Strangers on a Tram
Sandia Tram, Sandia Peak, Albuquerque, New Mexico, June 19, 2022
The say the next tram boards in 10 minutes. Ten minutes later, they tell us the next tram boards in 10 to 15 minutes.
Why be in a rush? There’s plenty to do right here, right now. Like, write a poem:
Snake mountain roads higher clouds
Stroll through the gift shop. Peruse the bric a brac adorned with red chiles and hot air balloons.
Admire the diorama in a locked display case, featuring a bejeweled hot air balloon, a Christmas ornament, floating among clouds made of cotton. Speak with the cashier if you want to purchase the ornament. Don’t try to steal it. Don’t even handle the ornament on your own. The display case is PROTECTED BY A RADIO SHACK SECURITY SYSTEM.
By the time the tram arrives, the queue is long. We’re not in a rush, but we’re restless. We are more anxious than I expected, especially the children. A little girl looks particularly worried. She clutches her father’s hand and looks to him for reassurance. Further down the line, a teenager wearing a Tyrolean hat paces in a small circle and punches himself compulsively in the hip.
Mountain crown feathers flowers brush massive boulders
The tram moves slowly up the side of the mountain. The little girl is distressed. Her father picks her up, and she buries her face in his neck. He coos to her as if she were a baby. In a sing-song voice, he says,
“The tram is safe. The tram is safe. It is so safe. The tram is safe.”
He sang with a supercilious smile. He was so proud of his parenting, so delighted in his role as protector, that his song, meant to reassure, was primarily a tool for self-assurance.
What I’m about to say, I cannot prove. Believe me or not, but I am sure this little girl did not want to be spoken to as a baby. She was not a baby, not even a toddler. She asked the question, “How do you know it’s safe?” Her father sang,
“It’s safe. Look at the cables. They’re so big. The tram is safe. It’s so safe.”
Something else I cannot prove: On that ride, the little grew up. She experienced a turning point. She began to suspect that her parents had only one point of view. In their eyes, she was a baby, would always be a baby, and they would always treat her like a baby. When she sought comfort, her father could only address his own discomfort. So long as she’s a baby, he knows what to do. He knows where he stands. Thus, from his point of view, she must remain distressed for the rest of her life. She can’t know that now, not consciously. But this is the origin of her suspicion, and someday her suspicion will be confirmed.
Then again, what do I know? It’s none of my business, after all. I’m a writer, not a psychologist. I turn my attention to the ride. I look for bears lumbering up and down the mountain. When we reach the top, I take photos and admire the view. When the restaurant opens, T and I find two seats a the bar.
bright clouds conditional intentions ab initio