Beautiful hands
It was an early morning in London. I tried to avoid going by tube, so I walked as much as I could. I believe that metros are full of turmoil and they spoil the impression of any city. So, I try to escape any chance of going by metro by all possible means no matter how hard it is. I even ended up going by taxi a couple of times, which is a big luxury in London. Actually, it would have cost me around 130 pounds to get to my final destination. It’s funny to remember my German colleague making a comment that his flight ticket to London had cost him less than a 30 minutes taxi ride. Well, Germans… However, I couldn’t avoid my Underground trip. I had to use it squeezing myself in between people, who were trying to get somewhere on time. Or at least in time.
Suddenly I noticed a man standing behind me. He had dark skin, a short haircut and a really gloomy look. As a cherry on top, he was all covered with paint and endless impatience with constant restlessness. He was so jumpy and fidgety… Hisuneasiness was like a wood- decay fungus that was poisoning my spirit and killing my early morning mood. He was definitely not spreading sunshine…I felt I was attacked by a thunderstorm under the tree. God knows how much I wanted to get out of this damaged environment…
He felt it too. He looked really embarrassed when our eyes met. I looked super posh and confident. His female opposite. I was wearing high hills, lipstick, perfume and all the things a girl would like to wear at any stage of her life…
I don’t really know why I do it when I go to big cities. But I always look like a super model. I have a strong “must be done” feeling of standing out in a crowd. Quite bizarre,cause it attracts unnecessary attention, but it’s me… Don’t you do things you can’t really explain to yourself?
Anyways… I looked at him and when we made eye contact, he looked away feeling ashamed…
Suddenly the crowd started to thin out and we got some space to seat. We sat near each other but he felt even more fidgety. I got angry. I remember having a strong feeling of smothering him for being so restless and making me feel nervous. It was unbearable…
But suddenly it all changed.
I accidentally looked at his hands… He was holding a little rumpled yellow bag and a breath mint in the same hand. He was squeezing it so tight as though it was something that could save his life. His hands weren’t big. They were all veiny and calloused. But it gave them even more strength. They were all covered with paint which meant hard work and obviously a sleepless night. He was wearing a wedding ring on his finger…
I couldn’t take my eyes off his hands. They mesmerized me. They told me so much about him. I could have thought he was carrying drugs or a gun in this bag. Or he might have killed someone and stolen money. Or he might have been a gangster from Somalia. But most probably he was a Londoner who was going home after a night shift holding some earned money to buy food for his family and if he is lucky to spoil his kids with a scoop of ice-cream. Or he might have bought his wife’s favorite chocolate…
All those family pictures came to my mind when I looked close at his hands. I felt so much pride and love for this man. I knew he was a good man. A good man, who was trying to be great… Like in this song of Robby Williams:
“As my soul heals the shame
I will grow through this pain
Lord I’m doing all I can
To be a better man…”
Going through all those ups and downs, struggling, losing hope, sweating, crying, dying of hunger and desperation at times but always getting back on track. I really got him. I felt him. I felt such a deep connection with him.
It was time to get off the train. I looked at his arms again. I stood up and looked into his eyes. He looked back. I smiled. He smiled back. It was beautiful.
There is something about metros. When you open your eyes, you see how much we are connected with each other…
2018