Turtle Man

Today on a train platform a man walked past me looking like he had just shared an inside joke with himself. This man looked as much like a turtle as is humanly possible. He even had a green coat and a hat with a tiled pattern on it, which was also green. I like seeing happy people because they stick out of the nondescript crowd of sad delusion that is our populace. I didn't like what came next, however. Turtle Man smelled his finger and giggled. His bubbly joy came out of his mouth in the exact pitch of a preteen girl's voice with such an anachronistic accuracy that I was no longer glad that this man was happy. No one should smile after smelling their finger. In no circumstance does the smell of a body part warrant a giggle and especially not the finger.
I went quickly through the psychological phases of "something-weird-seen-on CTA." First comes shock, second comes horror, and third comes bewildered amusement. The fourth stage, and this may only apply to me, is following. I watch Turtle Man for the rest of my journey. Turtle Man is an avid reader judging by his countenance hunched over in his seat over a book, the title of which eluded me apparently because it would be so interesting, telling me even more about the enigmatic reptile.
He wore overhead headphones but apparently only as decoration because he never changed what he was listening to or indicated any rhythm pumping through him. His feet never tapped and his head never bobbed. He wore dark, gray jeans that had gotten significant amounts of usage over the years. He was an incredibly focused man and the jeans said much about this trait. I can't envision him working at anything perceived to be higher than manual labor, but his countenance seemed fit for it.
The saddest moment in train-passenger-watching is when the watched one has to leave. Turtle Man got up with a jolt and his face completely changed for the better. His focus broken, his mind wandered immediately to his inside joke with himself. His small smile returned to his face, and as much as I wished for it, he did not smell his finger just to remind him of that small but hilarious joke.
I hate when people watch me on the train because it makes me uncomfortable. The eyes of a stranger are always harsher than those of a friend. I wonder why it always seems that more people are watching when I already feel awkward. Is it because I am aware of some noteworthy and regrettable characteristic I have and would be embarrassed? Or is it simply that everyone watches and I don't notice it when I'm comfortable? Turtles have no reason to worry about what others say about them. How could someone hate a turtle without feeling ridiculous? Turtles have their own way of dealing with the world, with anxiety, with threats. The inside of the shell must be a nice home and not because it's particularly comfortable physically. It is freedom within the self. God Bless Turtle Man for having his own joke.