming I-Pod.  A little girl in her stroller made a shrieking sound of delight when her mother pointed something funny out in her book.  At this, Mr. Bahamas treated anyone who had cared to look to a big dimple of a smile, his visage far away as if reminiscing.

I continued to observe the myriad of expressions on Mr. Bahamas face as he treated me to more of his visions.  He was acutely aware of people coming and going, the stations that we passed, the humdrum of the car itself and its conductor, the Babel conversations, the popping and grating sounds of briefcases, purses, backpacks and sundry items being lugged in and out.  He adjusted his gaze to the occasional breeze as the metro doors opened and closed, reacted to the combination of smells that emanated from bodies, contraband food items, the scents of the outside world, and who knows what else.  There, amidst the cacophony of sounds and chaos, Mr. Bahamas was the only one truly aware and at peace with his surroundings. 

I was wrong.  He wasn’t blind at all.