Subway Stories 1: Ned.

Witnessing an almost love story

I’ve been wanting to share stories from the Subway for a while. One, because I’m always on the Subway. And two, because trains are always romanticized in Europe, but the subway in New York City never gets the same love and attention. Maybe for good reason… 

I find the very notion of a commute interesting. A means to an end. Something you must do to get to where you wanna go. People say it’s all about the journey not the destination, but do they really mean it? Maybe they aspire for that to be true in life, but do they hold their commute to the same standard? Being stuck on a stopped Subway between stations when you’re late is the most stressful feeling. I prefer being in motion. Because at least I’m on my way. If it was an option to be teleported everywhere most people would probably prefer it. A time saver. But isn’t the journey important? A time to prepare? A time to process? A time to be with yourself? I try to savor this time, this journey, this commute on the Subway as best I can. But I detest it when I forget my book or my journal or headphones and I can’t get lost in a story or a song or write, or use the time efficiently. But what if you just paid attention to what’s around you?

I’ll be sharing little stories from the Subway I’ve eavesdropped on or read off someone’s phone by peering over their shoulder or imagined based on a quick glance. I hope these can provide a little joy or pass the time while you’re on the Subway or remind you how every human has their own story.

Recently, I’ve been traveling in London and Paris and I’ve been thinking about the ways that the Tube in London is different from the Metro in Paris and is different from the Subway in New York. I mean first of all, I think the Tube and the Metro are much nicer than the Subway. Also, the Metro in Paris is always so packed even late at night, much more than New York. The Metro in Paris feels the most alive. Like people are really living their life, not just going through the motions. However, the biggest thing I noticed was how loud they were. Sometimes, I took out my headphones on the Tube and you could literally hear a pin drop. No one is talking. Sometimes this is true in New York, but this felt extreme. Perhaps more people commute together? By my end of my trip in London I was pretty fed up with the Tube. One day I probably racked up over three hours on it commuting from place to place. Teleportation felt extra appealing. I remember when I was solo traveling in Europe I would sometimes be on trains for over 12 hours and I learned to enjoy it. I found bliss in the journey. Unlimited time to journal, to read, to nap, or to look out the window and just be. I want to get back to this attitude. There are so many stories to tell from every train. However, the story I want to tell today, I overheard in New York a while ago.

Subway Story 1 

After 25 minutes of waiting for the train on 42nd St., a goofy, whimsical girl gets on right before me. I noticed her as we waited. Bopping around, holding her  Playbill with the post-musical vibrancy and pep in her step. She wore glasses, brown boots, a checkered brown, yellow, orange, soft-toned jacket stenciled with flower designs, and a kinda old-school, mismatch dress that flowed past her knees. She gave very Jess from New Girl vibes, girl next door like, “oh I’m new here, is this the right way to Macy’s?”— wow, I am such a pretentious born-and-raised New Yorker (but we already knew this). I turned right as I got on the Subway car and sat in the pair seats at the end of the car. I rested my multiple tote bags in the seat next to me, filled with empty containers from my lunch and dinner I had eaten earlier, my acting notebook, my book, my computer, and various other books and notebooks I probably didn’t need to bring with me.

A boy sits across from me. Ned. He too has his bag next to him. A green backpack. He wears a green shirt, tight navy blue khakis, and white shoes. He has girly black hair (I now cannot picture this and don’t know what this means, but we are going to go with it)- on second thought, I think I meant to write curly, okay yes, curly black hair…

The girl circles back to our section in search of a seat. I hesitate to move my bag. Ned doesn’t. She sits down next to him. I take my book out and begin to read. Ned notices her Playbill and asks “What show did you see?” She responds. I didn’t hear. I’m trying to read. I continue to pretend I’m very focused on my reading of All The Light We Cannot See, but silently questioning why I didn’t sit there or why I wouldn’t initiate a conversation on the train with a stranger? He responds, “My girlfriend is an actor, she’s on tour.” Ugh, I think, so this can’t be a train love story, but then why is he talking to her? She asks if he’s seen her tour and he says, “In New Jersey.” They discuss how they wanted to be actors, but the struggles of the career- feel you there. I guess at some point he says he’s Ned, I didn’t catch the girl’s name so we’ll stick with Jess from New Girl. He’s 27? She’s 28. They ask each other, “What do you do now?” She says, “I was going through my 3rd grade yearbook and I wrote I wanted to be in college in 10 years so clearly I had big aspirations for myself.” Ned then proceeds to share that when he was 20 and in college he had an affair with a 46 year old professor and kept it a secret for 3 years and he’s writing about it now. Wow. At this point I’ve reread the same sentence of my book about 23 times. They discuss, “How do you distinguish when you’re trying to be an actor versus when you are one.” I think about this often. Like I am an actor. But why do I feel the need to qualify it with saying I’m trying to be one? I could’ve jumped in then and began an incredibly long existential conversation, but I chose instead to just continue to eavesdrop. They, of course, get each other on social. I, of course, wish they’d arranged to meet at the same Subway car a year later instead, but I’m not writing their movie (yet). He says, “My Instagram is Ned with 30 N’s.” … 

He mistakes the 72nd St. stop for 86th St. and says he’s next and she says she is too. He says, “We’ll have to purposely go opposite directions.” She laughs. He asks, “Do you live more uptown or downtown,” and she says, “I’m not from here so I’m not sure”- (see!! I told you, naive, girl next door). They awkwardly giggle. He looks at his watch. She’s actually getting off on 86th and he’s getting off at 96th. She says, “I always choose people who aren’t interested in relationships”- ha, no kidding- and he says, “Well, they clearly didn’t see the lovely, beautiful person you are”- oh. my. god. They do this very cute, weird, awkward handshake where she needs to remove her umbrella from her right hand, but they’re too close for a normal handshake and it’s messy, but so adorable. I try to hide my giggle. She gets off the train. Ned keeps adjusting how he’s sitting, uncrossing his legs and recrossing them the other way. We both get off the train.