Tomato Soup
Dear Peggy,
I want to tell you about how I thought of tomato soup on the Metro North coming back from Connecticut. How two different train conductors, checking tickets seemed to remind me of my father and younger brother. Both in demeanor, stature and just the right amount of melanin in their skin. And oh god… how it did make me weep. I thought of tomato soup after one of them picked up my ticket from the headrest seat-pocket, and asked me if my ticket had any value. God, he made me nervous when he asked me that. He only asked because I had decided to buy my ticket on a metro card instead of a one- time sale, “Off Peak,” ticket fare. He watched as I fumbled through my bag, looking for my receipt to prove that I bought a round trip ticket and then he could see that he had made me think that my fare wasn’t sufficient, so he finally sighed and said, “Nah, it’s ok,” and walked on.
He had interrupted my reading. The subject of the book was on loneliness in cities, so it was no deep surprise that when he asked me about my value, I took it personally. I thought about tomato soup as he went about his rounds and I started to cry. Something about getting older and living in New York makes you care less about bawling in public spaces. My father told me once that he worked for the railroad in Omaha when he was a young man. He didn’t make much money. He would make tomato soup from ketchup packets and the hot water dispenser, used for serving tea to the passangers for lunch. When things got real rough, my father said he lifted a few ketchup packets to take home and he’d make the same soup for dinner.
I began to think hard about me own struggles with money and debt and quickly realized that I have never had it as bad as my dad. The second conductor doing ticket rounds, was large with broad shoulders and very tall, which reminded me of my little brother. His uniform, resembled that of a drum major in a marching band. This instantly took me back to when my brother was first discovering his love for music and was slated to audition for our school marching band. He practiced and rehearsed, sun up, to sun down, with the end of one of mom’s kitchen broom sticks, in our garage. Tossing the stick up and around in the air and going over all the routines. The amount of pride my whole family felt toward my brother’s discipline, talents and abilities made our hearts burst. When audition day came, it was a complete shoe-in. He was named drum major of the school marching band. I miss going to the football games and watching my little brother lead the rest of the band onto the field during half time. I would scream into the crowd, “THAT’S MY BROTHER… YEAAAAHHHH!!!” My mother would scream, “THAT’S MY SON, YOU BETTAH MARCH BOY!!!” And we would cry and cry from joy and pride. Just bursting with it.
And Peggy, we don’t do any of these things anymore. Dad doesn’t have to worry about where his next meal will come from. He’s retired now, from a forty year stint at the post office and eats whatever he wants, when he wants it. And my little brother is a music teacher now, at a high school in Oregon, inspiring new little drum majors to be. I just miss the stories and the family time, you know? And I wish I had someone here to tell my stories to. I still feel like a little clown you know. And I know now for sure that life is just one big play on stage with no rehearsal. But I can make something of what I’ve got.
When will you be back around this way? I know the trains a bit better now and a hot spot to get a good bowl of Vietnamese on Macdougal Street. Smack dab in between the Village and NOHO. But only if you ever get the island itch again. How’s the job going? I sure hope you’re getting enough rest? If you haven’t heard of restorative sleep Kundalini and Twinings of London’s “Nightly Calm,” tea, I tell you, it’s like magic, this combination. Never slept better! Now that I’ve been feeling more rested, there is more time to contemplate things like: Hare Krishna weddings, jade egg sex and how hair loss is common among female vegans. And above it all Peggy, I’d still rather read three books at once instead of one at a time. Call me crazy but I find it thrilling to bounce between worlds. And Peggy, at the end of the day, I’m still baffled by Amish people riding Amtrak.
Did you ever hear of making a five year plan? What’s the big deal about this latest craze? Everyone’s making a five year plan or getting married and having a baby. Everyone is going on and on about it, saying, “it’s the best thing to do if you are lonely and lost.” But Peggy, I can’t see past what I’m doing in a week from now, these days... Sometimes, I feel like a fool. But I’m not lonely and lost, I’m just a little misunderstood and unwritten on the dotted line, (in terms of my plans.) Plus, New York isn’t so bad as you think Peggy. Once you’ve got a routine down. One can never forsake the city once it’s rhythm is burrowed deep within your marrow. I’ve got a friend and a lover on Mott Street and somewhere near the Hell Gate. Where the bridge meets the grass.
Well, anyway, I’d better get back to leaning into fear and dodging the curve balls…
Love you more than my luggage Peggs!
Bless up!
