Blog Assignment #2: “What I Hear”

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 125^th 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 116^th 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 118^th, 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.