It is 11:15 pm. I submerge into the subway, sliding through turnstile and heading to the edge of the platform seeking for a light at the end of the tunnel. Its the yellow glare beaming off the rails and puddles on the tracks that lets you know the train is coming. This is a spark of hope and excitement ignited in ones self. Up until this point its been twenty minutes. I have started the process of kicking a cement pillar, cursing out loud and talking to myself. I just ended a twelve hour shift and all I want to do is take off my boots and swish my bare feet around on cozy bed sheets. Instead I am stuck down here, and all I can think about is work tomorrow. Not to mention I left my Ipod at the apartment and I am now alone, with my thoughts, and I cannot stop narrating.
The subway can be quite the exciting place. Cutting through times square there are always subway performers. Break dancers are a huge crowd pleaser, some times they come on to the subway car and do flips down the aisle. They are always teenage boys, starting with synchronized dance moves and clapping to draw a crowd. Within the group is the ring leader, then you have some ones little brother and of course the one without a shirt flexing into a back bend. The drummers are my favorite, as the train comes they bang faster and louder mimicking the heart beat of this city. When getting ready to go out on a Friday or Saturday night this is the best way to get amped up. The trains are packed with pre gamers sipping from faux Gatorade and diet coke bottles. As if we are a bus load of grade school kids on our way to an amusement park. Instead we are mid twenties pumping adrenaline mixed with vodka mixed with red bull. Congregating at bars and clubs and apartments, fully motivated that tomorrow is not a work day and we can do this "fun" adult activity until the bars shut down and the sun comes up.
Getting home from a night out is a whole different story. Now I believe I know the trains quit well. How to get any where in Manhattan and fast. Except for at three in the morning. Getting home, especially depending on an area , the more deserted the less likely the train is going to be there when you need it to be. Like coming home from Park Slope at 3:30 am and waiting for an hour for the R train to pick you up. Mean while you watch a man sitting on the subway steps vomit in his sleep, what a way to end the night. Especially when you forgot your Ipod. During rush hour , depending on mood and urgency you will gladly brush by people in a harsh manner, shoot dirty looks and stick your foot or hands into closing doors then pry it open just to make the train. Time is money, and you just cannot afford to be late in this city. Its amazing how when first moving here the compassion you bring... slowly it trickles out of you. I don't know if my patience has grown, or run out? Before I could never say no to a homeless person begging on the train , now I can easily turn a blind eye and a cold shoulder. My arrogance shutters "I got bills to pay". I am not proud of this, but over the past three years I grew a thick, briny coat of skin. Its all I have to protect from the cold, dark and dank. From the peddlers and onlookers. Here you learn to say "No" frequently and often. Its sad, especially when you realize this isn't who you were.
Without Ipod, or magazine or some other distraction you become trapped within your head. Thinking things you don't want to think. Paralyzing yourself with anger or fear, seldom are there happy thoughts. There is just "Get me home, I am so tired". The sound of a train pulling in or leaving squeals as though they are the shrieks of lost souls taken in by the under world of New York City transportation. The dreamers who flung their aspirations onto the tracks as dreamers suicide. Sometimes you just got to give in, find a different path and learn to live like that and hopefully be happy too. All the while you will catch wind of questions like "what if? " and feelings of regret. Letting go of anything means dealing with loss, with drawl and sadness. I believe the stages before letting go of your life's dreams is called the "slow burn". An older co-worker of mine said I already started mine.
A big fat rat (All New York rats are big and fat) scurries by on the plat form. And all I can think about is the scene in Interview with a Vampire when Brad Pitt picks up a rat and eats it. I heard a story about a crazy Italian uncle of mine, well my grandfathers uncle. Who picked up a rat and bite its head off when it scurried by his table at a ware house he was working in. Did they have tetanus shots back then? Shots? No health insurance...I am pretty good at being sick but not calling out of work. I can't afford to not work. God I hate my job. Who am I? This isn't who I use to be. I use to be so much nicer, I use to tolerate people's B.S. I use to always say "Yes". Should I go out? Everyone else is out. No stay in, save money, go to bed. I'm tired. But I am young! I should be out, who cares if I loose sleep. I'll sleep when I die, right? There are other nights to go, I guess it doesn't matter. Tired.
I keep frequenting the edge of the platform for signs of light. Nothing. A cold breeze seeps in, the water drips from the ceilings and two more people walk down into the subway. They are two foreign guys. Take note that the subways in the winter are cold and during the summer they are hot. You'd wouldn't think that would you? I am a vagabond traveling underneath this city. I hustle , I hop trains, I weave in and out of large crowds I am never seen. Its 11:45 a distant horn blows, the lubricated rails glow and sparkle, a light appears and becomes brighter and brighter. Every bone in my body unhinges from their connecting joints. I can sit and relax on the plastic orange and yellow seats. My stop has arrived and I emerge out underneath a new moon and smile. Feel the cold air again against my cheeks, the dark blue sky is blowing steams off white clouds across the sky, and it is beautiful. I feel young, I feel alive. I am home. Back in my neighborhood in Brooklyn. Rest has come.
The subway can be quite the exciting place. Cutting through times square there are always subway performers. Break dancers are a huge crowd pleaser, some times they come on to the subway car and do flips down the aisle. They are always teenage boys, starting with synchronized dance moves and clapping to draw a crowd. Within the group is the ring leader, then you have some ones little brother and of course the one without a shirt flexing into a back bend. The drummers are my favorite, as the train comes they bang faster and louder mimicking the heart beat of this city. When getting ready to go out on a Friday or Saturday night this is the best way to get amped up. The trains are packed with pre gamers sipping from faux Gatorade and diet coke bottles. As if we are a bus load of grade school kids on our way to an amusement park. Instead we are mid twenties pumping adrenaline mixed with vodka mixed with red bull. Congregating at bars and clubs and apartments, fully motivated that tomorrow is not a work day and we can do this "fun" adult activity until the bars shut down and the sun comes up.
Getting home from a night out is a whole different story. Now I believe I know the trains quit well. How to get any where in Manhattan and fast. Except for at three in the morning. Getting home, especially depending on an area , the more deserted the less likely the train is going to be there when you need it to be. Like coming home from Park Slope at 3:30 am and waiting for an hour for the R train to pick you up. Mean while you watch a man sitting on the subway steps vomit in his sleep, what a way to end the night. Especially when you forgot your Ipod. During rush hour , depending on mood and urgency you will gladly brush by people in a harsh manner, shoot dirty looks and stick your foot or hands into closing doors then pry it open just to make the train. Time is money, and you just cannot afford to be late in this city. Its amazing how when first moving here the compassion you bring... slowly it trickles out of you. I don't know if my patience has grown, or run out? Before I could never say no to a homeless person begging on the train , now I can easily turn a blind eye and a cold shoulder. My arrogance shutters "I got bills to pay". I am not proud of this, but over the past three years I grew a thick, briny coat of skin. Its all I have to protect from the cold, dark and dank. From the peddlers and onlookers. Here you learn to say "No" frequently and often. Its sad, especially when you realize this isn't who you were.
Without Ipod, or magazine or some other distraction you become trapped within your head. Thinking things you don't want to think. Paralyzing yourself with anger or fear, seldom are there happy thoughts. There is just "Get me home, I am so tired". The sound of a train pulling in or leaving squeals as though they are the shrieks of lost souls taken in by the under world of New York City transportation. The dreamers who flung their aspirations onto the tracks as dreamers suicide. Sometimes you just got to give in, find a different path and learn to live like that and hopefully be happy too. All the while you will catch wind of questions like "what if? " and feelings of regret. Letting go of anything means dealing with loss, with drawl and sadness. I believe the stages before letting go of your life's dreams is called the "slow burn". An older co-worker of mine said I already started mine.
A big fat rat (All New York rats are big and fat) scurries by on the plat form. And all I can think about is the scene in Interview with a Vampire when Brad Pitt picks up a rat and eats it. I heard a story about a crazy Italian uncle of mine, well my grandfathers uncle. Who picked up a rat and bite its head off when it scurried by his table at a ware house he was working in. Did they have tetanus shots back then? Shots? No health insurance...I am pretty good at being sick but not calling out of work. I can't afford to not work. God I hate my job. Who am I? This isn't who I use to be. I use to be so much nicer, I use to tolerate people's B.S. I use to always say "Yes". Should I go out? Everyone else is out. No stay in, save money, go to bed. I'm tired. But I am young! I should be out, who cares if I loose sleep. I'll sleep when I die, right? There are other nights to go, I guess it doesn't matter. Tired.
I keep frequenting the edge of the platform for signs of light. Nothing. A cold breeze seeps in, the water drips from the ceilings and two more people walk down into the subway. They are two foreign guys. Take note that the subways in the winter are cold and during the summer they are hot. You'd wouldn't think that would you? I am a vagabond traveling underneath this city. I hustle , I hop trains, I weave in and out of large crowds I am never seen. Its 11:45 a distant horn blows, the lubricated rails glow and sparkle, a light appears and becomes brighter and brighter. Every bone in my body unhinges from their connecting joints. I can sit and relax on the plastic orange and yellow seats. My stop has arrived and I emerge out underneath a new moon and smile. Feel the cold air again against my cheeks, the dark blue sky is blowing steams off white clouds across the sky, and it is beautiful. I feel young, I feel alive. I am home. Back in my neighborhood in Brooklyn. Rest has come.
