I was on the #2 line, around 11am, heading to Manhattan – reading my book.
Being the starting point of the train in Brooklyn, the train was pretty empty, and standing idle, waiting for the signal to move. Couple of things about walking the streets of NYC or riding the subway (underground); no matter how engrossed you may be in your current activity, you always keep a lookout for the surrounding action from the corner of your eye. So, while I was reading my book, without looking up, I noticed a person get in, come towards to me, stand for a few moments choosing a seat in the empty car before getting ready to sit down. With my head in the book I can only see the hips, and the waist of the person and nothing else. Another unwritten code of conduct on NYC subway is that you pretend you don't Look at anyone. The lavender tee shirt and the gait from a distance fooled me into thinking it's a woman but the hips seemed like a man's. Huh, very manly hipped woman, I thought to myself. Soon enough the person settled down, choosing a seat right next to me. I sneaked a quick peep. I realized it was actually a slender young man with a gentle face, probably in his late twenties. He sat hunched forward, leaning his long forearms on his thighs. From the profile and the way he folded over himself, I could only make out his long blond lashes, a day old stubble and a well built, beautiful back under the tightly stretched tee. The kind that takes time and effort to build. He seemed completely oblivious to his surroundings, he sat there staring at the floor. As the train pulled off the station, he slowly lifted his hands to cover his down-turned face –as if trying to get some sleep on the commute.
I went back to my reading. But within minutes I noticed the wide back curved in a huddle was heaving and shaking noticeably. The man was sobbing! Right on the train, right next to me! Crying into his own open palms, that pressed hard against the face to muffle his sobs. I looked around to see if anyone else noticed. Just one other person. A black woman sitting on the opposite side, facing us, over to the left by 2 seats. The train wasn't packed yet. She met my eyes in a silent nod, her eyes clearly expressing sympathy for the young man. I wanted to reach out and put my hand on the man's back and ask him, Are you okay?, What a silly question!, if he was okay why would he, a grown man, be bawling, even if silently, on the public commuter train? It was a tough call to choose between showing care or letting the man have his dignity. Secondly, this is New york. You don't touch people like that, and you don't definitely get into other people's private space. That well observed 5" invisible glass bubble, the bell-jar around everyone in a public space. It's a weird thing, you could be standing or sitting next to a person, pressed against one other, more intimately than one could bear, yet manage to maintain this invisible privacy shield.
The man continued to sob. Next stop, a big black woman got in and occupied the seat to my left, pushing me off unceremoniously towards the young man with her generous big black bottom, obviously needing more than one seat's worth. Now I don't have to look at him to know he was crying, I could literally feel his body shaking next to mine. I continued to act as though I was reading – despite being acutely aware of him. Didn't know what else to do. Two stations pass by. All seats were taken and some were standing by then. Next stop, more Passengers got in, filling the rest of the space in the middle of the train. At this point, the crying man uncovered his face, quickly wiped off his face and hands, reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a cell phone, opens and quickly navigated to a screen. It showed a picture of a man. With a celebrity smile, sunglasses, sun-kissed California kind of a face. I see him press a button. and the screen shows "Delete?". I turned my face away suddenly being embarrassed by my snooping. Granted, I didn't make any effort to snoop, if anything I had to make an effort not to...we were sitting so close, his open phone screen was touching the edge of my book. I didn't want to know his decision. To keep his love or not...in that moment of despair and heartbreak. It was his moment. It was his very private heartbreak moment in that crowded train. I looked away and around casually. The train is packed. I could only see the other woman 'in the know', as a bits between the backpacks and winter coats. Our eyes meet for one brief moment when the train jogged, too short and quick before any sentiment could pass in between. I looked up, stared at the ads above the windows...read them all twice, to give the young man enough time and privacy. I heard the snap. He closed his phone, pocketed it, and returned his hands to his face like before. His back was still in a huddle, but I noticed it stopped heaving and his palms weren't pressed as hard as before. I know the man was still crying, deep inside but the wave of tsunami has passed.
This time I return my gaze to my book, faithfully and in full focus. I hear the conductor announce, "Next stop, Franklin Avenue". My stop to get off. I close my book, and shoulder my bag, getting ready to leave, and it suddenly came to me. I pulled out my pen and I opened my book to the first page, and write across it, big and bold, "THIS TOO SHALL PASS - 28th Jan 2011". It didn't matter that it was a cliché, and the book was nerdy non-fiction, "The Botany of Desire: A Plant's-Eye View of the World'. I know it will get through the 5" glass bubble without breaking it. It was my invisible hand on the young man's back. I quickly dropped the book on his lap, not giving any time for reaction, with lightning speed I got off the train.
Being the starting point of the train in Brooklyn, the train was pretty empty, and standing idle, waiting for the signal to move. Couple of things about walking the streets of NYC or riding the subway (underground); no matter how engrossed you may be in your current activity, you always keep a lookout for the surrounding action from the corner of your eye. So, while I was reading my book, without looking up, I noticed a person get in, come towards to me, stand for a few moments choosing a seat in the empty car before getting ready to sit down. With my head in the book I can only see the hips, and the waist of the person and nothing else. Another unwritten code of conduct on NYC subway is that you pretend you don't Look at anyone. The lavender tee shirt and the gait from a distance fooled me into thinking it's a woman but the hips seemed like a man's. Huh, very manly hipped woman, I thought to myself. Soon enough the person settled down, choosing a seat right next to me. I sneaked a quick peep. I realized it was actually a slender young man with a gentle face, probably in his late twenties. He sat hunched forward, leaning his long forearms on his thighs. From the profile and the way he folded over himself, I could only make out his long blond lashes, a day old stubble and a well built, beautiful back under the tightly stretched tee. The kind that takes time and effort to build. He seemed completely oblivious to his surroundings, he sat there staring at the floor. As the train pulled off the station, he slowly lifted his hands to cover his down-turned face –as if trying to get some sleep on the commute.
I went back to my reading. But within minutes I noticed the wide back curved in a huddle was heaving and shaking noticeably. The man was sobbing! Right on the train, right next to me! Crying into his own open palms, that pressed hard against the face to muffle his sobs. I looked around to see if anyone else noticed. Just one other person. A black woman sitting on the opposite side, facing us, over to the left by 2 seats. The train wasn't packed yet. She met my eyes in a silent nod, her eyes clearly expressing sympathy for the young man. I wanted to reach out and put my hand on the man's back and ask him, Are you okay?, What a silly question!, if he was okay why would he, a grown man, be bawling, even if silently, on the public commuter train? It was a tough call to choose between showing care or letting the man have his dignity. Secondly, this is New york. You don't touch people like that, and you don't definitely get into other people's private space. That well observed 5" invisible glass bubble, the bell-jar around everyone in a public space. It's a weird thing, you could be standing or sitting next to a person, pressed against one other, more intimately than one could bear, yet manage to maintain this invisible privacy shield.
The man continued to sob. Next stop, a big black woman got in and occupied the seat to my left, pushing me off unceremoniously towards the young man with her generous big black bottom, obviously needing more than one seat's worth. Now I don't have to look at him to know he was crying, I could literally feel his body shaking next to mine. I continued to act as though I was reading – despite being acutely aware of him. Didn't know what else to do. Two stations pass by. All seats were taken and some were standing by then. Next stop, more Passengers got in, filling the rest of the space in the middle of the train. At this point, the crying man uncovered his face, quickly wiped off his face and hands, reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a cell phone, opens and quickly navigated to a screen. It showed a picture of a man. With a celebrity smile, sunglasses, sun-kissed California kind of a face. I see him press a button. and the screen shows "Delete?". I turned my face away suddenly being embarrassed by my snooping. Granted, I didn't make any effort to snoop, if anything I had to make an effort not to...we were sitting so close, his open phone screen was touching the edge of my book. I didn't want to know his decision. To keep his love or not...in that moment of despair and heartbreak. It was his moment. It was his very private heartbreak moment in that crowded train. I looked away and around casually. The train is packed. I could only see the other woman 'in the know', as a bits between the backpacks and winter coats. Our eyes meet for one brief moment when the train jogged, too short and quick before any sentiment could pass in between. I looked up, stared at the ads above the windows...read them all twice, to give the young man enough time and privacy. I heard the snap. He closed his phone, pocketed it, and returned his hands to his face like before. His back was still in a huddle, but I noticed it stopped heaving and his palms weren't pressed as hard as before. I know the man was still crying, deep inside but the wave of tsunami has passed.
This time I return my gaze to my book, faithfully and in full focus. I hear the conductor announce, "Next stop, Franklin Avenue". My stop to get off. I close my book, and shoulder my bag, getting ready to leave, and it suddenly came to me. I pulled out my pen and I opened my book to the first page, and write across it, big and bold, "THIS TOO SHALL PASS - 28th Jan 2011". It didn't matter that it was a cliché, and the book was nerdy non-fiction, "The Botany of Desire: A Plant's-Eye View of the World'. I know it will get through the 5" glass bubble without breaking it. It was my invisible hand on the young man's back. I quickly dropped the book on his lap, not giving any time for reaction, with lightning speed I got off the train.
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