Her name is Africa

My dear friend Brian commands that this be my first blog entry. Since it's rare that anyone gets to command me to any good effect, I thought I'd start a blog and enjoy the novelty for all it's worth. In fact it is not my frist blog entry, I started a blog a year ago that I've lost track of, but this is the first blog called Beauframe.

Her name is Africa. She sits across from her mother on the crowded subway car. She's nervous, disoriented by the noise and the people, and probably also a little tired. There is a petit, dark-haired woman dressed in a light summer frock. Her breasts and belly are round and full. I guess she's about 7 or 8 months pregnant.

My girlfriend thinks I'm a bit of a strange duck because I believe that a woman is never more beautiful than when she is pregnant. Indeed, my beloved has never personally tested my claim, but I've been rattled out of my practiced New York composure by many women who I wouldn't notice if it weren't for the maternal glow that augments their features. They are made beautiful by that ancient, mammal-magic of expectant motherhood.

So Ms. Expectant Mommy gets up to switch seats with Africa. Africa's mother calls to her, "Africa this woman wants to switch seats with you." Africa gets up and mommy gets up and the little girl makes her way through the forest of strap-hangers to her mother's side. The mommy to be makes her way toward Africa's former seat, but a woman, the seat thief, is now sitting there. I saw this seat thief sit down next to the man who was sitting beside Africa. He said "they're switching seats". The seat thief nodded in acknowledgement and then sat down looking very content with her bad self.

I wait watching to see how this will play out. I feel my patience thinning. I'm giving everyone time figure out what is right. I don't want to be angry. I don't want to begin anything that is likely to escalate into violence or a scene that will make the pregnant woman even more uncomfortable. Finally, perhaps 45 seconds have gone by, I say as loudly as I can "Are you really going to steal a seat from a pregnant woman on a subway?"

The thief demonstrates surprise, "Oh, you're pregnant, she says to the expectant mother, I didn't know you were pregnant you're carrying so small." And I'm amazed that as she enunciates "small" she reaches toward the pregnant woman's belly as if to brush the lovely half sphere with a blessing.

A seated commuter gives the pregnant woman his seat. The thief looks at me and says, "I didn't know she was pregnant, you don't have to look at me that way."

I didn't see my face, but at a guess, I registered disbelief mixed with anger. Was either of those inappropriate? Perhaps, if an emotion can be accurately spoken of as inappropriate, perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised that someone would take a seat that was already explicitly spoken for. But anger seemed perfectly appropriate as a reaction to such callous indifference to say nothing of the blatant violation of implicit property rights.