I've been taking a class on 42nd Street and have been riding in all week on the subway. For those of you who don't have to do a morning commute by subway (which is me; luckily I walk to work), there is a subway culture and there is also a very distinct feel to the morning ride.
First off, it is crowded. I have been getting on the train by 8:20 and I never get a seat and usually am pushed up against several other people. I have hair grazing my arm and there are about six hands piled on the pole, holding on tight. This is the time that you look at no one. That is part of the subway culture. I've lived here for five years and in those five years have probably ridden the train about 1300 times round trip. True story. I did the math and even subtracted for those months that I go out of town or don't leave my little neighborhood. It's safe to say that I'm a seasoned subway rider. I only ever was talked to by a stranger, probably, twenty times. Nineteen of those times were direction-related and one was a shoe compliment. Suffice to say, people don't interact on subways.
It's because we don't look up. Everyone is either on their phone playing a game, reading a book or the newspaper, in a conversation with people that they are with, or simply zoning out. I'm the person that plays solitaire on her phone. I think I mostly do it to avoid interacting with others. I'm a bit of a lone wolf when I'm out in the world, I think. I like to be incognito and not draw attention. I hide behind my phone. So, that is why this morning's moment was so ... touching, for lack of a better word.
I was jammed into the subway car, carefully staring at nothing and going over the twenty million thoughts and feelings I've been having surrounding my friend and her death. I've had sleepless nights and tears out of nowhere. I feel as though I have been living in a weird dream. I have been feeling lonely, scared, and ... well, kind of just mourning this thing. So, when I think about myself on that subway and what I might have looked like to others, I imagine a crinkled brow and really sad eyes that well up slightly every so often. So, it made me feel a sense of connection with someone when I looked up into the mirror image of what I imagine I must have looked like.
He was probably in his twenties, darker skinned, maybe Dominican. He was listening to music. He was wearing tan shorts and a white shirt and when I looked up, he had the pained expression of a person who must have also just lost someone close to him. I could see that he was fighting to hold back some tears. He saw me looking at him and must have recognized my look because, within a second, we both nodded our heads and with our eyes, we said to each other, "I'm so sorry and I know it fucking sucks." He looked up at me a few more times, each time with a slight, understanding smile. I wanted to touch his arm. I wanted to say, "I hope you have an ok day today," But I honestly felt like if I did, we would both start bawling and we didn't know each other.
Ever since I heard the news of my friend, I swear, I have been gentler with others. I have been taking the time to see people more and to say things like, "it's ok" when someone says "sorry" after knocking into me. Maybe that is the good that can come out of this sad situation; that I learn to accept people for who they are more readily, love a little more, and take the time to look into someone's eyes and be there so they don't feel so alone. Because this world can be a cold and unforgiving place, but there is so much love around when you open your eyes and your heart and really look.
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