The Inexperienced Hiker

I pick out a random person on the bus to write my poem about

He’s probably 23, disheveled hair, dirty jeans, an extra pair of sneakers tied to a backpack

And then I notice that his eyes are red, he’s trying to keep it together, trying not to cry.

He closes his eyes and breathes out slowly, trying not to cry while everyone else is safe behind earbuds

And some asshole is just sitting there writing a poem about him

So I put it away.

I get up, and I sit next to him.

I pretend that I needed to move because of motion sickness.

I strike up a conversation

Talking about motion sickness, the bus, then work

He's in Americorp.  Doesn't know if they'll cut it.

He’s asking me about work

And now I’m talking about philosophy

I’m talking about the meaning of life

And vulnerability and connection and shame

And his eyes are clearing and he’s lighting up

He’s excited

I’m telling him about this TED talk

“Oh yeah!  I love TED talks!”

And then it’s his stop and we say “have a good day!” and we mean it.

And everyone around us stops pretending not to listen and goes back to not listening.

(Then suddenly I remember my grampa John

And how he had this shtick when he was hiking,

How he’d take a couple of extra water bottles up with him,

And then he’d go looking for inexperienced hikers

Who hadn’t brought enough water,

And then he’d pretend to be an inexperienced hiker

who accidentally brought more water than he could carry,

and would they please help him out

by taking some of this heavy water off his hands?)