Mrs. Bojangles

On the subway with headphones on and losing at chess, an elderly lady sat down next to me. She asked me in Korean if I was from the U.S. I nodded yes, and she began to talk.

It is a crime that I have not learned Korean, but I cannot understand a word she was saying except when she reverted to English. "Do you understand?"

I think that might have been the only English phrase she knew. She continued to speak to me in Korean followed by, "Do you understand?"

I removed my headphones. "I'm sorry. I do not."

Laughter. A kind, joyous laugh that was engaging despite there being no chance of understanding.

She remained undaunted. The next phrase was accompanied by her writing the words with her finger on my leg. She thinks if I can see how the words are spelled, I would understand. I love optimism.

There was something I did understand, though. She was homeless. Her writing finger was dirty, and her clothes were slightly tattered. The hair sticking out from under her pink knit hat was unkept and not clean. She had two small suitcases that appeared to be everything she owned. She was also not wearing a mask. You do not ride the Seoul subway system without wearing a mask. I guessed she had mental issues as well. I saw other passengers becoming uncomfortable. One lady moved away. 

My new friend did not notice. She kept talking. More Korean. More tracings with her finger. More "Do you understand?" No? More laughter.

Despite what I assumed had been a hard life, she had a girlish face that belied her age. My mind started to wonder about her life. It was surprisingly easy to picture her young with dreams and hopes. How were the seeds of optimism planted that kept her trying to explain whatever it was she was trying to explain to me. Who gave them to her?

And then she began to sing. It sounded like a folk song that you might learn as a child. It was not loud or strong, nor was it soft or short, but it was beautiful. You do not sing on the Seoul subway systems, yet I could see many Koreans smiling behind their masks listening to her song. 

When I got up to leave the train, she smiled and waved goodbye. I was reminded of the song, Mr. Bojangles (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e-LVXR6rjXs), except this time I met a lady, Mrs. Bojangles, and she sang for me.

Happy Thanksgiving