I see it all, from the overnight bag to the space age 4-wheelers you can wheel up right beside you. Some people look like they've got a LOT. Two old suitcases, one on wheels, and a box taped shut. And a cloth shopping bag. And purse. Going to Windsor in an hour or so. For a long time? Forever?
More than anything, I love the sight of a person traveling with a pillow. Tucked under the arm. In inclement weather it might be jammed in a garbage or department store bag. But it's nicest exposed, tucked under. Or better, embraced, in front, by the two free arms of a backpack-wearer.
It's an ordinary object with an extraordinary task. Cushioning and caressing the head, the container of awareness, ostensible commander of our bodies, keeper of dreams, repository of tears, of smiles, of twinkling eyes, hopes, ideas, good deeds. Mistakes, lies, key plays, brave phrases, vulnerabilities encased in bone. Memory, ancestry. Our existence & our remains.
Carrying a pillow through the streets and into the station and onto the train is not just about getting this object from A to B. It's an act of intimacy, an admission of humanity, an expression of solidarity. A reminder of all the things I've been carrying and how I lay me down.
