One night I had a wonderful dream. My son and I were being affectionate,
hugging, snuggling cheek to cheek, and he said in my ear, “I love you, Mom.” I felt so happy. It felt so real.
The next night I was going to a reading from the NYC Writing
Project which is connected to the program where I work. They had held a program for teachers who
identify as writers. At the end, they
were having a reading at KGB Bar on East 4th Street. I wasn’t part of the program, but I wanted to
hear the writers and support the NYC Writing Project. The reading was free. That helps.
I invited a few people, but only one planned to join me. Somehow from the way he expressed himself, I
got the feeling he wasn’t that into going and would not show.
I took the 4 train which is an elevated outdoor train in most
of the Bronx before it goes underground at 149th Street and the
Grand Concourse. I texted my son and
told him about the dream and how good it felt.
After I rode several stops, a woman ran on screaming and then ran out
another door. My heart started racing,
sure someone was after her or that a rat was involved. I’d be screaming like that if a rat was near
me. So I was frantically looking to see
what the problem was. She got back on
and sat down. Suddenly she was up and
screaming again. She went into another
car of the train. Next to where she had
been sitting was a pigeon, alive and well.
I laughed with relief that it was just a pigeon. It seemed harmless compared to what I
feared. I’m sure I wouldn’t have felt so
calm if I were feeling followed by it, but compared to a human attacker or a rat,
it seemed so innocent. It chose to ride
the train. It walked around mostly under
the seats. I began to see things from the
pigeon’s view and assumed the bird was scared.
The train wasn’t crowded, but things could get hysterical if the pigeon
started flying around. One man tried to
grab it. Maybe it was to set it outside
at the next stop, but I didn’t know the man or if he’d hurt the bird. I was glad he didn’t catch it. 
At the next stop, the bird seemed confused by which side the
doors opened on. When people came in,
the bird cautiously stayed away, so it remained on the train. I was having anxiety for the pigeon. I don’t love pigeons or hate pigeons. I just didn’t want any sadness that could be
prevented. It was for my sake as well as
the pigeon’s that I needed to do something.
It walked under the seat of the man who had tried to grab it
earlier. The man didn’t realize. A woman near me laughed. I told her not to let him know the bird was
there. The bird went to the door as if it
knew that the door would open. But I
knew on Burnside Avenue the other side would open. The bird seemed to be a walker, and I was
afraid that the time it would take would get it caught in the closing doors.
I got up and when the doors opened, I stood in the doorway
holding it open and motioning the bird with my paper to come this way. The bird decided to trust me, I guess, walked
near me and out onto the platform which was still outdoors. I felt good about that.
One of the things that felt good was I felt I had power to do
something. I struggle with depression,
so feeling that way is significant to me.
During my marriage, asserting my personhood would inevitably lead to an
argument or some passive-aggressive silence.
After a long time, living like that takes its toll. So this experience was not only good for the
pigeon; it benefited me too.
The reading was fantastic.
My friend didn’t show, but I was kind of ready for that. The pieces shared were great. One woman read about her mother’s
thighs. The closeness and love made me
recall baths with my mother, me trying to count the freckles on her back. The closeness with my own precious son. I deeply miss the genuine relationship we had. During the reading, I grabbed a napkin and my
pen. In the very dimly lit place, I
drew.
A few days later, at the subway station, I stood in front of
the booth to add money to my MetroCard.
When given a choice, I still prefer a person over a machine. At my feet was a crushed bill. I picked it up. There was no one on line in front of me, so
whoever dropped it was gone. It was a
$20 bill.
See how connected this all feels to the last blog I shared? More next week.
FYI: I'll be performing comedy Wednesday, Sept. 21, 8pm at the Village Lantern (NYC), 167 Bleeker Street, in Sarah Garner's show! No cover charge. 1 drink min. Would be glad to see you there laughing if you can make it.
Beautiful story. So happy for the pigeon. And you!
Maybe your good pigeon karma brought you the $20. I love seeing kindness repaid. Good for you.
Lisa, me too. I didn't need a horror happen. David, because the twenty was in a train station, I definitely felt it was pigeon kharma.
You are $20 ahead. Congrats!