Gypsy Lady
I let
my eyes wander, never settling too long on anyone person. I have learned that
the unwritten law of the subway commute is look, don’t stare. I observed quickly, a man of twenty, pushing thirty, sporting a flannel
shirt, opened enough to reveal his superman t-shirt peeking out. His thick horned rimmed glasses framed of
black plastic rested on his nose. His
blonde hair was trimmed but his beard was not.
He shared the pole in the middle of the subway car with his twin from a
different mother. Before I plugged in to
Cyndi Lauper be bopping, I overheard them talking about their newest project,
capturing the New York experience in words.
Let him wait for the thirteen bus in Bushwick, at midnight on a Friday
night, now that’s a New York experience, I thought to myself.
What
inspired me to write this piece? I wrote
this piece because I found myself judging hipsters on the subway without really
knowing them. I felt like they should
take some physical action to rescue a woman in need instead of watching the
action unfold. I felt that instead of thinking
about how to write a story of what they were seeing they should actually help a
fellow human being. But then I thought how
I was not only quick to judge the hipsters on the train but the situation in
the car next to me that I was not even a witness to.
I How many times has
the train been stopped in a station and we do not even question why? We continue to read our papers, listen to our
music it’s just part of our routine. And
lastly, I felt for the gypsy woman. I do
not know her. I have never even spoken to her.
So I do not know her situation, only what she chooses to reveal to us on
the train. She may have family, she may not.
The baby might not even be hers. But I
do know that I am living from pay check to pay check. And it is not a long
distance for me to be in the same situation.
We are all humans inhabiting this earth for a short period of time.
Apparently the circle of poverty has not been broken because
she fell even deeper by stealing and putting her baby at risk in order to feed
them both.
The writer I had in mind when I wrote this piece was John
Steinbeck. I did not try to imitate his
writing style, but to try to put in my own words the plight of the poor like he
did in his works. I have always liked
his work and I have always strived to portray people the way he did in his
stories. I would like to be able to write social and political issues of my
time the way he wrote about his.
When I revise this piece I am going to try to reveal more
about myself. I am going to try to do
this by comparing the works I have read and my aspirations to illustrate the
plight of the poor the way Steinbeck did in his books but from my eyes.
This work did not come easy for me. I had five stories I had thought about writing
before I settled on this one. It was
hard for me to write what I was thinking and what I was observing without being
too melodramatic and I think I went too far the other way and had to find a
middle ground. I don’t want to tell the
reader what to think, I just wanted to take them on the same journey. But I realize now that my thoughts and
feelings are a part of that journey.
When I revise my stories I like to print them and then I
write in long hand my revisions and then I retype it. So I write the same story several times in
its entirety. That’s why I burned out on
this story, so I’m not sure about revising for my portfolio; I’m kind of tired
of looking at it now. I feel when I
write freehand my thoughts just pour out on the paper. I find myself correcting my work as I go if I’m
on the computer and I don’t do that when I put pen to paper.
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