I was running late.
I can’t say I don’t know why I was because I do. There is just a habit I have of getting too comfortable sometimes…or maybe it’s laziness…or maybe it’s negligence. What was a morning with an early alarm clock became a door with too many things in front of it—shit, I laid down most of those things. So, when I did finally make it out of the house—telling myself it was going to be a good day (because so far it had been) up until the moment I saw a new bill for something specifically Brooklyn; I was temporarily deviated off course.
You see, I’m a man of superstitions. Somehow I’ve convinced myself that if I don’t run at least part of the way towards the train station then there is no way I will make the train I need to catch. That’s kind of been the way I’ve operated since moving to New York, but it sprouted from the same routine in Seattle of getting too comfortable, finding things to do last minute, and then delaying myself to the bus station. Same scenario. I would always tell myself that I had to start running and sure enough, when I’d get to that little bend when Phinney curves from 45th St. to 46th, I’d see the 44 bus coming and book my ass to the stop—deep down knowing that my earlier jog upon departure was worth it.
Today, I must have just missed it. I looked at the arrival board and it said the next A train would come in 8 minutes (they usually come every 8 minutes). I elected not to get on the local C train that would arrive in the next five, further contributing to my theory that local trains might actually be faster than express trains, especially when it comes to the A. So onto the train I went and by good fortune I found myself a seat. I had been on auto-pilot for the next couple of stops until a little later I was startled by a loud voice yelling, “STOP TOUCHING ME, BITCH!” Like everyone on the train I wheeled around to see what the problem was and could see that one woman was yelling at another woman who was sitting aside her boyfriend. I turned around thinking that it was nothing more than a loud voice and a little spectacle, but I should have known better. You see, New York is one of these places that remind you that anything small can quickly escalate into something much bigger. A fight is always around the corner and some dynamite is always a lit match away from blowing up. I heard the one woman yell again, “I SAID, STOP TOUCHING ME BITCH!”, to which the other woman apologized quietly. This time however, before I could turn around to see what had happened, the yell was followed by a resounding SMACK! It even shook me a little. I was shocked that the woman had actually been that moved to do something. When I turned around this time I didn’t see anything different, except that the boyfriend tried to diffuse the situation; it was clear he was in the middle. The couple got up from their seats seconds later and quietly walked over to the other part of the train, the woman now sporting a bright red mark on the side of her cheek. The eyes of every passenger were glued to the now empty seat. The train made its next stop and the couple exited to wait for the next train or maybe not. Maybe they were just a minute or two away or the wrong seat away from getting to their destination unharmed. Who knows. The boyfriend stared at the woman until he got off probably wishing he could have done more. Still, the woman continued, “Bitch kept hitting me with her umbrella…bitch kept on hitting me with her umbrella…woke me up from my sleep.” The tension wasn’t going anywhere. A stop later that woman got off and the exchanged looks from the witnesses bounced off each other like ping pong.
I got off the train and wasn’t running late anymore. Now, I just was. The Madison Square Garden side of the street, the east side, seemed to be closed for an event, but I had already trotted across in the hope of taking my familiar route. Cops were everywhere and trailers were stacked against each other as far as I could see. When another guy could see my frustration at the unexpected blockade he said, “Welcome to the Zoo.” I laughed a little bit. I laughed and then just said fuck it. Not having a sidewalk wasn’t going to keep me from going the way I wanted to go. So, with full vigilance and a whole of craziness, I ran through traffic with a line of cars approaching to my left and three oncoming lines to my right. I stayed atop the white lines like my life depended on it and abandoned all the recklessness I would normally resort to. It wasn’t like I was going on a freeway or highway where the cars were going so fast that I wouldn’t have a chance to make a decision, but these cars weren’t stopping, either. I felt free for a moment, almost like I was Tom Cruise or something. Luckily none of the cars were keen on switching lanes because then there might have been a problem. My peripherals were as heightened as ever, adrenaline pumping throughout my body, and honestly, I don’t think I ever looked down…just straight forward. After a few blocks I found an open sidewalk again, but part of me wished the blockade extended all along down Eighth Avenue. It’s times like that when I really realized where I was. The taxi cabs, the honking, all the commotion surrounding me. The ability to be an opportunist and not be scolded like jaywalking the second there is daylight. I still ended up making it to class late, but not without being aware of a moment of my life that had just passed by.
In class, I was reminded of how fast I want to move. The desire to speak quickly to get to an end. The desire to move so much in the hope of getting somewhere. I was reminded by my teacher to have more patience, compassion, and curiosity. I was reminded to go slow no matter how much every ounce of my body wants to fight against it. I was reminded to enjoy it. To enjoy acting. To enjoy the process. To confront the habits. Recognize them, deal with them, and then get better. I was reminded.
When the class was over I got back on the A train and because life is life and there are reminders every second you pay attention I was drawn to a situation that did not escalate. A woman in the middle of a crowded car had a tote bad and some headphones in. Unaware to her her tote bag was sticking right in the face of a man sitting down. The man ignored the tote bag, kept ignoring it, not paying it any mind, even when I stared right back at him half-expecting he was going to do something about it. The woman left and so did her tote bag and I interrupted his listening session to tell him what had happened that morning. He listened and acknowledged the reality that everyone could be a second away from detonating, not needing to explain to me that at that moment he clearly wasn’t. The train stops came and went and the doors opened and closed. He stood up to let one of his friends sit down and I stood up so he could sit with his friends. Before I left to go home I noticed all of them sleeping peacefully in unison…no umbrella to be found.