“BUENAS DIAS! HAHAHA!” I heard upon entering the subway car during my morning commute to work.
Damn it, I thought. Next time, remember to survey the car before getting on, I reprimanded myself.
I crossed over and stood by one of the exit doors. I could feel the tension in the air surrounding the passengers sitting on my side of the subway car. I knew that tension well — a form of protection actually—that I, too, had now put on. A protective coat alerting my senses to be extremely vigilant in the event that we needed to act fast because of something or someone in our environment.
“BUENAS DIAS! HOW ARE YOU! HAHAHA!”
I did a cursory sweep and sensed, more than saw, him standing by the middle of the subway car.
Over the years, I’d encountered him during my morning work commute— either on this train line or the previous one that began the train portion of my journey. I had a few memories of him.
There was the time he sat in the corner of a train car, shielded behind a large, folded cardboard box, the set up effectively communicating to the rest of the passengers, Do Not Disturb . I only knew it was him when his distinct, somewhat gravely, and oftentimes startlingly loud voice called out from behind the wall of cardboard, airing grievances that I couldn’t clearly make out.
Then there was the time he briefly engaged with me. “GREEN!” He called out. He said it a few times before I realized he was addressing me. I was wearing a green hued coat. He then pointed to his coat, “RED!” The conversation that followed was comprised of very few sentences, but I surmised he liked the color as it reminded him of something related to one of his sisters. I believe he also revealed he had either five or seven sisters and that he was the youngest. I think. He definitely had a lot of sisters as I remember thinking, Wow that’s a lot of sisters.
There was also the time he seemed very agitated after exiting the subway car — so agitated, instinct had me speeding up to get out of the vicinity.
But on this particular morning , as our train clattered, bumped and shimmied its way along the tracks, he didn’t seem agitated.
“CINCO! HAHAHA! THAT MEANS, FIVE! BUENAS DIAS, HOW ARE YOU! HAHAHA!”
If anything, he just seemed jovial. And really, really enthusiastic in sharing the bit of Spanish he knew.
Once I made that connection, I found myself unzipping my tension just enough to accept the experience and all the feelings and thoughts it brought up. In general he was still quite loud— and not just by unofficial early morning commute standards. But then again, I leaned more towards the quiet, so it wasn’t all on him. And even though to my senses he was loud, to be fair, he was emanating happy vibes and there was a case to be made for happy vibes. Also, I didn’t have to stay in this particular car— there were many others to choose from. The main insight I got from the experience though was to honor my initial instinct of zipping up that coat as it was the way my mind and body chose to cope at first. But shortly after, by also choosing to stay a bit present to what was actually taking place in real time, I realized I could loosen up that coat and give things a chance to be okay.