I came back from England disillusioned and depressed. It wasn’t that British people didn’t like Americans- it was just that they would rather talk to their fellow superior beings, other Brits. If you made small talk with your bartender, store cashier, or the group sitting next to you in the dining hall, they would of course reciprocate ever so politely- but never would they initiate such a thing, and they inwardly judged you for disrupting Well Established Decorum.
It was a relief, then, come June, to walk the streets of Cambridge- Cambridge Massachusetts, that is. I found it quite refreshing to exchange smiles with strangers on our respective walks to work, and to be greeted by the friendly crossing guard at the corner of Charles and Hurley streets.
“Good morning, Erin.”
“Good morning, Anthony.”
Each day we talked a little longer. I learned that Anthony’s aunt was turning one hundred, but she didn’t want Obama to call her- he does that, apparently, calls people on their hundredth birthday. So Anthony arranged instead for the Cambridge City Council to sing to her on local TV. Anthony was very interested in politics because he used to work “in the media” and once interviewed Walter Cronkite. He had to retire to take care of his aunt, but he keeps his mind sharp by reading extensively and listening to Harvard radio.
Anthony listened to an installment of Wagner’s fifteen hour opera The Ring every Sunday. From seven p.m. to midnight he would follow along with his book and immerse himself in the composer’s imaginary world.
And every week he would update me on what had just happened.
“Brünnhilde is trapped among the rocks, surrounded by fire,” he explained, his eyes lighting up as he described how the heroine raised her voice in competition with the roaring orchestral music meant to convey intensifying blaze. Anthony acted out swordfights and battles, completely forgetting about other pedestrians as they walked unassisted across the ever-empty neighborhood street.
I learned a lot about The Ring from our daily conversations. But I also learned something that has nothing to do with mythology or opera or art.
On my last day of work, I expected to be sad to leave my co-workers, who had become my friends over those eight weeks. I did not expect to miss Anthony the crossing guard just as much.
I hope he found another morning companion…I think he has…every commute could use an Anthony. You never know what you are missing when you only bother about yourself.
-Erin Horan