Winter had finally arrived.
I sat on the train facing forward. The man sat across from me and had his legs straddling mine. An odd position to be in with a stranger. I moved my legs to the side but one knee still touched. We both pretended that we didn't notice. His girlfriend's legs straddled the woman next to me. The woman next to me wore a hot pink blazer, large, round sunglasses, a silk ascot with sailboats on it and small gold hoop earrings. She sat in the window seat so I had to look over her, past her, to see out the window. But every once in a while, I glanced at her in the reflection, took note of her graceful stature, her well-matched jewelry.
And I suddenly noticed how slouched over I was and lifted my shoulders to sit up straighter. My ticket fell from my pocket and the man across from me picked it up, smiling slightly at my eyes as he handed it back to me. I joked that I had put it in my pocket because I didn't want to lose it and had now dropped it twice. He laughed easily. His girlfriend laughed. The woman in the sailor ascot laughed. We all laughed for a moment. Felt a simple camaraderie. For a moment.
And then the woman in the ascot looked out the window again, the man looked at his girlfriend and I began to rifle through my purse. I wasn't looking for anything. Just wanted to break the silence that now seemed loud after our laughter.
The man had a tattoo on each finger. Symbols? Letters? I couldn't tell without really looking at his hands which I thought would be rude. I considered asking him, but wasn't sure how to say it so that it would come off as curious and complimentary at the same time. I was also afraid of the answer. If the answer was something inspirational and bright, I could simply say "that is cool." But if it was too sad or too intense, how could I make sure my reaction would be appropriate? Big enough for the intensity but quiet enough to give to a stranger. And how could we go back to being strangers on a train after we had shared a moment of meaning together. Would we just stare out the window the rest of the ride? Would I say goodbye with a small smile that let him know that I was glad he had shared with me? Or would I just walk off the train like he had never told me anything at all? So I didn't ask. I just wondered what was so meaningful to him that he wanted to see it with every movement of his hands. I wondered what would be so meaningful to me.
Every few moments he would lean over, remove his girlfriend's headphone from her ear and whisper something softly to her or gently kiss her hand. I figured they must not be married. Still in the beginning stages of their relationship where they barely notice that while it is cold outside, the train is too hot, the people too loud. They are in a slow motion scene that involves only the two of them, blissfully unaware that they are enjoying the lack of responsibility that comes with early love. Before she begins to get annoyed that he keeps spending his money on tattoos and he finds it less adorable that they had to run to the train because she couldn't find her jacket. Again.
I put my music on to shuffle the songs and look out the window to the sounds of Mumford and Sons, The Avett Brothers, Dido, and various children's tunes from They Might Be Giants. The girlfriend is listening to something that has her bobbing her head slightly. I am curious as to what it is. What music defines her world, making her feel whole, speaking to her in ways that standard communication fails at?
We are all looking out the window now. Storage containers clog the skyline until the city comes into view. Beautiful, strong, NYC. The sun is high and unblocked and NYC's silver skyline is a glistening backdrop to the passing patches of pavement, the rows of straight backed brown grasses and the sparkling water calmly swirling under thick Cobalt bridges.
The winters of NYC are filled with beautiful desolation. You can see the crisp coldness in the air. You can feel it in your body.
We all look out the window together until we go underground, the walls of the tunnel blocking our view. At the moment when the sky ends and the tunnel begins, all we can see are our own reflections-the man and his girlfriend, the woman in the sailor ascot and then, me, the one in whatever categories they have fit me into. As our eyes register the change, and we can only see each other, we all look away. Looking at our IPads. Our phones. Our hands.
The train stops. I smile at the man and his girlfriend as I get up to leave, but they don't notice so I just hope that no one else did either. It makes me feel naïve to have smiled. And then the woman in the ascot catches my eye and smiles. She had noticed. She tells me to have a nice day. I am grateful for this interaction and I wish her the same.
We all stand up, fixing our jackets, putting on our hats, ambling toward the train doors. I step over the small gap between train and station. One two person broken escalator awaits us all. We are hundreds of people, a bustling crowd on a cold winter's day-our coats scraping against each other, we gently but assertively push forward. And one slow step at a time, we merge. Two by two, up the escalator.
And I think to myself, we do know how to merge in NYC.
Sometimes.