5:45pm. Uptown D train.
We are uncomfortably close - faces in armpits, gym bags in crotches - and the train is not moving. The doors just keep opening and shutting, trying to disembowel the woman whose purse is keeping the monstrous metal teeth from closing. But instead, another body manages to squeeze into the train, further jostling the mass of breasts and arms and fat feet. More limbs and bags keep the doors from closing. Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.
I can block out most every subway situation. That is, until I no longer have enough personal space to even lift my book in front of my own face. With no mental escape, I suddenly notice how close we are and how
silent it is. Besides the chomping of the doors and the rustling of winter coats, there were no human voices in a subway car jammed full of human beings.
Until a young man, who must have had his reading material pinned against his torso also, began to sing. Mournful and clear, he filled the car:
"Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got..."
It took a moment for the group to pinpoint the reference.
"Wouldn't you like to get away?
Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name
And they're always glad you came
You wanna be where you can see
Our troubles are all the same
You wanna be where everybody knows
Your name...."
A burst of laughter from all sides. Which led to eye contact, nods, smiles, and more laughing. Incredibly, the door finally clanged shut and we began to move, as if the gods of public transportation were waiting for us to be worthy of heart before allowing us the gift of motion.
That little ditty reminded us that making our way in the world IS fucking hard, especially in the soulless wasteland of the American rat race. Even though we are constantly surrounded by other people, what we likely want more than anything is to be somewhere with people who actually know us. Who we really are, that is, and not just the contours of our ass after we ride perfectly butt to butt from Herald Square all the way to the Harlem.
Although to be fair, isn't a little nameless butt smushing why our ancestors came to this country in the first place? I am pretty sure that is in the Federalist Papers somewhere.
Labels: NYC
