The Hub - A Vision Of Life Imitating Art

by Ray Anderson
(Dayton, OH USA)

The I's Have It

The Hub. This gathering place of a great swath of Daytonians, those wanting to be Daytonians and those soon to be expatriated Daytonians, is a vision of life imitating art.

This particular gathering place of the masses is an evangelists field of planting; it is a politicians nightmare and a police officers worst dream.

Those with homes, those without homes and those who choose to make this place their home, eye one another.

Many are aware the drama is about to begin. For a few it is a comedy of errors. For some it is a tragedy of choices. Yet for others it is reality television without the screen.

In the smaller concourse, a young man takes out of his pocket a packet of an unknown substance. An older man, who has seen better days, quickly exchanges money for the unknown substance.

Little do they know or care they are being watched. Yes, the eyes have it.

The older man disappears into the crowd as the young man answers his cell phone, oblivious to the fact they were just caught on paper.

In this bus terminal, police patrol at regular intervals dressed in futuristic armor. These knights of honor still have a shield they bear. Although their swords are much lighter they are also much more deadly.

The transaction that had occurred moments earlier was missed by mere seconds. Meanwhile in the main concourse, customers mill in and out of small shops and stores looking for quick satisfaction, meaningless conversation, or dire needs.

A man stricken by some unseen force, shaking uncontrollably, stumbles into the coffee shop and asks the attractive vendor for a job application. She looks up, finds there is blood running down his face, and gently refuses his request.

Another seller of wares is playing with his instrument, providing free entertainment as a means of advertisement. The miniscule mini-mart suffers a great deal of loss on a daily basis, due to theft and shrewd philanthropy.

In the lobby, concession stands provide an oasis of instant gratification for one of mankind’s most ancient enemies, hunger.

A few are able to afford eradication of this foe. Onlookers unable to combat this nemesis turn away in despair, but the eyes have it.

In the foyer, a young child that has lost sight of his mother begins to whimper in hushed tones. The forest of fleshy trees is too much for him. In desperation, he begins to cry out.

A woman in her early thirties, startled by the familiar voice, begins scanning the throng of strangers. She locates the disembodied voice; and once again the eyes have it.

Many in this station stare blindly out of the large glass windows. They do not even comprehend the huge metal behemoths lining the streets. These hungry steel monstrosities begin devouring, one by one, their living sacrifices that walk willingly into their maws.

Their antennae reach for the sky only to be caught in a web of wires. Some of these monsters-with-round-feet, having broken free from the tangled web of wires, transport their captives to far-away destinations.

On the street, teenagers from far reaches of the city congregate here with a wide variety of purposes. One young girl speaks of a boy she just met. Another talks of weekend plans, while one in particular turns away from the others to create drama.

This last girl spies a smaller, weaker version of herself and blatantly yells obscenities at her. She then advances toward her sister Daytonian, while shedding her coverings in a life-threatening manner.

Her victim begins backing away, arms raised in the universal sign of surrender but to no avail. The brutality ensues. Many look away and complain of the state of youth; but the eyes have it.

On the corner, another young boy lights a cigarette and begins smoking. He does not know of the addiction and lifelong battle he is inviting into his life. No one says anything to him, no warnings, no scolding. He is left to the consequences of his own decisions.

On the edge of incarceration, the young men of another group rap and smile at one another. Their grins contain more gold than Fort Knox. They rap and sing of murder, brutality, and the debasement of women.

Many of the middle-aged watch this show unfurl and look up to the heavens for help; but the eyes have it.

One of the behemoths squeals and hisses to a stop, and suddenly a young male is regurgitated from his steel captor. He makes his escape into the arms of a very attractive female. They kiss one another with passion and begin their journey together, walking away from the Hub. But before they can make a clean getaway, two down-on-their-luck fellows stop them and ask for monetary help.

The young man shakes his head, No. The woman nods and digs into her purse. Yes, the congregations that meets at the Hub at times help one another; but mostly, the I’s have it.