When I crossed over into the Public Gardens there were fewer people to watch. I focused in on the feeling of rebirth. I could distinctly feel the presence of change, or starting anew. The patches of earth where bright flowers are usually on display, lay brown rough soil. The swan pond was empty of water and sticky wet dirt exposed a naked hole. The wooden boards where swan boats dock showed their water marks like legs, ankle deep in old mud.
I heard a woman shouting in the distance. I saw two black dogs run into the 'Swan Lake', one much faster and more determined than the other. That dog headed straight for the lounging ducks and the long necked geese. He barked and barked and chased each bird out of the swampy brown arena. When he finally headed back to his owner he was covered completely. His hair was slick and sticking to his skinny frame. He went from brown to black. I figured that was the best day he had seen in a while, maybe his whole life. I thought of that dog again, later.
I left the Garden and walked up Newbury Street then to Boylston. I checked the time. I would be right on time for the event.
I headed up the escalator stairs at the yellowish Border's book store. I looked into the area where the book signing would be. The seats were almost filled. A few remained but a woman quickly told me that they were reserved for the rest of the seniors. I stood in the aisle, feeling like I had too many bags. I was overheating and couldn't get comfortable. I took off my coat and stood, watching this group of elderly people.
I watched one woman take out her small pill box, a palm sized gold circle with tiny compartments. She plucked a tiny pill out of each section and took out a mini water bottle that was partially covered in aluminum foil from her purse.
It smelled like farts and old bodies. It wasn't repulsive. I had the kind of respect for these seniors you have when you know you will eventually be one, and you will want that respect. A mental fast forward that leads logical minds to the inevitability of mortality and the human life. I didn't know them, but one day I would be them. Their hands were shaky, their lipstick shades too red. Their smiles were filled with cracks , wrinkles that spoke of sun, love, stress and grandchildren. Some of the shakes were slight and involuntary. Some of them were nervous. It was their day to be proud. Their stories meant something.
I attended the book signing of the authors of the newly published BORN BEFORE PLASTIC. A compilation of essays written by the citizens of Boston, part of the on-going Memoir Project sponsored by Grub Street and the City of Boston. I was able to meet and talk to the amazing contributors, and hear from the makers of the history here, the city where I live. The city where I love. Maybe, the city where I grow old. The city where this dog - will have it's day.
