Morning Trains

By: Gabriela Yareliz

Here we are speeding toward the Times Square train station, which is a non-stop circus. Each corner curiously serves a different genre of music. I heard an old black man sing “Stand By Me,” better than the original (as I ran past him); a man singing and dancing salsa with an enviable energy, and then, another man dancing with a skeleton (I wish I was kidding).

The thing is, you never know what you will get with a train. Even after you get on (sure of your progress), it changes identity on a whim. I was on an N train that turned into a W despite the unchanged sticker on it— no announcement. (Poor tourists or non-English speakers— all of us submerged into an unwanted chaos, exchanging glances).

Today, I was waiting for the express train (headphones in— knowing I won’t miss announcements because there are none), and a man next to me looked up at the sign that displays arrival times.

“Twelve minutes and running local?” He asked in disbelief. An express doing everything an express train should never do. Our eyes connected, so I joined the conversation to not leave him talking to himself. I recounted my experience with the train with the identity crisis. He shook his head. “Thanks, MTA,” he said in frustration. We ended the powwow, and I went back to my coaching call that he had interrupted.

I looked at the MTA app which suggested an actual express train was one minute away. I prayed it was true. Sure enough, it pulled up. We both glanced at each other and gestured with our hands a “thank God” motion. We hopped into our respective cars, speeding toward Manhattan.

I listened to my coach in my headphones talk about how we tend to be codependent and try to control and manage each other’s emotions instead of worrying about our own. If only I could control the trains… I thought.

Thankfully, thanks to the timely express this AM, I don’t have to.