On the Shoulders of Giants

"How do you numb your skin after the warmest touch?" -- Jann Arden

I left work so late today that I actually got a seat on my usual train. Thus, instead of my usual quest to avoid eye contact with my fellow commuters and remain standing upright without touching anything, I got to spend my subway ride people-watching. Specifically, watching the two people occupying the bench directly across from me.

Across the aisle sat the most fearsome woman I've ever seen. She was enormous -- six foot six if she was an inch and broad enough to play linebacker for the Jets. She wore choppy hair that looked as if it had been trimmed with an axe, steel-toed boots that could crush a human skull with ease, and a deep scowl etched on her ruddy face.

Next to her sat a small, balding, twentysomething man. He wore a blazer and jeans and he loosely clutched a briefcase. And, every few minutes, he'd doze off.

Now I've spent a lifetime learning how to recognize various breeds of subway sleepers -- the drunks, the druggies, the hung-over, the fakers, the ill, the crazy, the newly deceased. This man, however, fit into none of these categories.

He was clearly, obviously, just plain tired.

He'd jump, widen his eyes, and shake himself awake repeatedly, only to nod off once again a few moments later. Then, three stops from my home, sleep claimed him for good. His head drooped forwards, tilted to the left... and eventually came to rest snugly against the muscular, plaid-covered shoulder of the fearsome woman.

She froze, inclined her head slightly, and peered at the man out of the corner of her eye. The scowl on her face deepened. He cuddled a little closer.

I expected the woman to say something, move over, push the man upright, and/or crush his feeble body under her mighty fist. Instead, she shrugged and left him right where he was. They were still sitting in comfy, companionable silence when I reached my stop and exited the train.