59th Street came and went. I knew the rest of the ride was going to flash before my eyes and be over before I knew it. That's what express trains are for - to make things rush past your eyes so fast that by the time your pupils catch up, you've jumped eighty streets and you're at your front door.
The A train is the train that would best describe me. I'm an express kind of girl. I don't like to live in the moment; I live in the future and ignore everything in the present until it becomes the past. I want things as fast as I can get them and then, once I have them, I want to run with them to the next thing. I can't sit still. I wish I understood where this came from.
But tonight, I wanted to slow down. I felt the speed and it took over my stomach. My eyes came into focus and I noticed every hole in the wall, section of graffiti, or burnt out bulb in the crevices of the A train tunnel. Tears engulfed my face and I sat there staring aimlessly through the wet glaze over my eyes. I felt the train move throughout my body just as I felt my body become glued to the seat. I wanted the train to stop. I didn't want to get off.
Endings happen. Just as my journey on the subway approached my destination, everything I knew about New York City shut its doors. It lingered a bit down Fort Washington Avenue and then it ended. I turned back to see if it was still there and it wasn't. That was it. I walked into my lobby, scared of what was behind me. My security blanket had drifted southward as I entered my building alone.
Hunter College informed me I am an official resident of New York City. I can only guess what that means and I don't know if I fit the role. I know New York City through people and experiences, but when those are lifted out of the picture, I'm left with hollow memories. Empty thoughts, empty feelings, empty ideas, empty laughter, empty happiness.
I wonder where life will take me next. I wonder what stop is after 181st Street - I've never taken the train that far or seen the road less traveled. I am heartbroken and lost, yearning for a comfort that my expansive down comforter cannot provide.
My longing for comfort angers me. It angers me how people have relationships with their families and friends that span their lifetimes. I wish I had this. I wish I could be hurt, beat up, brought down, and all that goes with the lows of life, and still be brought back up by people in my life who would do anything for me. I want people who will defend me even when they know I'm wrong. 2,000 friends, a bunch of college and seminary Rabbis, and people back in Boston who are attached to me through empty familial titles don't defend me or support me. They don't back up my decisions, big or small.
I'm not sure where to go from here but I hope time will heal these wounds and guide me back on track. And I hope that for my own well being, I start to feel the train, and all the motions of the world, ride the rails at their true pace.
