by Jessica Reno The clock on my computer is crawling to 6:50 telling me I have 9 minutes to run across the street and catch my train. The 49 morphs to 50 and the gun shot sounds. I shut off Media Player, close down GroupWise E-mail, save my excel documents and lay my computer to rest for the night awaiting another day of performance. I shove anything I need in my bag with haste and attempt to organize my desk before I leave. I scatter to the door praying to God I didn’t forget anything like my building pass knowing that it is too late to go back, the clock is ticking and that bastard train won’t wait. The street is swarming with people rushing towards the same train like ants to a molehill. The road artery is congested and people are daring to cross the street while the light is green. Danger must be their middle names (stupidity must be their last)! I weave through the people and descend deep into Penn Station. In my peripheral vision I catch the track my train is on, 16, and I hurdle towards the second set of stairs traveling further into the depths of New York City. My breath is short and I’m putting on my mental agenda to work out more. I get into the train and try to regain my composure. I’m scanning the seats, avoiding a middle one, looking, hoping for a window seat but I’ll settle for an aisle. There is what seems like one last seat open on the entire train, that is on the inside of two seats facing three. I ask if I can sit getting a bothered sigh from the man, a fellow commuter. I slightly grin and sit down. Keeping elbows close to my side I grab my book and glasses from my purse and try to read. I try to ignore the appendages of the man next to me brushing my shoulder. I try to ignore the knees of the woman across from me preventing me to extend my legs comfortably. I turn to my book and try to get drawn in, but I can’t. I can’t help but to look at the people around me. Their faces cloaked with exhaustion like soot coats a chimney sweeper’s face. Eye liner is creased on women’s eyes, hair is matted on men’s heads and everyone’s odor seems stale. Except for a few "train groups" where people form a community of 3-5 riding the train every day, same time, and same seats, most are alone and keeping to themselves. The anger and frustration from the crowd is starting to dissipate and eyes are closing, resting from the day – preparing for the night. Inevitably, the train will stop due to a disabled train in front of ours, or, electrical problems, or debris on the tracks. All issues I would think could be avoided in the technological advanced times we live in, but they never are. This inconveniences the passengers by another 10, 15 or 30 minutes added to the commute. For me, that means more time added to my hour commute. I hope this book doesn’t get boring or that kid decides to get hungry and cry about it. The worst is if the air conditioning or heat decides to stop. All adds to heightened enjoyment of the commute… As I try to get back into my book and try to not think of all the things I could be doing if not held prisoner by this train, I can’t help but think to myself; why the hell am I doing this? Then I remember how I was woken up at 6:15 in the morning by the sun rising up from the ocean. The deep orange and red colors burnt the sky and seemed to bleed new life into the ocean. The site was awe-inspiring and only found on Long Island. The city is a place that holds the most exhilarating activity one could ever fathom, so much its overwhelming. It is a wonderful place to live, but a hard place to build a life. For three years I lived in the city that never sleeps, being lured to the big apple by its shiny, exciting exterior and realizing the bruises and bitterness that lies inside. The people of Manhattan move fast, passing everyone by. Usually one does not know their neighbors, and if someone tries to stop someone to ask a question he or she usually speeds up. As thrilling a place it is, New York City can be just as cold and lonely. I made a decision to base my life on loved ones rather than the crowded galleries, bars, clubs and restaurants that saturate the streets, besides the sunrise is harder to see behind the high rise buildings. ©2005 Jessica Reno January 13, 2005, 7:54 PM EST read archived articles | submit an article for review
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