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muckefuckI was sitting on the el platform waiting for a southbound train yesterday evening when a young person came over to the other side of the bench and plopped down, straddling it. I had my nose down in a book and watched out of the corner of my eye as they pulled out a piece of posterboard and a bag of markers or coloured pencils and started drawing on it.
"I brough all this other stuff and--wouldn't you know it--I forgot an eraser!" she said to no one in particular. (Only after hearing her voice and glancing over to confirm the presence of breasts was I sure of her sex.) A few feet behind me, a man laughed. I smiled sympathetically but went back to reading. Moments before the train arrived, she looked up again and asked me, "Do you think that horror movies cause people to become more violent or encourage violence in any way?"
I stared at her for a several seconds, trying to suss out what kind of reaction she was going for. Finally, she said, "It's kind of a catch-22." I felt like I couldn't not say anything, so as the train was pulling up I managed to come out with, "I think they give people ideas but I don't think they can make someone violent if they're not prone to violence already." Violence is learned in the home, I wanted to add, thinking of my father's outbursts and the fights I got into with my siblings.
But there wasn't time to add that last bit because of the squeal of the train's brakes. From her expression, I gauged that it wasn't the answer she expected. At that point, she went to one side of the car and I went to another. I couldn't tell if she was still drawing something since I was once again buried in my novel, though I did look up as she got off the train and shot me a friendly smile again.
"I brough all this other stuff and--wouldn't you know it--I forgot an eraser!" she said to no one in particular. (Only after hearing her voice and glancing over to confirm the presence of breasts was I sure of her sex.) A few feet behind me, a man laughed. I smiled sympathetically but went back to reading. Moments before the train arrived, she looked up again and asked me, "Do you think that horror movies cause people to become more violent or encourage violence in any way?"
I stared at her for a several seconds, trying to suss out what kind of reaction she was going for. Finally, she said, "It's kind of a catch-22." I felt like I couldn't not say anything, so as the train was pulling up I managed to come out with, "I think they give people ideas but I don't think they can make someone violent if they're not prone to violence already." Violence is learned in the home, I wanted to add, thinking of my father's outbursts and the fights I got into with my siblings.
But there wasn't time to add that last bit because of the squeal of the train's brakes. From her expression, I gauged that it wasn't the answer she expected. At that point, she went to one side of the car and I went to another. I couldn't tell if she was still drawing something since I was once again buried in my novel, though I did look up as she got off the train and shot me a friendly smile again.
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