subway

I took the subway train to school every morning. It was depressing. Back in the suburbs I took the bus, but I was only surrounded by my own. I was surrounded by other 8th graders, stricken by shyness looking down at their lap the whole ride directed to their least favorite place in the world. Everybody was just as insecure as the person in the seat behind them, so none of us felt too uncomfortable in the same way as I am when I take the train. I'm surrounded by old men waiting for the death of their sad New York lives. I'm surrounded by teenage parents yelling at the kids that they didn't even want to have. I'm surrounded by black guys my age, fully confident in themselves, making fun of the old guys for no reason. So, I feel uncomfortable, but not always.
Sometimes taking the train in the morning is peaceful. Sometimes everyones quiet and keeps to themselves. Sometimes barely anyone is there. Sometimes even nobody. The sounds of the the train whizzing by underground sounds like Mozart to me, and I feel completely serene. On the rare day where I am alone in the train car, I think about why I am alone. Everyone is asleep at 5am. Thousands of people lying in their beds sleeping. Business men, artists, criminals, drug addicts, stay at home moms, bullies, politicians, actors, babies, pets. All asleep in their beds. Everyone in New York joined by that thin thread. We're all so different, in ugly and beautiful ways, but we all have one thing in common. We all need to go to sleep at the end of the day. We're all asleep at 5am.
But not me. I'm on the bus early, to get my homework done or read some more of whatever novel is engrossing my life at the moment.
One day I entered the train car and sat down. I was looking down at my feet as usual. The Sketchers that my mom bought me the year earlier that I never liked. When I finally looked up I realized something. I was alone in the train car, except for an old black man sitting to my right opposite. He was wearing a pork pie hat and an old corduroy jacket. He had wrinkles. He was staring into space and had a peaceful smile on his face. I looked back down at my feet.
“Good morning,” the man said as he glanced at me with a smile, “don't you love peaceful mornings on the train?”
I look up at him.
“Yeah, its really nice,” I say quickly before I look back down at my feet with a shyness.
“It feels so nice. We're moving so quickly. There are a billion people above our beds dreaming about going this fast. We're living a dream, eh?”
“I guess.”
“Boy, let me tell you something. You best be appreciating this moment. This is truly marvelous.”
“We're just on the bus,” I say without thinking.
“Every single year I keep on living is the best year of my life. Life just gets better and better. Boy, let me give you some advice. You may just be on a bus but at least you're not dead.”
“Sometimes I think I'd rather be dead.”
“Now don't go saying things like that,” he said with a stern tone, “the depressions over boy, the beauty keeps on living. You need to 'member things like that.”
I look away from the man and look down at my Sketchers.
For the first time, I saw the Vans I'd always wanted.

At first riding the train was depressing.
But over time it became more of a fulfilling experience for me. I began to see the raw truth in every single person on the train. We weren't all merely joined by a single thin thread, we were all connected through a beautiful blue blanket. We were all the same fabric, the same color, the same length and width. We all were desperate lonely people trying to follow the treasure map to happiness, however we viewed it. We all unintentionally hurt people along the way. We all felt guilty. We all felt sad.
But I was happy. Because I knew we were all beautiful.