I overhear conversations about Barcelona's soccer team and the problems with Trump and Bernie.
Although politics and soccer are not my favorite topics, I enjoy eavesdropping on them much more than dealing with the confrontational fellow who sat nearby two days ago. I occupied this very tall, writing in a red composition notebook. I heard a gruff "Excuse me," and wondered briefly what it could be about, but didn't bother to look up.
"Excuse me," I heard it again. I looked up. A middle-aged, shabbily dressed, wild-eyed fellow sat at the table across from mine, staring at me and flashing a sinister smile.
"Yes," I reluctantly replied, looking up from my writing.
"I couldn't' help but notice..." the man started and faltered. I waited expectantly for him to continue. But he said nothing and just flashed his sinister smile again. "My name's Joe."
"Hi Joe. Good to meet you, Joe," I said quickly, then tried to return to my writing.
"I was hoping for your name," Joe intercepted my attention from my composition book.
I looked up and said nothing.
"You have a job?" Joe continued to press.
"I teach yoga," I replied.
"I read minds," Joe's teeth glinted as he reverted to his cheshire grin. "You... have a very good mind."
"Oh. Thank-you," I gritted my teeth to keep myself from blurting out all the things on my mind that he clearly wasn't picking up on.
"We've got all this space between us," Joe stared at me with his wild eyes. "You mind if I -- " he motioned toward the empty seat at my table.
"No, I'm sorry," I said firmly. "I came here to write."
I returned to my notebook with purpose and didn't look back in Joe's direction. Although that terrifying smile kept flashing across my mind the way it forced its way across Joe's face.
So yeah. I'd rather listen to politics any day.
Looking around the cafe, I notice that Bostonians don't wear many bright colors. I see black, dark blue, grey and dark purple. I feel slightly awkward and even more out of place than usual in my red boots, bright pink pants, bright purple jacket and green hat.
I'm representing all the colors.
I left the hotel yesterday at 11:52, eight minutes before check-out. I set off towards Boston Common, found a bench, and willed my freezing fingers to write. I watched a golden retriever romp about for a few minutes, running from person to person, trying to get one of the park goers to engage in a playful chase.
Should I go? I wrote in my journal. I really want to, but I don't want the awkward embarrassment of trying to lug my suitcase into Massachusetts's State House.
Yesterday was White Ribbon day. Celebrated on the first Thursday of March, White Ribbon Day is a movement that attempts to redefine manliness in an effort to end gender based violence. The following is an excerpt from their website:
About Massachusetts White Ribbon Day Campaign
As part of an international human rights effort, the Massachusetts White Ribbon Day Campaign invites men and boys to be part of the solution in ending violence against women.
On the first Thursday in March, men throughout Massachusetts speak out to:
change societal attitudes and beliefs that perpetuate and make excuses for violence against women! promote safety and respect in all relationships and situations! build a network of resounding voices that will support and advance the initiatives and efforts of Jane Doe Inc. and its member organizations to promote the safety, liberty and dignity of survivors!
Follow this link to learn more about the White Ribbon Campaigns around the world.
Our personal pledge for this campaign reflects what we envision and want to create: Finding a solution to end men's violence against women. This will take all of us working together, and being part of the solution means putting the pledge to help into action.
I timidly entered the security line and said to the stiff looking guard in the most apologetic tone I could manage, "I'm so sorry... I had to check out of my hotel at 12:00, but I really wanted to attend the White Ribbon celebration. Is it okay if I take my luggage? I understand if it -- "
"As long as you're not plannin' on movin' in," the guard interrupted me.
"What?" I couldn't quite understand what was happening.
"Well," his eyes twinkled, "we haven't got any extra rooms," he said as my luggage was scanned.
And that's how I ended up at the White Ribbon Celebration with my luggage stuffed under my feet in a packed auditorium with the governor of Massachusetts and many other persons of importance.
Jane Doe's executive director, Debra Robbin, introduced the event. She was followed by Governor Charlie Baker, who shared about his role in ending domestic violence. Thaddeus Miles, the director of MassHousing and community service followed him. Then Andre Tippet, Executive Director of Community Affairs for the New England Patriots took the mic and talked about how to end sexism in sports. Then we heard from Captain Brett Millican, the commanding officer of Boston's Coast Guard, who talked about ending gender-based violence in the US armed forces.
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| That fellow is the governor of Massachusetts. |
But my favorite presenter was Charlie Lake, a young transgender high schooler of 17. He shared a profoundly vulnerable, powerful poem about his struggles as "Taylor". And what he learned from living in a feminine body for so many years. And that acknowledging and cherishing the feminine is not something that makes men weak. It's something that makes men whole.
There was a hip hop artist, a sheriff and another representative of Jane Doe.
Then we all stood and took the Massachusetts White Ribbon Day Pledge
I WILL PROMOTE respect, dignity and equality.
I WILL SPEAK OUT against attitudes and behaviors that contribute to sexual assault and domestic violence.
I WILL REMIND myself and others that gender and violence is a men's issue that affects all of us, regardless of our backgrounds and identities.
I WILL CONFRONT sexism, homophobia, transphobia, racism and other forms of oppression.
I WILL FIND OUT how to help when I suspect that someone I know is a victim or offender of sexual assault or domestic violence.
Gosh... I'm so happy I went. What an experience. What a surprising, profound, uplifting experience.
I made my way to Park Street Metro to commence my journey to Harvard Sq to meet my couchsurfing host. Boston's metro is ridiculously slow, but I'm still pretty much in love with it because A) it's public transportation in the US and B) it's all in English. So I have no problem understanding the announcers. And sometimes the announcers are feeling really bored/creative, so use silly voices. Which makes me roll my eyes on the outside, but fall in love on the inside.
I met my host in Harvard Sq just after five pm. We exchanged a few pleasantries and then hopped on a bus heading towards her gym. She had invited me to join her for a yoga class, and I'd been all too happy to oblige. On the way to the gym, we chatted about travel experiences and the difficulties of obtaining visas. We walked through the gym doors at just after six pm, and while we were stuffing our things into a locker, my host let me know that the yoga class didn't start for another hour.
"I'm going to run. You can run, or..."
"I actually mostly haven't eaten all day..." I said as my stomach grumbled in agreement. " Is there a place nearby you would recommend?"
"Well... there's a Trader Joe's about a fifteen minute walk from here..."
"THAT," I responded with more certainty than I've felt in days, "tell me how to get to THAT."
So I bought cheese and chocolate and bananas and sausage and your and peanut butter cups. Hallelujah. Holy Cow.
The yoga class was great, but I've noticed that I have a hard time enjoying other teacher's classes these days. I've become too critical.
NO! INJURY! Don't tell people to jump back to high plank! That can hurt the rotator cuffs. Which is HORRIBLE. Half plank, lady. Jump back to HALF PLANK. With elbows in and knuckles pressed down and --
But in spite of my mad mental mutterings, I still managed to enjoy the class. Then I followed my host through neighborhoods, across intersections and metro stations as we journey back to her triple decker home in Savin Hill. Where I ate at least six Trader Joe's peanut butter cups and then promptly passed out.
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