It’s 6am, it’s time to go to work. The city is still and
only my hampered breath fills the side walk as I rush to the train. 5 train
means I’m late. “There is a 4 train to Woodlawn approaching the station”. Perfect.
As I step onto the train, I’m greeted by the various sounds the train has to
offer. The screeching wheels and the rhythmic sound of the train passing over
the tracks but, I’m distracted. I hear a sermon, the same sermon for the past
two weeks, not too far from where I sit “...and the book says…”. I tuned in and
out. “The next stop is…” not my stop and the sermon is over. The shuffling of
shoes, the crumpling of newspapers, backpacks, and coats begin as some leave
and many get on. Now only the rhythmic sound of the train can be heard.
Everyone so still and quiet. The silence is broken, a crying child, tired and
sleepy. “The next stop is…”my own, East 125th street. Its loud and
alive, from behind I hear a conversation in Spanish. In front of me is an
avalanche of steps, crushing, tumbling, without any sense of order. “The next
train will arrive in 1 minute.” It’s time to go. The sound of my hampered
breath is lost in the cacophony of others and their hampered breathing. The
sound of my steps, hard and heavy, running become a part of the avalanche. They
roar. They crash on the ground, they speed up and thunder about. They stop.
They lower into a lull. The train doors open, the sound of old bones and
sliding doors. Muffled the Train conductor shouts “Step all the way in. Step
all the way out. Stand clear of the closing doors.” East 116th three
blocks from work. It’s 7am. The city is alive and well. The train station is
filled with the sounds of grade-schoolers, rushing in and out of the train station.
I walk towards 118th, and hear the sound of rushing metal, the
stores are opening and the shopkeepers are lifting those heavy metal gates. I
hear construction in the distance, the drumming and buzzing of power tools, the
cutting, the shearing, and the breaking of earth and metal. I hear chattering
as I approach the Silberman School of Social Work. “Good morning!” I tell
public safety as I tap on the security gate and it buzzes with approval. “Good
morning!” I say to my coworker who beat me here. “Good morning!” I say to
another person who steps onto the campus. It’s 7:15am I’m at work.
