Contagious
The young tourist, high with the excitement of her first big city, is gaping and gleeful as she is swept along in the tide of native pedestrians. Standing giddily before a crosswalk waiting for the light to change. She beams defiantly at the gray sky, daring it to rain on her parade. Looking around at eye-level once more, the softer aftermath of her cheerful challenge is intercepted by startled eyes, into which she looks full on, causing them to crinkle endearingly in return. The light changes.
…
A gruff businessman charges ahead across the street, by habit, while a far-from-habitual childish smile is playing across his face. He slows his pace once across, forget to check his watch and his pockets, too preoccupied by the keeping up of this strange use of his facial muscles. Glancing around, he becomes more aware of his surroundings, passing through a small cobblestone square. Music is playing, and a few people are sitting around with books or phones. He tries to catch someone’s eyes and finally meets a seeking pair above full, pouting lips. They curl upward slowly, roguishly. A cobblestone trips him up and he looks down to catch his balance.
…
Still grinning, the small street musician strikes a preliminary chord on his guitar, rock-star style. He begins an irrepressible raucous jumble of chords arranged in a pleasant array. He closes his eyes at times, breathing in deeply the pure pleasure of his music as he hadn’t remembered it feeling in a long time. Unaware, he gathers an audience; his eyes remain unopened. When the crowd cheers he looks about him, smiling ever wider, gazing only at the outskirts of the group, making eye contact with hurrying hazel. He hears a jangle of coins, looks down.
…
A buxom dame, looking put-upon, drags her waifish bawling babes by the hands. They’re complaining something about music and a boy… with that contact, the proficient mommy’s face is transformed. She pauses on her march to lift one toddler into her arms and kiss her curly chestnut head, leans over the other—“Is baby hungry dear?”—let’s go that one’s wrist to cling to the pudgy hand—“Love, you feel chilly”—and sidles through the pressing bodies toward hot chocolate and a cheeseburger with a toy, taking sighing breaths of clammy city air through a beatific, distinctly non-fixed beam. She’s brushed past on her way in the door turns to look into the apologetic façade.
…
He’s an aspiring lawyer-turned-student, working an unpaying internship, haggard and prematurely graying, lugging a case of weighty, learned volumes, thick sheaves of reports, and a cup of strong coffee—for his boss. With that slight encounter is restored his old toothy grin, a manly confident—not arrogant—swagger, and an air about him declaring him at peace with the world—so far as the part that surrounded him at the moment. He had a significant look for everyone he saw. One person looked back with particular notice ‘til the crisp suit carried on lifted shoulders moved out of site.
…
This lonely, scruffy, homeless man, huge pack on his shoulders, crouched in a damp stairwell and staring frequently at his watch to be reminded that it was dead, was without bitterness, and when gazing at someone significantly better-off than himself and having the gaze returned cheerily, felt himself warm up and melt. His sad eyes took on a shine, his lips cracked with winter’s kiss softened and his stooped shoulders bore their burden with a certain dignity. Passerby looked shocked at the attractively gleeful visage of the otherwise quite ugly mug of this person they were to openly pity and secretly scorn, It brought an odd kind of satisfaction to them, to see him bearing up so well, and they moved in with happier thoughts than before, ready to pass it on to the future strangers in their paths…
