Memory. Time. The persistence of both

Walking to the bus stop, laptop bag slung over my shoulders, gym bag swinging from my right one. For someone who for years styled himself as a lover of cinema and books and harbored dreams of pursuing a career in those fields (unrealistic, they might have been, but my youth and innocence were impediments to realization), I admit I have never been one to pay attentions to details. Or even to the blurry outlines, as such- of what people are doing around me, what they’re saying, if things are happening… sometimes, I can go through whole conversations, nodding, not noticing what the person is talking about. It’s like one of those movie scenes, where someone’s talking to you but all you hear is the fuzzy, garbled, over magnified sound of what sounds like Papa Bear discovering that Goldilocks polluted his precious porridge with her human saliva. But I digress.

As I said- walking to the bus stop, laptop bag slung over my shoulders, gym bag swinging from my right one. And I notice these people, everywhere, all the time. They’re probably the only ones I care to notice, make an effort to look at, out of- curiosity? Envy? A sense of lost camaraderie? I know these people, I used to be like them before, if only for a while. The all purpose, infrequently washed, never too loose, never too tight shirt. Bandana, or cap, if the weather requires such. The regulation canvas pants or loose fitting drawstrings. The slippers, with the climbing shoes strung on the back of the backpack which fits more snugly than my own skin does. The quintessential map with the inserted advertisements of BEST CHINESE FOOD IN THE CITY! or LEO’S MASSAGE HOUSE FOR DISTINGUISHED GENTLEMEN! and RAJ’S HOUSE OF FINE SUITS CHEAPEST BEST STICHING IN SIX HOURS. We have categories- the kids entering/leaving college, taking their first big trip together, almost always at some point making drunken fools of themselves and rushing through cities, countries at breakneck speed, scarcely pausing to take in what they see. The couples, with blonde hair, many times the woman with brown dreadlocks, both almost always in loose clothing, an expression of either bored curiosity or inquisitive serenity on their faces. The single tourist, walking around with the smaller day pack, a bottle of packaged drinking water tucked into the side pocket. He or she is more likely to ask for directions. The traveler(s) taking a break from life for a year- just glad to be away from kids bills alarm clocks trains bus stop lunch coffee cigarette breaks laptop meeting deadline shouting client call again yes sir right away sir. The older tourists- no backpacks, but a map always. And a really content smile and a bottle of Tiger beer never far away.

And when I look at them I wonder hey where are you from where are you staying how long have you been here where are you going next what will you do are you liking it can you take me with you please? Please, oh fucking hell, please? Can I come along? I’m like you, you know, even though sometimes I wear a Ralph Lauren shirt and dress pants and hold a black leather bag and I notice you give me a look of pity- I recognize that look, you say he’s one of them. He’s never going to be like us, he won’t travel, just to travel. He won’t sit on the back of a truck winding down a narrow mountain road, sitting on the stones with the laborers who filled them in. He won’t drink steaming hot chai and eat aloo parathas at 5 in the morning just before the bus trundles off. Or walk around Vienna just by himself and being glad he has no camera so he can look and just look. Sit and stare at people. He won’t talk to us and compare notes on where to stay and where to get cheap beer or the best hikes or the most curious museum to see. He can’t tell us where he’s been or where he’s going next. He can’t laugh about filthy toilets or torn mosquito nets and argue into the night about religion politics sex wars cricket movies music food culture poor people Bush’s foreign policy, getting drunk on beers and way too much vodka because he has a presentation the next day.

And I pretend not to notice it, and I walk on. And I catch the bus. My presentation goes off well, it always goes off well.