rememberances of things past

I am contemplative now.

This morning I awoke at 10. Made some coffee in my french press and read a few months worth of Achewood.
Left the house with the clock nearing 14. iPod for company.
Off at Majorstua: Oslo's west side. Fancy boutiques and fancier people.
Wandered looking for a radical left bookstore I'd heard was hidden in the neighborhood. No luck.
Even as the rain started falling I refused to ride on the trikk. I slowly made my way east, staying just north of the city center and the nucleus of Karl Johans.
In and out of back streets, I found myself at Oslo's library. The rain was picking up so I stopped in. Found the English section and picked out Bradbury. Spent the next hour reading Fahrenheit 451. How have I not read this before? A comfy chair in the library was the perfect setting to begin.
Closing time forced me out again. I made my way past the Rockefeller and John Dee to Torgata. Found my destination: Big Dipper Records. Barely ignored Velvet Underground on vinyl. Found what I was looking for: Tom Waits, Small Change. On sale for 100 kroner (~$18...on sale). I'm already on borrowed money. Tom will wait.
Wanting a sit-down and a coffee I followed Torgata back to Youngstorget, then back to Grensen. Sentrum. Swung into Bare Jazz: through their wet courtyard, through their ground level jazz store, and up to their cafe. Coffee and Ghandi.
Mingus brought me home.

This is what made me contemplative. Sitting on the T-Bane, not making eye contact with the person sitting right in front of me as the typical Norwegian shouldn't. Remembered NYC. Remembered a certain subway ride.

Many of you have heard this story. In many ways it summed up my experience in New York. It was a turning point of sorts, but one that I don't understand and never will.

I think it was October. It was cold enough for Steve (RAJ!) and I to wear hoodies. Steve and I were in the Jamaica stop. We were gonna ride the L through Brooklyn down to Manhattan to meet some folks. As were getting on a fellow rider began engaging us in conversation. Soon she asked us if we were together. Then asked if we were brothers. She began complimenting us, saying we were good guys, we were cute, etc. She said she wasn't good enough for us. I. don't remember how we responded, or even if we did.
She asked if she could confess something to us. That morning she had found out she was pregnant.
She asked us if she should keep the baby. If she should get an abortion.
She cried.
She told us she was a drug addict. Heavy stuff. She was on her way right then to get a fix.

I don't remember how we responded. I don't remember how the conversation ended. I remember she got off, because more people were to come.

We were already in a bit of shock when he sat down across from us. Where the woman had sat. He just started talking to us, asking what we did, where we lived, etc. He started talking about his church. He continued for a while, I was checked out but Steve was a believer so they talked. Dude invited Steve to his church. I remember it was in Forest Hills. He gave Steve an invitation and his card. Then he left.

A haggard looking man came around asking for change. He ignored the drunk passed out in the corner of the subway car. I don't think we gave him anything. We were pretty broke ourselves.

A couple stops later a father and daughter came in. The dad was young, early 20's. His daughter was under 5. Probably 3 but I don't do age well with kids. The dad was flagged out. A blood. Thumping hip-hop coming from his headphones. We could hear it clearly and it held near constant swearing. Gangsta rap? Does it matter? Daughter curled up on bench with head in father's lap. Asleep, somehow.

The train finally finished clattering through Brooklyn. We got off and met our party. Another corpsmember and a couple art students he had met at a music festival a few months prior. We hopped back on the MTA network. This time the booze cruise: the Staten Island Ferry. $2 Bud tallboys sold on the ferry and cigs brought us past the Statue of Liberty. We smoked American Spirits when we had the money. That was a Parliament night.
We ended up at the students' place in Brooklyn. Cramped and awkward forties.

Somehow that night defines my New York. What will define my Oslo? Will it be today? A lonely rainy day?

One month done. Nine to go.