The curse of being me is extreme sensitivity sometimes. It doesn’t happen that often- maybe once or twice a year. Can’t help it! Just the way God made me. What others gloss over or ignore, I tend to obsess about. Not gonna apologize. The very talented Gregory Page has a line in one of his most beautiful songs, “That ain’t right or wrong.”
Once we went to the track with House and all the peeps from the office. It was one of those “You spend tons of money with our company, and so we are inviting you to act like millionaires in the private luxury box” scenarios.
It was fun to have our own private bartender, betting window and food and drinks galore, but in the 8th race, one of the horses broke down in the last stretch. I was stunned. After the race, everyone flooded towards the exit, but I meandered down to the track and watched to see if the horse would make it. I couldn’t break my gaze as I watched them put up a tent around the horse and tend to him. I must have stood there for around 3o minutes until I realized I was the ONLY person left at the track and my party was probably waiting for me in their car.
They were. I pretended I got lost as I was loathe to tell them why I was really so late. We heard the Del Mar Race recap on the radio ,and they announced that the horse that went down in the 8th had been put down. God, I wanted to cry, but I didn’t. Not until I got to my own car and then I sobbed like a little baby. So silly, I know. Whatever! I am not going to apologize. Somebody needed to cry for the creature. Might as well be me.
Last night found me in a similar situation. During the 8th inning of the Padres game, we went up to the ladies room. There was a huge line and a Padres usher was directing people to use other restrooms. I heard her say, “Someone is passed out in there.” The person I was with looked annoyed and said, “Well, just step over her.”
I looked at my friend and remarked that it sounded a little more serious than just passing out. Don’t know why, but I thought of a story my friend told me about his grandmother having to step over deceased people to get water during World War 2 in Italy. In that case, it was survival. In this case, all that was being called for was for others to suffer s slight inconvenience out of simple respect and humanity to someone suffering from illness.
As we made our way back from the alternate restroom, I saw a group of paramedics wheeling a stretcher out. The patient was covered from head to toe- indicating to me that the person was dead. I looked at my friend in shock. There was a group of 20 yr old hipsters following behind laughing and snapping pictures-no doubt destined for Facebook or Twitter.
My friend shrugged and said, “Wow, that is sure a downer.”
Downer? Wow, Downer? I immediately grew tearful. No, I didn’t know the person, I didn’t see them pass out, I didn’t know about their world, but I couldn’t help feeling bad and saying a little prayer. It bothered me the rest of the night. I kept thinking about this person and their family and about how this person lost their life and people were laughing. Maybe I am just a tad too sensitive. People die every minute of every day. Don’t know why this struck me so profoundly.
As we were leaving, my friend remarked about a caterpillar she saw trying to cross between two grass areas on the concrete sidewalk where thousands of exiting fans were tromping and how it wasn’t going to make it. It didn’t really register until we had gone about 50 feet. I immediately slowed and contemplated turning around and trying to save the caterpillar, but I didn’t. I stood for about 30 seconds as people rushed all around me, caught in a swirl of indecision. I should have. It felt like saving the caterpillar would make up for the other loss that was suffered that night. And that is just stupid as hell, I know!!! Don’t freaking ask me why I made the correlation. I just did… And I didn’t act. I should have saved the caterpillar!
In the scheme of things, one sorry ass little caterpillar doesn’t matter. But I sure wish I would have stopped and done it. Maybe it is bothering me because saving the caterpillar would have meant having some insane measure of control over a life- any life. Maybe that’s it.........
The Greek name for a butterfly is Psyche, and the same word means the soul.
So the sensitive little soul I have says to the person who lost theirs last night: You are in my thoughts and prayers as well as your family. And to let you know that each and every time I see a caterpillar in need, I WILL stop and give aid. In your honor. It’s your legacy now. ……..
