Kevin Bacon Saved My Life

It was a drizzling, miserable day in New York City.  My thoughts were inaudible but for a sweet repetitive loop that “worse” might actually be preferable.  As if Philip Glass took over the soundtrack in my head and wouldn’t let go.   I’m sure that if you pictured the top 5 most horrible days in your life, you could immediately relate one of yours to this day of mine.  And relate I would like you to do, because what happened within the span of a few seconds was rather remarkable.

As I waited (and waited) for the New York City traffic to clear, I noticed a very grungy-looking man standing next to me. We were on 9^th Avenue in the Meat Packing District – one of those wonderful hipster and hepcat hotspots whose location only a few years before smelled of last week’s hamburger.  This grungy guy was rather noticeable in the middle of a typical rush hour scene full of business and the bedazzled.  His trucker hat was pulled down over his head of rather long, stringy hair.  He was tall and lean but his posture stooped, as if he were hiding what could be a rather dark secret. He was close enough to brush my right shoulder, so I could see him watching me with keen, darting, peripheral glances.  Nothing attracts trouble like trouble, and I was in trouble, so my city instincts kicked in and I moved myself (and my bag) a step to the left. 

My senses awoke enough then, to notice a beleaguered businessman with a briefcase and an equally beleaguered trench coat.  He was a lapel closer to the traffic and – in a series of subconscious firings – I assumed that he had the better view.  I also noticed that he looked like he had endured a very bad time too, as I slipped once again into the fragile soundtrack of the day. 

Then, a funny thing happened. Beleaguered Man stepped out into the street and I numbly did the same, directly in front of a speeding taxi cab.  In a flash, an arm flew into my chest with enough force to counteract my own ignorance, as a voice at my right ear shouted, “Look Out!”  The voice was so powerful that it yanked Beleaguered Man (almost turned Pancake Man) backward onto the curb, buttocks first.  He was so close to the cab that its bumper clipped the front of his trench coat.  In that flash, a cross-section of strangers was painted, imprinted, and stored in perhaps a number of minds.  A series of watercolors, each with a different perspective, passed through and drifted to the pavement. The meaningless art of the moment.

I blinked, caught my breath, and uttered a pathetic “thank you.”  The grungy man from whom I protected my purse had saved my life.  He saved Beleaguered Man’s too.  And with that realization, the moment rushed to its normal pace. The universal knob that controls the honking and whooshing and clicking of heels was turned back up, leaving my heart and lungs still heavy from the gravitational force of what had just passed.  I watched Grungy Man cross the street with a confident and attractive gait.  I remembered his voice.  It sounded familiar and kind with the undertone of an urgent slap one might give to a brother.  As my perspective continued to paint itself,  I realized that his trucker attire actually had style and that his profile was very similar to that of …someone.  He headed toward the Gansevoort Hotel and into the swarm of paparazzi shouting, “Kevin!  Over here Kevin!  I got a great shot of you from last week, Kevin, wanna see it?”  This stranger stepped into light, turned his face, and revealed the secret he was carrying. I put my hand to my mouth and managed a smile.  Then laughed outright.  “Am I now ‘one degree’ from the pop culture icon of The Human Web?” 

Kevin Bacon drew a breath, then relinquished his privacy to the flashing, shouting crowd.
And I walked anonymously on. 

That day, a simple act of authenticity changed my fate.  Simply because a stranger was being himself.

So, thank you Kevin. And thanks to all of you Kevin Bacons out there.

(This inaugural post is dedicated to Lauren who sent me an unrelated link that made me laugh and which oddly served as an inspiration to write this blog.  I'm also dedicating this to Edward and John - who have served as my day-to-day Kevin Bacons for many years.)