Scottie Knows Something We Don't

(01/09/2009)


As she swiped her pass card and moved along with the crowd towards the train, she ran the day through her head. Her pockets filled with her hands, her feet taking her where she needed to go, it was almost as if nothing could draw her out of her ruminations.

Like a space occupying lesion, anger gave her a headache. She chewed her gum harder, almost wishing she could chew and pulverize the emotion as easily as she could the gum. As the train started to move, she asked herself how this day could get any worse, how much more trouble she could get into, how much more she is supposed to endure before crumbling to the floor and dying. She felt sorry for herself. Despondent and in despair, she twiddled her thumbs in her seat. She scanned the gut of the train, stopping at an advertisement on the wall, "Should you see a person sleeping, do not wake him, for he may be dreaming of liberty." The line from Kahlil Gibran made her laugh.

"Liberty is just that - a dream", she mutters to herself, earning a glare from the malodorous man seated next to her. Perhaps her music was a little too loud; perhaps she had said it out loud. The sharp, shrill yelp from a malnourished dog that was being pushed to sit by his homeless owner interrupted her flow of thought. She looked at the dog, now sitting on the floor and smiling pathetically at her and repeated, "Liberty is a dream."

As though in agreement, the canine thumped its tail. She thought about the dog, considered it and drew the conclusion that they were more alike than one would have thought. She commiserated with him. Would the dog have been happier out on his own, without his homeless owner? Would he still have mange? Would he be able to run through a field of grass? Does he care about the make-shift leash made of string? Does he feel trapped? Would he live freely, raiding garbage cans around the neighbourhood? Would he travel with a pack of dogs, or even perhaps run his own crew?

Would she have been happier out on her own, without the constraints that surround a family, work, taxes and the train? Would she still be so angry? Would she be able to lie in a field of grass without a care? Does she care about the chain attached to her very existence and the weight of the ball that anchored her? Does she feel trapped? Would she know how to live freely, surviving in this world? Would she communicate with other people, or even perhaps forge true friendships?

She was still staring at the dog, which did not seem unhappy but looked in need of a serious bath. The homeless man reaches out to scratch the dog under its chin and calls his name, "Scottie boy, oh, Scottie boy." He reaches into his plastic bag and pulls out part of what she figured was a loaf of bread. He breaks it into half and gives Scottie Boy a big chunk. Scottie boy wolfs it down and smiles at him, his tail wagging, his eyes shining. He moves in to snuggle his owner and a single tear falls down her cheek. She understood.

Scottie boy would not be happier out on his own. Scottie Boy would probably still have mange, but he probably enjoyed running around town collecting cans as much as he would running in a field of grass. Scottie knows the only string that is keeping him leashed is made out of love. Scottie knows not that he is trapped, he knows no better and if he did, he has learnt to make do. If he lived freely, Scottie knows he would not be able to share with Mr. Homeless and while travelling with a pack of dogs may give him a sense of belonging, he may be lonely.

The malodorous man next to her looked about ready to spit when the tears flowed freely and she slowly started to smile, a true smile of happiness, for now she understood. Liberty is a dream and love is its enabler. We dream for liberty with love, and in the end, it is love that brings true liberty. Scottie is free as long as he is loved, loves and knows happiness.

The train doors slide open and she moves towards the exit, her heart swelled as she politely smiles at Mr. Homeless. Her tear-streaked eyes proof that she was moved by this revelation. "Thank you, Kahlil Gibran, the person who stuck this poster to the wall. Thank you, Scottie." she thinks and walks out of the train. She smiles and walks away with purpose known only to her.