8:235) Aaron Webb 24-JUN-98 23:24
If there were ever the perfect place to test all your thoughts about humanity, it is the subway. Tribalism, cunning rivalry, racism, love, unexplained hate, all in abundance, and exposed by and eye which is bored for the wait for the next stop. I sit down across from a man dressed like a nice guy. In his hand, is a brocure he's reading. A retreat for quakers or something like that. Suddenly glances up from his reading and catches me watching and examining him. He glares through thick glasses at me, and I drop my eyes in the age old instinct of animalistic submission. His pinkish hat says "friends". A man is sitting a couple seats behind where I'm going on the subway. He is obviously retarded, eyes uncrossing and crossing at my entrance to the almost empty car. He grunts and blinks as I smile and nod in his direction as I do for everybody who I see. He talks to himself loudly throughout the ten minute ride,but all I see of him is a brief glimpse over my shoulder. You're not supposed to look around you see? I risk this subway taboo, making an exception for this odd man. In his hands is a small coupon advertising an ornamental knife. His eyes widen slightly when he notices what he is holding. He smiles slightly, and smartly flicks his gaze toward mine. I turn as he drops the piece of paper onto the subway's carpet.
As I sit, the subway stops and lets in a new batch of passengers. A young man walks in. He is about 6'1" and obviously is very strong, with muscles straining at the seams of his shirt. He twirls his bloated wallet apon a pivot created by his thumb and middle finger. As the train screams toward the next stop, he notices me stand and gather my things. I meet his gaze, instead of dropping it like I had for the 'friend'. His answer to my instinctual challenge? To step over to his left one half step, into the space near the door, insuring that I would have to break into his personal space to get near the door. As the door opens, he steps out, and up the stairs without a sound, probably subconsiously satisfied that he had won that battle. I catch myself doing the exact same thing seconds later in line for the outbound side of the ticket processor.
On my way back home tonight, I saw a couple kissing as they parted on the train's doorway. I yearned to ask the next attractive girl on the subway 'where you from?' 'where you going?' 'whatch up to?' as I had with the girl in Sorrento, and the fellow freshman at western who's room number now burns insistently in my back pocket. But on the subway, I know the answer. She's from the last stop, she's going to another stop, and she is busy playing the sport of solitude in the big city.