I almost lost it today. In a city where no one cares who you are or what you’re “trying” to do it’s hard to keep your chin up.
As I sat on my orange B-train seat, my thighs smeared all over the orange plastic I stared into the distance, which really wasn’t too distant because my train is always Mexi-packed. My eyes became fixated on the 12-year-old’s jeans pressed against my face. I could feel the failure swelling in my eyes and wondered if the strangers on the train knew what misery I was in. Then it became clear: The Virgin Mary’s face was embedded into the denim staring me in the face.
Am I crazy or did the Virgin Mary really manifest in this boy’s pants to tell me not to give up, to keep fighting and to stick it out in New York?