Winter Tram
Writings from Latvia
Our hands were jammed deep into our parkas and mittens. Our scarves spilled out small tufts of dry hair. It was the hair of people that stood out to me here. Either hidden or exploding. Dry or soaked. Alive or beaten. Singing or soundless. All sorts of hair waited under the night shade of street lamps and tattooed graffiti post-soviet buildings. In the frozen sun waiting at their stops they became crystals and then melted in the LED flame of tram cars.
Against the snow puddled floors of mud and dirt, and cold blue plastic seats, her hair exploded like a soft yellow lamp. It glowed against the soft white blanket of fields and the grey slate of buildings. We were on a tram from Langstiņi to Riga. Hands clasped. Hands damp. Against the lip of blue that slept behind the grey of the winter sky. Drunk on coffee and blankets and sauna. The only words that spoke were people’s eyes. A grandma with a purple scarf and a young teenage boy with his hockey bag who wore a red national hoodie. Across the aisle her brother twirled his hair and hummed a Geese song. He wore a green wool sweater with small speckles of brown and blue. And right in front of me I saw the spirals of her people hanging in my eye. It kissed my face and brushed against my cheek. Post-soviet storefront buildings filtered by. An electronics store. A pharmacy. Living rooms with green plants. Some led lit windows. Others yellow.
From the window that sat across the aisle reverberated the Taxes song. Twirling his hair between his fingers, and tapping an alive foot, the words birthed themselves. “I should burn in hell. I should burn in hell. But I don’t deserve this.” Older boys filled the seats with their sport bags and the girls shifted in their seats and looked out the windows with their giant bright headphones. The tram jolted forward. Her hair was my protection in this land of quiet. We stared and they stared back. I fell asleep and then picked right back up again from where I started. Eyes locked. Bare. So many eyes. So many worlds. The way the people stare unapologetically right at you. It is the most freeing thing a man can do. Being able to look right at person and them being able to look back at you.