dreams of others

I tend to have the strangest dreams in hotel rooms … as if the psyches of previous travelers linger in beds past checkout times and in spite of the best efforts of the cleaning staff.

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I have been in Boston for parents weekend for three days now, and am leaving tomorrow morning. I have seen my son for all of 5 minutes so far. I was about to let self-pity darken the amber glow of the sun that made Boston such a gift to behold during this unusual warm spell in October, when I became aware of a woman’s shrill voice. She was sitting on the steps of the main building of the school, where the parade of parents came and went. She was oblivious to us all, pleading and screaming into her cell phone. The weary voice of a young man, replying to the barrage of her questions about why he couldn’t be there for her, could also be heard by us all, as she held the phone away from her ear, some distance, like an amplified mike.

She went on with the list of pain she felt was inflicted on her by willful negligence on the son’s part. Her eyes grew redder, as did her face, the longer she talked.

In flash, my self-pity turned to sorrow for this woman, a mother freshly fired and on the dole. There by the grace of… well, you know the rest of the saying.

I thought about waiting to talk to her, to let her know that she’s not alone … that I have seen quite a few parents on Newbury Street from whom their children quickly walked away, as if at any moment they might run the risk of being caught carrying contraband. But the woman just went on and on. I don’t think that whatever I had to say to her, given the state she was in, she would have heard. Clearly, she wasn’t where her body was, in plain sight of us all.

Instead, I helped a young blind woman cross the street. She was grateful for the help and we chatted for a while. She told me what it takes for her to cross the street and how she knows when the lights change, by listening to traffic. Ear training, I thought — since I just came a class on ear training for musicians that was given for the parents.

The sun was bright for me once again, as I headed back to the hotel, where I am now, planning to spend the rest of the day exploring the shops of Newbury Street. In my other life, I never get a chance to peruse such sanctuaries for consumption. Why not take full advantage of it?

I say this with humility, realizing that sight is a gift, not to be taken lightly — that is, as something obvious in light or in light of….