tales from the city, new york- part three: "searching for serendipity"

living in one of the largest cities in the world is a lesson in loneliness; in isolation. although that may at first seem a bit contradictory, it isn't.

the experience of being constantly surrounded by an incomprehensible number of people does a really bang up job of enforcing the singular aloneness of each and every individual for- if you can't immerse yourself in the masses of humanity within an arms length, amidst this onslaught of commonplace living-well then, what hope have you (one of billions) that it will ever be other than this (one in a billion, now and forever).

rather than attempting to bridge this gap (infinite in scope) the city dwellers, the subway riders, the Individuals (identical in their isolation) withdraw farther within. they close themselves off. to do otherwise is nothing if not impossible for how can you choose among the multitude of faces and personalities surrounding you which to identify with; who to reach out to? how do you pick which one of the endless array of beggars, all needy in comparison with you, to help out? you can't and so you don't. you are overwhelmed by the overwhelming.

nowhere brings this feeling home more poignantly than the new york city subway; a place where everyone is touching and everyone is alone.

riding the subway home from work one morning i watch the commuters on their way to work. i've just finished a 12 hour overnight shift at the bar and look no less worn out and delirious than i feel. settling back into the hard plastic of my seat, hand on the grimy steel pole beside me i look around.

at first i try to be somewhat discreet about it because it seems invasive- this watching when those being watched are so withdrawn; staring, eyes glazed, at some inner thought.

i cast safe, sidelong glances around the train car.
i look outside at the people dejectedly waiting to board.
i watch the reflections in the windows of the passengers i can't actually see from my own vantage point.

i'm on my way home from work. most of them are headed to work from home. the funny thing is- we are indistinguishable in our listless fatigue. we are all the same.

so i watch the commuters, undisturbed in my intrusions. i watch these people that are just like me but are really nothing like me at all and i am alone, just as they are. in this state of abject sleepiness i pass the time and no one meets my eyes and i am glad. and then my own sphere of self closes and i, too shut off.

somewhere along the way, under the labyrinth of streets and tunnels, a girl entered the train and sat down opposite of me. at first i didn't notice her and then i did. and once i noticed it was impossible to take it back. and she was nothing to me but for the span of five minutes she became everything. for those five minutes she was it.

my five minute obsession.

i could describe her to you in detail. what she looked like. what she was wearing. how she moved. her own manner of not looking. i could describe all of this to you but i won't because it wouldn't explain a thing and none of it matters. you wouldn't get it because the girl could have been anyone; was, in fact, anyone. it just so happened that, in this particular moment, that anyone was her.

she became the humanity that i had lost. she became everything (my link) but, the thing is, i chose her for the role. i chose the person just as i chose the role for her to play. the girl herself had nothing to do with any of it. all she had to do was be there on the train sitting across from me.

even so, this girl gave something back to me in my state of skewed delirium. she gave me exactly what i wanted and needed right then in those few minutes. in those few minutes i created her.

moments later she got up from her seat, adjusted her skirt and headphones and, without once looking directly at me, left the train.

less than a minute after that, lost again in my own sleep-deprived thoughts and foregoing further observational attempts, the girl was forgotten. she was gone.

a few weeks later, working at the bar, i handed a man the beer and shot of whiskey that he'd just ordered. opening his wallet, he removed a handful of bills and counted the ones. thirteen ones. he owed me eleven dollars for the drinks plus the standard dollar tip for each drink. thirteen dollars.

smiling, he handed me the money and said, "now if that isn't the definition of serendipity, i don't know what is."

turning away with the money in my hand i thought to myself, "if that man is right, then i want no part of this."

at this moment i felt as far from this man as any two people could be- joined only by our common misunderstanding and isolation.

turning back around to face the bar i was relieved to see that the man had gone. the man left and in his place, i thought of the girl. i thought of her for a moment and then she, too, disappeared.