There's a little boy, maybe seven or eight, with a sweet and inquisitive face. He's one of those bright kids that given half a chance could be brilliant. Right now, he's restless and bored. These long trips home on the subway are interminable. If only he had something to do.

His mother is exhausted. Exhausted in life and exhausted by him. Why won't he just sit still and be good like his sister? The good child is fast asleep in her lap. The mother leans her head back and closes her eyes. 

The boy sees his mother is dozing. He must not make any noise. He stands and faces her, checking to see if she is really asleep or just pretending. Her eyes remain closed. Between her feet on the floor is her backpack. He thinks there maybe something fun in it. A book? A snack? He carefully reaches into the bag. Just when he thinks he has got something, his mother's eyes flick open.

"GET BACK TO YOUR SEAT," she hisses. "You're gonna to get it when we get home." 

The boy sits back down, watching her face the whole time. Will she hit him here?

A group of older boys gets on the train. They are tall. They swagger. They stand in the middle of the carriage. One boy calls out,  

"What time is it?" 

The group responds,

"Show time!"

The little boy is immediately enthralled.

"Mama, it's showtime!"

She glares at him, resumes her nap.
​
One by one, the boys perform flips and jumps using the handrails and poles. In between, they do tricks with their baseball caps, seamlessly flipping them up and down their arms and back onto their heads. The boys are noisy. They are brash. They are brilliant. No one tells them to be quiet and sit down.

The little boy stares. He could be one of them one day, if they showed him how. He sits up a little taller when they come by with a hat asking for donations. If only he could drop some money, even just a dollar bill, into the hat. Then they'd notice him, maybe even make him a part of their troupe. 

"Mama," he says. Through half-closed eyelids, she snarls at him to be quiet.