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Wednesday, May 25, 2005

Shelter

This morning things hit rock bottom when I committed the ultimate embarrassment: I cried on the bus. As I sat by the window surrounded by quiet people lost in their own thoughts, hundreds of others driving alone in their cars and gray skies drizzling a light rain, the melancholy beauty of Ray LaMontagne’s voice amplified the melancholy-yet-hopeful lyrics of “Shelter,” untied the knot of my stomach and unburied tears:

“Everything I have to give I’ll give to you…
All of this around us’ll fall over
I tell you what we’re gonna do
You will shelter me, my love,
And I will shelter you.”

There are a few things I hate: One is to feel like I let down someone who depended on me. Another is to feel like I didn’t perform to my capabilities. Another is to feel foolish, and a final is to feel powerless. Yesterday — with a combination of disappointments at work and in other areas — I felt all of those at once. So I did what any normal person would do. I let things fester and then I cried. In public. Luckily, I don’t think anyone noticed, but still…

When the bus lumbered to a stop at 5th and Marquette, I walked into the sounds of the city and the damp sidewalks, my umbrella held by my side, tightly wrapped and velcro-secured, the rain running cold down my neck. After a block of feeling appropriately miserable, I pushed the button, my umbrella opened with a snap and I walked the remaining two blocks to work under the shelter not of LaMontagne’s “my love,” but of black nylon. Sometimes you take what you can get.

Posted by Aaron on May 25, 2005 9:15 AM