Brown Bettie Knows Best
~ I may not be funny, but I sure know what is.
Y' know how it's funny as shit to watch 70s movies
like Shaft or Every Which Way But Loose and in the
mandatory big Chevy Impala chase scene, an old
white-haired lady is caught in the middle of the
street and tumbles over the hood of the Chevy,
groceries flying, only to find that if you s-l-o-w down
the movie and watch it frame-by-frame, you will see
how the tumbling white lady is actually a burly stunt
double; in fact, a big black man with a mustache?
Well, that shit is funny until it happens right in front of
your FACE!
The other day, I was riding up the metro escalator at
Mustek (Green) in Prague. I’ve been here a year
now and in this land where personal space is not
exactly a thing, I like to create my own. Especially
on the escalator. Pavel will absently bump you with
his briefcase from behind with nary a "Pardon" or
Honza and Bara will be sucking each other's faces
off right in front of you as though they were on take
number five of an Orbit gum commercial. So I've
started giving one step of space in front, minimum;
more, if I can.
Alternatively, I've noticed something about myself.
Sometimes I get too close. I get close because I
want to be noticed and I don't want to give
people, strangers specifically, the opportunity to
push me away. (The opposite is true with family and
close, close friends. Sometimes I push them away
because I can't handle the demanding intimacy of
all that closeness! This then prompts emails and texts
from my dad that end in, "Stay close, 'Roni".) Also,
I've realized I get close with the children I teach. I
don't have the language to use to participate in
their lives, to connect with them, especially when
we play. So, I get close. I hug, or I grab noses.
They sense my clinginess; they don't like it and they
do, they literally push me away. Or with my adults, my
peer-evaluator gave me feedback that maybe I
smile too much, maybe I'm open toooo much. So,
I've been trying to give more space. To close off my
openness. To be okay in my own space and not
need others to fill it with something. To just go
unnoticed sometimes. To not be so close. So.
An older, slightly-balding, white-haired lady with a
short, layered haircut like your Aunt Martha (on your
mother's side) was in front of me. As our steep ascent
began, like the beginning of a roller coaster ride, I
watched and saw how she gingerly held the arm of
an older man; we'll call him Uncle Stu. Aunt Martha
and Uncle Stu have been together for a while now,
as they usually are, and their non-verbal
communication is great, until it ain't.
Martha and Stu were about three stairs in front of me
because when they got on the escalator, I had
mechanically moved on back to allow for my space.
As we rode along, Aunt Martha turned to the side
and I saw her profile. In that moment, I remember
thinking, "I should move a little closer." I think I thought
this because I had caught something a little vacant
in Aunt Martha's eye. A cloudy nothingness, let's say.
Or maybe I saw her fingers gently slip away like water
from Uncle Stu's arm, unbeknownst to him. Believe
me, I wish I had fol lowed my instincts because in
slow-motion, frame-by-frame real life, Aunt Martha
started to topple backwards, toward me. I heard
myself shouting, "Hey! Hey! Pozor. Počkejte!" As I tried
to do something, but my own arms were jumbled
with my heavy camouflage book bag and a Tesco
shopping bag full of supplies for the show and the
Brown Betties workshop.