Private Matters

In the comforts of my own home, behind closed doors, I laugh while reading. I laugh, rather I snort, sometimes gasping for air. I hoot over crazy family scenes that play like a slideshow of my childhood - bad road trips, ruined family dinners, neurotic parents. I laugh partly out of relief - my father is not alone in his quest for the greenest grass in the subdivision - partly out of an author's clever word play. I am a sucker for language. Speak in puns and clever analogies, and I am yours.

However, in the mini dramedy that is public transportation, I confine my side aching laughter to a smile and maybe a quick in take of air. Yes, I do find myself shaking to hold in the giggles. But few would notice a passenger shaking, while all would notice the girl shrieking in hysterics. They might even call for help.

With strangers, I am naturally a shy wall flower; making this blog an odd outlet for my desire to write. I do not like to be noticed, I do not like to stand out, I do not like to be remembered, especially on the metro. Skepticism and apprehension were one of the many gifts my parent's bestowed on their children. Coupled with my active, and colorful, imagination, my apprehension easily turned into complete paranoia. How many middle school students choose metro stations based on good hiding places from gun welding maniacs? Luckily, my mind movies alone do not guide my decisions. I know I have a higher chance of witnessing a road rage car crash then a random act of violence in the Smithsonian metro stop.

Nevertheless, laughing on the metro is still frowned upon by the Emily Post in my head. Laughing would not only prevent the anonymity that I crave, but would, heaven forbid, open the door for conversation. Say the friendly stranger to my left is also a reader? Or the book cover caught the eye of my fellow pole hanger? My laughter might just be the invitation that normal, friendly people need to start up a conversation.

And as much as I wish it, reading does not allow me a one way ticket to invisibility. So, "Good book?" leads to a polite smile and chit-chat about favorite books, favorite authors, and of course, the awkward pause when the small talk runs dry. I wish I was a girl who craved, encouraged, did not run and hide from these casual conversations of life. What fascinating people I might meet, fellow books lovers, before bed authors, and home librarians. Instead, I hide in the comfortable world of social security and confine my laughter to my bedroom.