Subway Scenes

A lit­tle boy, Japan­ese, barely big­ger than his back­pack, clad in a mish-mash of col­or­ful prints I’m sure he picked out him­self, accom­pa­ny­ing his dad, weighed down him­self in front by a plat­ter of take­out from the sushi place.  As the train bends and sways, the boy tips back, dad tips forward.

* * *

The new turn­stiles on the T, with the clever elec­tronic innards, mean noth­ing– at least to the fare-jumper whose arms are long enough to allow him to lift his pack, up and over, and wave it in front of the exit motion sen­sor.  The doors part, the alarm sounds.  By the time any help arrives, the fare-jumper has saun­tered into the throng.

* * *

The clown?  The sto­ry­teller? in a yel­low T-shirt, red plaid pants, All-Stars and a bowler– telling the tale of Andro­cles and the Lion to a group of dis­in­ter­ested trav­el­ers, way­laid at Down­town Cross­ing.  He takes advan­tage of my pass­ing to cringe, mouse­like, in my lion-like presence.

* * *

The college-aged girl, heed­less of oth­ers, as she sobs into her phone, describ­ing some lover’s spat to the friend on the other end of the line– she may be uncon­scious of sur­ren­der­ing her pri­vacy, or of sim­ply not car­ing that oth­ers must hear, but I’m embar­rassed for her and for us that our sense of pri­vacy and pub­lic dig­nity is so eroded, by what­ever means, that the rest must sit by, unwill­ing party to her halt­ing, cry­ing “whys?”

* * *

A group of high school kids, end­ing their after-school-programmed day, still wound up.  Yelling, singing, danc­ing, laugh­ing at the top of their lungs– with looks they think are sly toward adults sit­ting near, ignor­ing them.  They’re hop­ing we’ll be shocked.  Instead, we’re amused, or merely bored, since we remem­ber our own cal­low youths.

* * *

Everybody’s read­ing, chat­ting, plugged in.  No one just looks, just watches the trees pass or the lights dip and flash as pre-summer dusk sets in.  It’s late, they’re tired, and focused on home, soon, not here, now.

13 Responses to Subway Scenes

  1. I have not had the plea­sure to expe­ri­ence some ot the stuff you do,maily we do not have a true sub­way system,the closes thing it the rapid tra­sit fronm the east sied to the west going to the airport.

  2. You nailed the high school kids.

  3. Ah, yes, the com­mute. I remem­ber those days in Lon­don UK. Instead of the iPod, I had a walk­man but every­thing seems the same except for the pri­vacy thing. I agree that pri­vacy and pub­lic dig­nity have been extremely and sadly eroded as a result of new technologies.

  4. Scenes from my com­mute home:

    –stuck behind a trac­tor. Again. Maybe he’ll turn right at the light instead of left. No, no, he’s turn­ing left and, will you look at that? His shirt doesn’t cover his stomach.

    –stuck behind the school bus. Again. 1st graders run off the bus with great joy straight into the arms of their mom­mies. The mom­mies wave to Jerry (yep, really his name and I really know it), the wee ones wave to Jerry. Under my breath I whis­per, “Bye Jerry!”

    –stuck behind the mail­truck. Again. I won­der if there will be a break in oncom­ing traf­fic so I can pass? I won­der if I have any good mail wait­ing for me? Did I put my click’n’ship pack­ages out this morn­ing? Did I remem­ber to send in the cell phone pay­ment? Oh, look, a break in traffic.

    - stuck at the light. Again. trees in bloom. flow­ers in bloom. elderly cou­ple walk­ing along admir­ing the trees and flow­ers. big smile. those trees? those flow­ers? they’re so beau­ti­ful. that cou­ple? even more beautiful.

  5. This is a won­der­ful kalei­descope of the trav­ellers on pub­lic trans­porta­tion in a city. I espe­cially love the fare-jumper meld­ing and the girl sob­bing into her phone — pub­lic cell phone users tend to think they are in some sort of vir­tual pri­vate phone booth.

  6. A lovely and insight­ful woman, wear­ing hose and high heels. She car­ries a small and empty lunch cooler that held deli­cious pota­toes mashed with fresh pars­ley only hours before. Wise eyes peer over the top of the tres chic glasses perched on her nose. She observes.

  7. Ah yes. There are sim­ple joys in com­mut­ing, when you take the time to observe.

  8. Hi there! Just wanted to let you know I am a reader, and I wanted you to visit my blog to see an award that I have there for you.
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  9. I like your new home!

  10. This was a really great post. Thanks.

    PS … Wel­come to your new home!

    Jenn Fls last blog post..Old Mother Hubbard

  11. Ahh, the thought and feel­ing that our own is the first time. And each one is an unknow­ing per­former. I always won­dered how aware each was of the see­ing some­one did.

    Julie Pip­perts last blog post..Where’s your com­fort zone? Great, now jump out of it for the Hump Day Hmm!

  12. Great new site! Won­der­ful sub­way obser­vances. I love the teenagers! And your embarrassed/empathetic take on the girl with the phone.

  13. Poetry. Pure Poetry.

    Mor­getrons last blog post..Video Blue­berry Resume Martini

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