Me and My Luggage

I didn’t rent a car.  I stayed with a friend in San Francisco.  But the next night I planned to stay with a friend in Oakland.  Between here and there I’d be traveling with my luggage. A number of texts from overnight.  “Can we meet at the Milbrae Bart?”  Oh dear.  Where is Milbrae again?  I rifle through ways I might avoid this schlepp.  But by the time I’m done with my shower I confirm. 

Uber wanted a 2.7x fare hike.  It was 8:45AM. Right.  Rush hour.  My host graciously chauffeured me down to the BART, after dropping his son off at day care.  Magical really, to be with a child who has yet to turn two, who has just latched on to language.  I had my younger daughter in that same apartment to visit him ten years ago.  She looked just like that at that back then and this made me mark the time.

Me and my luggage: a rather well stuffed backpack shouldered and a small but bloated suitcase on wheels, were going to have a big day.   I had my winter trench coat over a short sleeve shirt to accommodate the unpredictable San Francisco weather. It is forgiving to consider that there is no known record of how I looked and I set out across the U.N. Plaza. 

The escalator down to the BART station was out of service.  I lifted my luggage in my left hand and grabbed the banister with my right.  The smell of last night’s urine was overwhelming, captured as it was by the rising brick walls around me.  How many people contributed to this outrageous stench?  Is this what it’s like when ten people urinate here during a night, or fifty or three hundred and eighty? 

The same lady’s voice still announces the cars heading towards Daly City: “Nine car Daly City train, now approaching.”  The same guy still announces train’s going the other way.  A friend wants to talk using wechat, which I try to do over the din of the screeching car.  I’m distracted listening to him and don’t notice till I look up and see the Balboa Park Station where I used get off when I was a middle school teacher. 

At Milbrae there was no up escalator.  I carried the bag.  And, the down escalator to the parking lot was also not available.  Stoic.  Steady.  ‘It’s good for you.’  Back at Powel Station, a few hours later.  Lots of urine and ammonia in the underground passageway here as well.  Up, out and south for a long walk to end of 4^th St., deeper and deeper into SoMa.  Two meetings and another BART ride later, I consider another walk up from Civic Center to Laguna St.  Just me and my luggage, rolling, mounting stpes, traipsing round the city, taking up extra space, wherever we stop.  I am ready to be home.