My neck was swaying with the rooftops as my eyes were seduced by the artistic ensembles of colours, shapes and stories.
Another one, and another one, there’s another one.
Week on week the same sequence, yet it felt unfamiliar. My trance was interrupted as 2 gentlemen with unkempt dressings disturbed the musty air and crossed to sit opposite. I would’ve thanked them had I not drawn back into hypnosis with the bricks as the train passed them by.
Grandpa next to me deceptively sleeping had risen to confront an interruption to his sleep. I paused to see where his attention followed. He rose and approached the gentleman just seated. Lifted his knee and aggressively agitated his perfectly ironed pantalon to reenact the invasion of his personal space. I recalled their passing so gentle time slowed with their entrance. Perhaps in that moment grandpas knee was grazed.
The gentleman for a moment was incoherent. Sounds blocked my headphones so I could only read gestures. He was looking for redemption. Perhaps grandpa came from a generation where black men were not free to cross white men. I observed for a moment to prepare for an escalation. I waited, and the gentlemens hand gesture seemed to signal an apology. Grandpa seemed more at ease…his victory settled.
Grandpa returned to his seat and I continued to observe the gentleman’s demeanour. Slightly confused at the situation but all so somber. I flashed a smile to signal my understanding. Grandpa was just an old white man who was trying to reclaim a sense of his fragile dignity.
What did it matter, for he would soon meet death to relieve him of life’s annoyances as this.
So as grandpa concluded his slumber, my neck was swaying with the rooftops as my eyes were seduced by the artistic ensembles.
Beneath The Canvas 