Eyewitness Overground, Underground

9:30am Thursday, I trudge up the steps toward my destination: the wooden planks of the B train platform.  I arrive, and my fellow travel mates salute me, silently.  They acknowledge me in various forms: the elevator stare, the nod, even a short movement of the lips that could pass as a shy smile.  I interpret their body language as acceptance. The Travelers—working men, college students, and some odds and ends—have accepted me to join their anxious waiting and occasional peeking for the train. I notice a girl who appears my age, toting a school bag. I mind my own business; she minds hers. I resist the urge to introduce myself, to exchange minimal information. Instead, the deafening sound of the approaching train interrupts my thoughts and I make a beeline for the open doors.

We share a bench, me and the Unnamed Girl. A couple stops later, neither of us have said a word. I take out my travel-size siddur[1], and begin to pray.  From the corner of my eye, I see the Unnamed Girl do the same. Our shared Jewish culture has created a silent bond in the subway car, but it remains silent. The unnamed Girl leaves the train, only her memory in the now-empty seat.

Moments later, a middle age African American woman bounces on board and fills that void. Her cheery “Hello, good morning!” startles me, but I quickly recover from my NYC-subway-rider-syndrome and surprise myself with an equally cheery greeting…

[1] Prayer book