Only 3 Stops to Dizzy's

Dumbest move on my NY trip? Going without a map. I mean, I love exploring a city by just going where my feet take me, but if you want to go somewhere specific a map is definitely a useful tool.

One of those places I wanted to go to was Dizzy's Diner on 9th Street. I was told I would be able to get some mighty good breakfast there. It was only a couple of subway stops from where I was staying, so normally I would have walked had I had a map, but now I didn't...

And that's how I ended up in the next encounter...

Let me first say that there is a way to do things, and I'm not convinced I handled the situation in the best possible way.On the other hand I did something, where before I would have just felt bad.

I got on the subway and since it was after the morning rush there were some spots to sit. I randomly picked one.

On the opposite side of the aisle were a mother and a daughter. Their clothes clearly showed that they were religious people. They were both deeply concentrated on reading their holy books.

We got to the next stop and a man got on. He too went to sit on the opposite side of the aisle, in an angle from the mother and daughter.

If you know the NY subway system, you know that there isn't a lot of personal space. It wasn't exactly the man's choice to be that close. Clearly the mom still thought the man was sitting too close to them. While looking at him she asked the daughter to move up a spot so she could get away from the man.

At first I was surprised. What had just happened? The man did not look uncared for, nor did he smell bad. I saw no reason for the woman to want to move away from this man.

Until I saw the look on the man’s face; a look of intense hurt. He shook his head. He looked at them and then looked at me. He shook his head again and looked away, out of the window.

Do I need to point out to you that the man was black?

I felt disgusted by what just happened, but normally I would have also felt too self-conscious to do something. I would have quickly looked away and minded my own business hoping someone else would stand up for this man. But the man had looked at me. Not at the person next to me; at me.

I got up, crossed the aisle and sat down next to the man loudly stating that I DID want to sit next to him. To spite the mother and daughter I wasn't going to be quiet about what I had just witnessed.

Yes, I stood up for this man, but I did it in a way that would make the mother and daughter feel bad. And that's where I feel I went about it in the wrong way. It's not with hatred that we change people's vision of the world.

Yet the man looked at me and smiled. He told me he was tired of fighting this battle and that he had given up on standing up for himself. Looking at the mother and daughter he told me that he used to be a man of the Bible himself, but that he was no longer able to read it more than once or twice a week.

I felt his sadness when he told me this. It was like him telling me he could no longer believe, because the real world kept showing him that it wasn't ever going to be like in the Bible.

I had to admit to him that I don't know the Bible or any other holy book from the beginning till the end, but that I was pretty sure that in none of them does it say that one person is meant to treat another person like a lesser human being.

I told him that instead I was pretty sure that life was meant to be the way he and I were living it in that particular moment: Two people freely exchanging a moment in time, a moment that for us didn't last any longer than 3 subway stops.

And that’s how I made it to breakfast.

Lola

Sitting on the terrace of the bar in my street eating a chicken, that’s how I find Lola this Friday afternoon. She’s tucking in with her hands and her face shows how much she enjoys this simple meal.

I sit down at the table with her for a drink, because sitting down at a different table is not what you do at the bar in my street.

We’re talking and chatting and laughing. 

Lola is a woman full of energy, a woman that looks like she’s enjoying life to the fullest. She’s beautiful in her being. She makes me want to take her picture.

I get up and go home to get my camera.

As I get back Lola immediately starts posing. This isn’t actually how I wanted things to go. I prefer shooting people unnoticed and Lola is visibly not at ease posing.  But since I promised her to take pictures that is what I do.

When she starts talking again she tells me that she doesn't like her pictures taken, because in pictures you can see the soul of a person. They reflect the sadness that's hidden deep within.

She grabs her bag and takes out a picture of her mom, holds it next to her own face and asks me if I see why her mom has always hated her? She tells me she is one of four sisters and three brothers, but she's the only one hated by her mom.

Of course I see it; Lola looks exactly like her mom. So when Lola sees pictures of herself, she sees her mom and feels her hatred.

Soon I’ll find out though that unfortunately that’s not all the sadness Lola carries inside.

Giorgio, the waiter, asks me to show him the pictures I took of him and Lola, because he’s interested in me taking pictures for him for a photo book he needs for his work. So as I do, Lola asks me if she can also see the pictures I took of her.

I flip through the pictures with her and Lola starts crying. She grabs her arms to hug herself and shows me the goose bumps. She shows a whole array of emotions and for a moment I fear her getting angry with me. 

Then she suddenly grabs some identity card out of her bag and shows it to me. I do not recognize the person in the picture.

It’s the picture of a woman wearing a headscarf and a totally blank facial expression. I don’t see what she’s showing me, I don’t get what I’m supposed to see, until she starts talking again.

The person in the picture is Lola. It’s the Lola that was enslaved in an abusive marriage for 10 long years.  

The marriage ended a mere two years ago when her now ex-husband threatened to kill her bastard kids from her first marriage. That’s when Lola found the courage she needed to break free.

The picture that made her cry is a picture where she’s having some fun with Giorgio. It shows the same gesture of her grabbing herself to hug herself. It also shows a shift in emotion from the fun she’s having with Giorgio back to the dark place where she used to live in.

I promised her not to show that picture.

Lola, sweet, Lola. Always laughing, always dancing!!!

As a side note: While comforting Lola I told her that I know how she feels. She quickly retorted “Oh, do you?” Of course I don’t. As much as I was stuck in a bad marriage for years for things out of my control, I never had to fear for my life or the life of my children. A story isn’t about the writer, unless it’s an autobiography.