Friday, April 20, 2012

TTC Baby

They were playing house, that's what they were doing (the young black couple on the subway with the bright-eyed baby boy). Morning rush-hour. The cars were full—of course! I people was people watching.

Okay, maybe he was playing; you could barely hear her, but him...hmph. He spoke just a little too loudly like he wanted the other passengers to notice that he was a father, a real man, but not like his dad; no, he was cool. You could tell he was cool by their crisp, straight-brimmed Orioles caps (the boy wore one too) and their equally crisp and tastefully coordinated outfits. But the kid, he was something like six years old. Daddy should have been used to it all by now. By now riding the TTC with the little man should be about “Getting him to Aunty Beth's so I can go watch UFC with the boys” and not about announcing "Hey, I'm doing at least one thing that I should!" to strangers on The Rocket.

His girlfriend, or baby mama, or whatever, was a different story; she wasn't playing. Nah, you could tell she was an old-hand at all of this. It was getting old. If you asked her she'd never admit it; how do you tell people, "Sometimes I hate my kid" or, “I wish he had never been born cos I’d have gone to college to be a lawyer or something instead of endlessly folding and hanging and asking, ‘Can I help you find anything?’ day in and out at Urban Behavior”? But she played along anyway because maybe, just maybe, he’d like the game enough this time to want to play again next week. Son of a bitch! She loved him and hated him all at once. Sometimes he was just so damn hawt and others she couldn’t stand to have him touch her. Who the fuck was he playing for anyway? Why the act? Like she didn't already know the real story?! Like they both didn’t?! As if!

I suppose that some of it's sour grapes with me. I mean, really! How is it that I don't have any kids and this guy does? Yeah, I know, it's my own fault mostly. I've been busy with life. Busy biting off more than I can chew. Busy contemplating my life. Busy looking for God. Busy looking for her.  Maybe he's a good dad. Maybe it's all in my head and in a few years I'll be the one with the kid on the subway who people think is a little too happy to be a father—cos ya know I would be...

“The next station is Bloor, Bloor Interchange Station.” Shit, day dreaming again! That’s my stop. I didn’t even notice when they got off.