They say New York is a city of strangers. They say we don’t know our neighbors, don’t make eye contact on the street. They say it’s the loneliest crowd in the world.
But I’ve been on the 35L when several passengers took great pains to warn incoming riders against a seat recently vacated by a suspiciously damp and smelly gentleman. I’ve commiserated with seatmates on stalled subway cars, been offered the use of a personal roll of tape at the UPS office, and been caught while falling on a crowded C train. There’s a man I pass standing in his doorway every morning on my way to yoga. We’ve never met, but he talks to me as if we have. No greetings or preambles, he just launches into the middle of the conversation. “That kid just signed to play for the Major Leagues? Right from our street. Lived just there. Can you imagine?” Then he waves as I move out of earshot.
Maybe the sheer number of people means there’s more potential to feel disconnected, but can’t it mean there’s more potential to connect as well?
When I got on the F train at 7th Avenue, headed towards Manhattan, it was nearly empty, and I stacked my bags next to me on the double seat at the far end of the train. Larry the Cat, in a fit of pre-Christmas hysteria, had chosen 4 am to unwrap all the presents under the tree, then drag the tissue around the living room before eating it, so I was sleepy and not paying much attention to the rest of the car.
I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, the train had filled. An older woman was standing at the bar next to me. Speedily, I moved my bags to my feet. “Oh,” she said, as she fell into the seat, “you looked at me and just KNEW I’d had a long day.”
Why, she continued, was everyone so CRANKY today? Everyone! The post office, the library, everywhere she’d gone. It was making her feel bad about the world. “Now I,” she said, “I try to smile at everyone. I try to be nice to them all. What’s the point, otherwise? There’s just no need to be cranky like that.”
Maybe, I postulated, they’d had a really, really terrible day. Maybe something awful had happened to them and they’re just trying to get by.
She looked suspicious. “Well, now, that’s a thought. But all of them? I don’t know.”
She settled back, adjusted her scarf, and kept talking. I tried to participate in the conversation – see! Not everyone’s unfriendly! – but it wasn’t really necessary. She just wanted to chat, it didn’t matter if I chatted back or not.
She lives in Harlem now, but that was a mistake, moving out of Brooklyn. And what’s the point, since she still goes back to Brooklyn for everything she needs anyway? That’s where the stores are she knows. Look at her, on the train for an hour just to get home from running her errands. She lives alone, but she likes that. The kids are grown, and it’s nice to have some quiet. She’s abstinent now, also. Might as well be, at her age, but she has an ex-boyfriend who keeps sniffing around, thinking he knows where X marks the spot. “I told him, honey, you just need to dig elsewhere. I gave up on all that, because I want to find myself.” She paused. “Well, no. I found myself a long time ago – I just want to confirm it.”
Her stop came before mine, and she stood, trailing off in the middle of a story about her son, waving goodbye, hoping I had a good night. And the train was quiet.
In fairy tales, the sisters meet an old woman: by the well, asking for a drink of water; by a stream, asking for help across; in a forest, asking for a bite of bread. She’s really a fairy, and the sister who ignores her is punished, the sister who listens, rewarded. What if this is our equivalent – the woman on the subway wanting a chat? What if our test is not to offer a drink of water, but to be willing to put down the phone or the book and be together, in the same space? To be willing to say hello? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the old woman by the well now wanders New York’s subway lines, sitting beside commuters to see how they’ll react?
Fairy tales tend to have pretty basic morals. There’s no reason to not pay attention to them, still:
Follow through on your promises. Don’t try to kill your stepdaughter or your wife. Don’t underestimate the youngest son. And be nice to everyone, because you never know who’s a fairy in disguise.
