81st Street
My knees give way to the platform. The train screeching in is the last thing I hear. Then blackness. Blessed quiet universe. Interrupted by visions of violence and long buried memories of abuse. Shaken shaken shaken. Awake now I look up at the flourescent-lit ceiling of the 81st street station. Coming into view are the concerned blue eyes of a stranger. A stranger holding my head and asking me questions. Asking me questions in a caring voice that I wish I could have heard just once growing up. I try to form words to let this kind person know I am okay.
"Mmoke...ammoki..."
"Do you want me to call 911?"
I move my head slowly to indicate "no". I do not want that kind of attention and chaos. I start moving to stand and this kind stranger is helping me. Holding me. Leading me to the bench against the wall.
I haven't eaten since day before yesterday. I don't want to eat anymore. What's the point? Life is a vast dark emptiness that I stumble through. Tripping over objects that lurk unseen in the landscape. Causing me to fall again and again. Each time it gets harder to stand up. What's the point?
The stranger holds my hand and asks if I would like some water. I nod. A water bottle is extended and I go through the motions of opening and drinking. The stranger smiles at me.
"Do you need help getting home?"
Yes. I want to know I matter. This gesture of kindness. Human to human. Not monster to child. Take me home.