The Mother We Share

Last week I was waiting for the light to turn at a crosswalk, listening to the new CHVRCHES album, when I felt that prickly sensation of being watched. I looked around and saw a boy, eight or so years old, dark hair, round eyes, staring up at me. His gaze was long and steady. It wasn’t the cruel, teasing gaze of teenagers, or the blank, open stare of younger children. If anything, it was one of searching recognition, like spotting a high school friend somewhere far from your hometown, trying to decide if it’s truly them. But I’d never met the boy before.

I looked back at him for a second or two, trying to gauge his interest, and then removed my earphones. My soundscape went from loud Scottish synths to the banal growl of traffic on Rosenthaler Strasse. After a brief hesitation, he took out his earphones, too. The casual gesture made him appear older.

“Wolltest du mich was fragen?” I inquired. Did you want to ask me something? It made me sound like a witch in a video game, ready to provide the hero with clues on to how to reach the next level.* Really, I had simply wanted to ask the boy what was behind his look. But how to frame that in a question? Oddly, as soon as the other question left my mouth – Did you want to ask me something? – I was prepared to answer anything the kid asked, from how to get to Alexanderplatz to what puberty is like. But he shook his head “no.”

Then, as if in mutual agreement, we both put our earphones back in and waited for the light to turn, staring straight ahead.

*Are witches regularly featured in video games? I don’t know, since I never play them.