Riding Metro North. With Both Thumbs.

~ Live & Learn

5:40 am to Grand Central. Standing room only, 4 men stand in the vestibule. How is this possible on the second train of the day?

One of the four left standing, leans against the railing.  Italian shoes. Beats Wireless Ear buds. A snappy form fitted Canada Goose vest. Shirt cuffs unbuttoned. Stylin’. A Starbucks cup in one hand, a smartphone in the other, he flicks screens, grins, and sips his coffee.

Lady in the seat directly across reads the New York Times. Yes, like a real newspaper, a legitimate oddity on a commuter train. A glance up and down the rail car reveals no single other newspaper, just the hum of the air-conditioning and the silent flicking of hundreds of index fingers.

Lady next to her, a face white as snow, contrasting with her black coat, tall black knee high boots, and the white skin of the knee bunching out of a black knee brace. She grips a large, black, Samsonite wheeled carry on, with her black back pack resting on top.  Her makeup groans to cover darkening bags under the eyes. The dike is leaking, age is ready to break, for her, for me. Cat Steven’s tune drifts in: Morning has broken….black bird has spoken…

To my left, man with Hoodie pulled tight over a baseball cap. DeWalt branded gloves, sharp yellow and black. A two-wheeled kick scooter leans against wall.  White Fila tennis shoes. He snores softly.

The poster on wall above him shouts: “One Happy Commute”. Enter now.  Just tweet us why you’d love to visit Aruba with #onehappycommute #sweepstakes.  One tweet could win you two seats to One happy island! Shimmering greens on the ocean.”  I’m swept away momentarily, a tropical breeze brushes the cheek, the palms rustle overhead. Fantasy Island is interrupted by a pre-recorded call, the Harlem – 125th St stop – 10 minutes to Grand Central.

My eyes catch my thumbs. Nails bit to the quick. I tuck them in, hang nails from ripped skin biting, can’t bare to look, can’t bear to be judged – man lacks discipline, lacks confidence, lacks self-control, just lacks – Nora Gallagher’s “and thus I doubt.”  Don’t quite belong, not here, not now, an imposter obfuscating. But be damned, and I repeat, be damed if I come up short. Especially, that is, when mostly many believe you have this Right.

I catch the glance of Black Bird. I tuck my thumbs in my palms.  Berger’s “intimacy contained in the exchange of a glance, a nod of the head, a smile, a shrug of a shoulder.” She’s caught me as I scan the car for my subjects. Ah ha! Gotcha Man, know what you are doing.

A glance, a nod, a smile.

I’ll never see her again.

Notes:

54 thoughts on “Riding Metro North. With Both Thumbs.”

  3. Blackbird covers herself in black to block her energy and connection to others, you try and hide your thumbs, but every now and then we are seen; and in that moment we reveal our humanness, connection and vulnerability. Not many have it right, not many have it sorted Mr K. We are all in this together, wounded, scarred and scared. You write beautifully, you really do. You are whole just the way you are. Excuse the long comment. 😀🙏🏻

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        2. Or maybe this one is closer:

          Do you know how it is
          when one wakes at night suddenly and asks,
          listening to the pounding heart:
          what more do you want,
          insatiable?

          — Czeslaw Milosz, from “Farewell” (1945). New and Collected Poems (1931 – 2001) Ecco; Reprint edition (March 25, 2003) Originally published January 1st 2001.

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  7. you are a keen observer of the details of life and the people within. it seems you are part curious, and trying to figure them out, and part in a competition of sorts, to see if you are as real and deserving as your role as they are. i can assure you that you are.

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  9. Scientists at the University of Montreal published a study recently that suggests perfectionism might be at the root of nail biting. After reading your post, I would tend to agree!

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  10. Loving that black bird. Dike leaking, age breaking, but she’s about to find out that it’s not so bad after all. Neither are your nails…don’t hide those hands. Another great commuter post, thanks for being present.

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  12. I wouldn’t sweat the thumbs too much buddy. I worked for a chef one time that chewed the side of his thumb. He had been chewing it for so long that it had actually grown an appendage to it, and now he chewed the appendage.
    I could tell him “Chef, some of the lamb racks for 500 are overcooked” and unconsciously, his thumb would go to his mouth, and he’d start chewing on his “friend”.
    “How many?” he would ask.
    Depending on the answer, and how available a solution was, he might stop chewing sometimes. But not usually.

    Always enjoy your commutes. I’ve told you before it makes me wish mine was longer tat 7 minutes.

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    1. There’s one problem with all psychological knowledge – nobody can apply it to themselves. People can be incredibly astute about the shortcomings of their friends, spouses, children. But they have no insight into themselves at all. The same people who are coldly clear-eyed about the world around them have nothing but fantasies about themselves. Psychological knowledge doesn’t work if you look in a mirror. This bizarre fact is, as far as I know, unexplained.

      ~ Michael Crichton, Prey

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  18. Oh, I have missed your musings, especially your commuter notes. Unplugged for several weeks on a trip. In a city, I rarely make eye contact for fear of what could happen, but reading this today made me realize this time I purposely willed others with a smile, a nod, a look to share a moment in time on an island 6,000 mi. from land. It felt good to connect one human to another. Thanks!

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  20. Ack, pal, so late to this party! Somehow this post slipped past me, which is not good, because like Mimi, I love these character studies — you capture the humanity around you so beautifully and give voice to the doubts and insecurities that plague all of us, yet often remain unspoken. Sally forth with those thumbs, pal, they’re part of a great package! 🙂

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