Pause

I drag my feet down the stairs and out the door. It’s rained all night and the air is crisp and fresh. I fill my nostrils and lungs. Smile. I am one of the hundreds who walk into the Davis Square T station every morning at 8. I walk down the escalator. I see the train coming in and increase my pace. The man in front of me taps the card the wrong way and walks through anyway. The train is now standing at the platform. I tap impatiently, but the machine refuses me. The doors close and the train moves on. Damn. I slow down. Walk down the stairs. I don’t hear any music. The rain has kept the musicians away.
Two stops and a coffee later, I try to get my head around the 2003 Budget Crisis of Americorps. Once again, that feeling of inadequacy in the area of finance. I wish it were easier. Two hours later, I climb up the stairs of Gutman Library, hoping my favourite seat is waiting for me. There is much to read.
I open the door to the second floor. It’s a different world. It’s shut off from the noise everywhere else. The land of the nerds. People come here only to seriously study or to seriously take a power nap. People glower if you talk. My couch is empty. It’s the one next to the window looking over the street. I make myself comfortable. Pull my notes out. I want to steal just one glance outside. I quickly do. Now I want more. I negotiate with myself; just for five minutes please. My mind gives me permission. My eyes take in all there is to take in. The big tree spreading its branches wherever it can. Its preparing for winter. The leaves are floating down to the ground one by one. Just a few weeks ago it was bright yellow. Just a few months ago, it was green. The leaves glisten with water from the rain. It’s drizzling. A few drops lose their way and hit the window. I shift my gaze downward to the street. The old, homeless man is not sitting on his bench. Probably, the rain. Probably, on his way. A truck stops for delivery. Professors rush to make it on time for class. Students run to catch up with the professors. Reflections of buildings and trees in puddles. A group of pre-schoolers tied together with a leash, led by their care takers on their day out. The world is a beautiful place for them- dogs, cats, leaves, people, cars, buildings. Their pace: a contrast. Slow. I breathe. Smile. The homeless man is still not there. It’s raining slightly harder now. I can see the world pass by. It gives me a high. Surreal. A woman steps into a puddle by a tree. The puddle is deceptive, looks shallow but isn’t. Curses under her breath and checks if anyone saw. She doesn’t see me in the window. I suddenly feel guilty watching all these people. They seem vulnerable and exposed. More so because they don’t know someone is watching them. One last look. The homeless man didn’t come. I hope he is fine. My five minutes are up.