Tag: boston

general

song lyrics + reality

abby mumford

i had already seen fireworks (on june 28th. in somerville. AMAZING, as usual) but when rachael told me she and two of her out of town friends knew of a secret garden rooftop viewing spot, i said yes to more.

there was a small cover charge, a “free” beer, food, drinks, and ample space. we set up camp and ate and drank and chatted as we conducted our countdown until 10:30, the posted start time of the boston fireworks.

conversations and kids floated around us. we parted with our glowing necklaces, beaming at the smiles the kids now wore.

the minutes ticked by slowly. the wind shifted. the temperature dropped. the clouds rolled in. the sky flickered and the buildings around us echoed those bright lights. was it early fireworks? was it a thunderstorm rolling in? was it a heat lightning storm? was it the flash from the cameras around us? all of the above? or none?

slightly nervous at being on the top of a building and potentially turning into lightning rods, we pulled out our smartphones and checked the radar. okay, just E did and she declared, “the storm’s going to miss us.”

i looked up at the swirling, thickening clouds and wondered just how smart that phone and its radar really was. 10:20 came and went. the sky cleared. 10:30 came and went. the smartphones came back out and this time, we checked boston.com.

we looked up at the (now) relatively clear skies over the cambridge side of the river and cried, “are the fireworks canceled?!” we double checked the time stamp on that headline and realized it was from 30 minutes ago. the fireworks would go on, just slightly delayed.

we felt rain drops, small, insistent.

the sky lit up.

and then everything opened up — the sky, the fireworks, our mouths. laughter and cheers and shrieks tore from us as we scrambled to duck under blankets and jackets and umbrellas all while trying not missing a single crack of a firework.

soaking wet, but wearing a grin as wide the barge the fireworks were shot from, i couldn’t help but marvel that just like adele sang, we had set fire to the rain.

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convos with strangers

conversations with strangers #35

abby mumford

i’m speaking with strangers … here’s why.

during softball warm-ups, the ball bounced short of my glove and kept rolling…

past the bench…

past the sidewalk…

and into the street…

where the cars were racing by.

i dutifully hit the crosswalk button and waited for the traffic to clear…

and waited…

and waited.

a guy on the other side of the road noticed me in my bright orange team shirt and bent down to pick up the ball from where it lay quietly against the curb.

now it was his turn to wait until the traffic cleared. it did and i held my glove up signaling i was prepared for the throw.

he threw.

*BAM*

the ball smacked directly into the walk/don’t walk sign above my head.

i scrambled to grab the ball before it bounced back into the street. i gathered it up and waved my thanks as he bent his red cheeks and walked away.

he didn’t say anything, but i read all the words in his blush.

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convos with strangers

conversations with strangers #34

abby mumford

i’m conversing with strangers … here’s why.

him: you tired?

me: *after a beat* hmm? me? oh, yes. very. long day.

him: something something something work

me: *shakes brain awake* *attempts to decipher what he said over the beeping of the grocery items being scanned* *stares at him*

him: where do you work?

me: *thinks to self, didn’t we just establish i’m tired? and now you want to Talk?* *shakes brain awake, again* i work over at [redacted] in publishing.

him: that’s so cool. there are lots of smart people over there. i bet you’ve got a lot of books with all those ideas floating around over there.

me: [i’m not exactly sure what he said because it was full of soft spoken words and mumbles. i’m assuming it was something like that.] *thinks to self, OMG. is this what it’s like talking to me?* hmm, yeah.

him: i’m going to patent my idea for massaging shoes.

me: oh?

him: yeah.

me: is that because you stand on your feet all day?

him: yeah and there are some MIT kids who are starting something similar, so i’m working with a patent lawyer to get the idea as mine and then they can do all the work. i just want 40% of the profits. i’ve had that idea since i was 16.

me: *catches about every other word* oh?

him: and if that doesn’t work out, i’m going to go into nursing. that’s what my dad did.

me: my brother in law’s a doctor, so i know all about how much he values the nurses.

him: being a doctor is hard and too long.

me: that’s for sure. i don’t have the stomach for it. a nurse though, that’s very respectable.

him: yeah. i just don’t want to be here for too long, you know?

me: sure. you’re ambitious.

him: yeah. i’ve got that.

i swiped my card for payment as he packed up my groceries.

him: good luck with your publishing.

me: *stumbles over attempt to say good luck with your future attempts with nursing or patenting that shoe idea or wherever your ambition leads you.* good night.

it’s hard to hold a conversation when you’re tired and the person talking is quiet. it required more focus than i had at that moment, but boy, i promise to be better about not mumbling because that was a frustrating conversation full of mis-starts, missed words, and misunderstandings.

however, i am partial to the way he said goodbye. it’s like he was telling me good luck not with my day job, but with my dream.

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convos with strangers

conversations with strangers #33

abby mumford

i’m talking with strangers … here’s why.

after an email from our receptionist warning us about the towing going on outside, my guts twisted. i had driven to work that day because, post work, i had planned to drive down to NJ to see maga, who’s in town visiting, as well my other family members. because i rarely drive to work, i don’t know the street cleaning schedule and that’s a big reason why they tow in this town.

i flew outside and sure enough, my car was jacked up.

me: *breathless with panic* oh, please don’t drive away!! *waves wallet* i’ll pay you right now.

tow guy: *stares at me*

me: please? if i pay you now can you not drive off with my car?

tow guy: man, you are really lucky. one more second, i mean one more, and i’d have been outta here.

me: *chuckles, pitifully, mirthlessly, angrily* so i can pay you now?

tow guy: okay. that’ll be $90. it’s cash only you know.

me: yes, i figured it was cash only. *searches wallet* i have $50. i’ll give that to you now if you promise to wait here while i run to the atm.

tow guy: i said i’d wait, so i’ll wait. my word is good.

me: thank you!

tow guy: how far is the atm?

me: there are two around here, both off mass ave. it’ll take me 10-15 minutes? *ponders how fast she’ll have to run to pull that off.*

tow guy: well, here, why don’t i give you a lift to one of them.

me: oh, okay. *figures it’s better to be in the tow truck that’s captured my car than to be running willy nilly through the streets.*

i climb into his truck and after a brief discussion about which atm is closer (i’m at his mercy, i’ll go wherever is easiest for him because i don’t want him changing his mind and charging me more or deciding to take my car to the tow yard after all), we pull away from the curb. the guy then proceeds to try and make me feel better (“this is the worst part of my job” “we towed this one guy twice this week”), but the fact that i don’t have to cab over to some unknown tow yard and pay upwards of $150 to release my car is enough to squash the ugliness of having to fork over $90 at 11am on a friday morning.

tow guy: in order for this to be safe, i’m going to pull into this market’s parking lot. you do your atm thing and i’ll start unhooking your car.

me: thanks.

i return with the necessary cash, hand it over, and just like that my car is back in my possession. my panic subsides and everything feels lighter, particularly my wallet.

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convos with strangers

conversations with strangers #32

abby mumford

i’m conversing with strangers … here’s why.

i was waiting in an odd shaped line that was more a grouping of people than a queue. i eyeballed the crowd trying to figure out if they were all one party or if they were all super excited to be purchasing books. the guy at the other cash register made eye contact and sort of shrugged at me. i meandered my way through the crowd and over to his helpfulness.

i was fiddling with my wallet trying to find the gift card that had $6 left on it when he spoke up. “it’s mumford, right?”

“yes, it is!” i said coolly, calmly, collectedly, when in my head, i was doing something like this:

I’M A REGULAR!!!!!!!

becoming a regular somewhere has been a dream of mine for ages. i don’t care where, i just want to go where everybody knows my name. of course it was at my local bookstore, but the really shocking part was that i was wearing no makeup and a baseball hat (what? it was sunday) and i was still recognized! that means i’m like a super regular. i wonder if that title comes with a cape?

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