11.16.23

channels

16 minutes until the next Q train. Asinine.

I thumped my foot on the concrete floor of the train station, glaring at the schedule of arriving trains hoping another Q would magically appear much sooner.

The screeching of the R train turned my attention. It slowed its course and came to a halt. The doors opened and people flooded out and rushed in.

The R train would take me all around town before getting to where I need to go, but I figured sitting on a train creeping towards my destination was better than grinding my teeth waiting for a seemingly imaginary train that might never come. I sprinted into the train and grabbed an empty seat.

Three adults sat across from me with no space in between them; an older mother and father on the right, their adult son on the left. Or at least I could only assume they were family as the man on the far left was a perfect meld of the older woman and man to his left. The son had the round brown eyes and nose bump of his father and the ginger hair and freckles of his mother.

The mother and father were holding on firmly to their large suitcases, rolling willingly with the tugs and pulls of the erratic train. The son traveled without any bags. Maybe he was picking them up from the airport? Maybe dropping them off?

“How many more stops?” The mother asked the son.

“It’s going to be a lot… maybe 15? Unfortunately, we’re on the R which stops everywhere.” He impatiently searched the screen above my seat for their destination.

The father shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking at his watch. The mother smiled weakly at the son in reassurance.

“So, what do you do for work?” The mother asked.

I involuntarily scrunched my face in confusion. Maybe she forgot? Come to think of it, I don’t think my mom knows what I do for work.

“I’m between things right now. I bartend at night and work at a cafe during the days for now.” The son looked embarrassed to say this.

“Mary, save the questions for dinner.” The father spoke in a strained, matted voice.

"There’s so much time until dinner, why can’t we catch up now?” She responded.

The father stared at the list of stops in response.

This is Jay Street - Metro Tech. Transfer is available to the A and the C trains.

“So, how have you been, Nathan?” The mother asked.

Both men immediately squirmed in their seats. The longest set of seconds passed by.

“Mary…”

“I can’t ride in silence Peter.” The mother firmly stated.

“Umm…” The son awkwardly responded. “I’ve been better I guess.”

This is Court Street. Transfer is available to the 2 and 4 trains.

“Why, because of the job thing?” The mother genuinely asked.

“Mary!” The father hissed.

This is a Queens-bound R train. The next stop is Whitehall Street. Stand clear of the closing doors.

“It’s ok… um, Peter.” The son said timidly.

The train was rumbling with velocity as it made its way under the East River into Manhattan. The tension between the three adults was palpable, only exasperated by the intense shaking of the cart.

Why did the son just call his dad by his name? Maybe it’s a white person thing? But he was also very hesitant and uncomfortable when he said it. Maybe the dad was actually a stepfather? But there was no mistaking the similarities in their eyes and expressions.

This is Whitehall Street. Transfers available to the 1 train and the Staten Island Ferry.

“Do you like living in the city, Nathan?” The mother started again.

“Yeah, it keeps me busy.” The son muttered, studying his shoes.

“You have to find time to relax and slow down sometimes. Maybe you should move to South Carolina some day!” The mother exclaimed.

“Why the hell would he want to move to South Carolina, Mary. Can you please give it a rest?” The irritation in the father’s eyes was seeping.

“Why wouldn’t he? He can do whatever he wants to do.” The mother responded in irritation as well.

This is Rector Street. The next stop is Courtlandt Street. Stand clear of the closing doors, please.

The train jolted before taking off. The suitcases bumped into each other and veered to the right. The son flinched at the sound of plastic colliding.

“I think it’s… too much.” The son said slowly.

“What, New York? Of course it is Nathan.” The mother nodded knowingly.

“No.” The son looked away in contemplation. “You guys being here like this. It’s a lot.”

“What! We only wanted to see you! You said it’s ok!” The mother cried in an octave higher than her usual voice.

The son shook his head in what seemed like confusion. “I thought it was ok. I didn’t imagine it being like this.”

This is Courtlandt Street. The next stop is City Hall. Stand clear of the closing doors, please.

The mother looked in desperation at the father. The father massaged his temples in an effort to calm his nerves.

“I only wanted to see him.” The mother trembled to the father. “It’s been so long, I only wanted everything to be ok.”

“It’s not ok. This is not ok.” The father sternly looked the mother in the eye.

Hello everyone. The New York City Police Department would like to remind you to keep your belongings in sight and stay aware of your surroundings. If you see something suspicious in the station or on the train, tell a police officer or an MTA employee. Thanks for riding with us.

The train car vigorously shook as it turned a corner.

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I went to let out an annoyed scoff at all the distractions in this tense moment. I needed everything to be quiet and calm for just a minute so I could figure out what was going on.

This is City Hall. The next stop is Canal Street. Stand clear of the closing doors, please.

Oh no, my stop was next. I tried to figure out a way to telepathically communicate with the three adults sitting across from me. Tell me, whats happening? What’s your story?

“We can’t just show up randomly after all this time and pretend we’ve been there.” The father calmly stated. The mother looked up to the ceiling of the cart holding back tears.

“I lost someone very dear to me. Now that I found you, I don’t want to lose you again.” The mother attempted to hold the son’s hand but he pulled away.

“You don’t get to decide when you want me.” The son choked slightly on his words.

This is Canal Street.

No, I thought, not yet!

Transfers available to the J, N, Q, and 6 trains.

“It wasn’t my choice Nathan.” The mother begged, a tear dropping from her eyes.

The next stop is Prince Street. Stand clear of the closing doors, please.

I jumped out of my seat and onto the platform, the doors closing behind me. My hair dramatically swept into my face as I watched the train take off.

The station fell into a strange silence as the train disappeared out of view. People exited the station, one or two entered. A man immediately took out his phone and started scrolling. A teenager bobbed his head to the music.

It’s odd how different places in the real world feel like you’ve stepped into a completely different movie. That you can essentially switch the channel in your life whenever you want. That places and people are entire worlds in and of themselves.

I exited the station, thinking about the son. How maybe he grew up feeling abandoned, too young to know the intricacies of the potential situation. How maybe he moved to New York City when he was old enough, trying to find himself, as most people do. Failing and learning within a concrete shell of defense mechanisms and learned behaviors. There was no lack of things to keep busy with in the city - just perfect.

I thought about the mother. We all made stupid mistakes when we were young. Put in situations where we might not have developed a clear voice yet, but it’s too late by then. To lose something that was attached to you in a literal sense, to blame yourself for not trying harder all these years, to hope that one day it will be different. To build a life as best you can because time moves on. Pretending enough to trick yourself, but not pretending too hard in case you get tricked. Never finding the right balance.

I thought about the father. Had he always had a stoic lens on life? Ripping bandaids and facing truths head-on. If you recognize things the way they are, there is nothing left to hide, nothing left to do. There is nothing to long for or to hurt for if there is nothing at all. Dissociative and callused, you understand life at its rawest, purest form. But is there more to life than this?

I thought about the family, maybe not too far off from a stereotypical nuclear family. As time shifts, people change, relationships change, and perspectives change. The love that was once there, still lives, but in a different form. An invisible string that attaches the family, no matter how far they roam away, tugs ever so slightly. Maybe they feel it tug every now and then.

I thought about choices and decisions. I thought about actions and reactions. I thought about spaces and I thought about seconds. I thought about the spaces between seconds. I thought about how not everyone can switch the channel when they please.

My feet dragged on the ground as I walked. I had a choice to listen or not listen to that conversation. I chose to immerse myself in it. I now have a choice to stay on that channel or switch to another one.

I briefly switched the channel to my life as I knew it in that moment; the hustle and bustle of SoHo, two people in the window of a coffee shop sharing a croissant, a shaggy brown dog sniffing a pole on the sidewalk, a child points at a stuffed animal displayed at a street shop.

Every channel contained so many more within it. Of course, I was feeling sonder. The balance of decisions and choices that the stray family on the subway had to face, we all did to some extent. To keep peeking into the lives of others or to be present in your own. When do things stop being empathetic and more intrusive? When does staying in your own lane become closed off, a silent cry for help?

The balance might never be clear.

I picked up my pace and resolved to think that they would be okay. That we’re all just doing our best. That I would switch the channel back into my own life, at least for now, until I found myself in a different world yet again.