The City

The city never changes, he thought as he rushed down the stairs to the subway. 

   Blazing sirens, only slightly louder than the various noises of the scrambling crowd, screamed off into the distance, and a stench, puffing up as smoke from a manhole behind him, flooded his nostrils. He felt something foul bubbling up his chest, stopping at the back of his throat.

    The streets seemed more congested than ever, and the sidewalks even more so.

   He reached the platform just in time to watch the doors closing, the train pulling away, and he growled loud enough for that odd woman to hear. She sat on the platform, back against the wall and surrounded by a plethora of tote bags, staring up at him and smiled. When he caught her gaze he snapped his face forward, tightening every muscle in his body.

   Losing the moment to a different thought, he eased up a little, and he considered walking the six blocks instead of waiting for the next train. He was already late, after all. For a second he thought that he would turn back, walk up those stairs, and reenter the ocean of bodies, but then he looked over to a bench, parked himself there and waited.

   Without the sounds of the trains and the people, he could hear a guitar being plucked somewhere. The music wasn’t exactly incredible, but the tune had a certain bohemian beauty about it, and he felt a sudden burst of joy, of hope, that he allowed to consume his thoughts. 

   A welcome reprieve from the madness above. Serenity beneath a sea of chaos.

   His mind snapped back as the train approached – that electric whistling, then a sharp screech he could FEEL in his bones – and he shot up from the bench, prepared to lunge through the doors. 

   As the train slowed to a stop, he peaked back over his shoulder to the still smiling woman sitting on the floor. That same situation that previously caused him to flinch now brought him to smile back. He didn’t know why he smiled back, and the voice in his head told him that he shouldn’t have. He focused forward again, walked through the open doors, and he stood there holding onto a pole for balance when the train began moving again. 

   The woman continued to smile, but his inner voice held control this time, and he just stared at her as the train took off. He felt he should’ve returned the woman’s gesture again, and the voice seemed more an adversary than an ally then. A heartfelt regret filled his mind, but the past remained behind him.

   Traveling two stops on the train seemed instantaneous, and he exited through the same doorway that he had entered through. Had he decided to return to the street level and walk the six blocks, it would’ve taken forty minutes, or more, navigating the waves of people, waiting for signals to allow safe crossing of intersections, and whoknowswhatelse on the way. 

   He let out a gentle sigh, appreciating his decision to stay the course. 

   Aboveground, back in the fray, his thoughts returned to that face – the woman and her genuine smile, without pretense or agenda. He reimagined the scene, and although the dreary subway platform usually appeared unpleasant, that smile gave off a glow that illuminated even the darkest, dirtiest areas that occupied his memory. 

   That smile – it spread throughout every inch of the surrounding tunnel, and it painted vibrant imagery where none previously existed. 

   Lost in daydream, he crashed right into a petite woman, tossing the bouquets that she’d been carrying all around the sidewalk, and causing her to fall back onto her bottom. The crowd weaved to avoid the pair, some stepping over them in a hurry, and he leaned forward, reached his hand out to the woman. Taking his hand, the woman quickly scanned the disaster, clearly flustered. He asked her not to worry and then crouched down to gather the scattered bouquets. 

   Standing again, he handed the last bouquet to her and she thanked him, smiled wide to him. He smiled back and they both went about their business. 

   His phone buzzed in his pocket – probably a call from his boss, seeing as he was now an hour late, and he usually was not – so he reached his hand in there, pressed a button on the side of the phone, silencing the caller’s persistent attempt to reach him. A dozen thoughts tried to take control of his mind, but he pushed them all aside, choosing not to give in to pessimism. Instead, he continued walking, revisiting the woman’s pure smile again in his memory.

   Pungent smoke spilled upward from another manhole, blending with exhaust fumes of the gridlocked cars, busses, trucks and other various automobiles on the street. He wasn’t bothered, as before, by the scent, and he could now smell a much less troubling scent – the fresh-cut roses that had recently graced his hands. 

   The scent lingered, and he raised his hands to his nose, taking in what remained on his fingers.

   A sharp howl pierced the air, followed by a series of booming horns, and his eyes searched the avenue. Over the vast herd of reds and blacks and blues and yellows (so much yellow – taxis outnumbering all other cars at least five to one), he watched and waited, like a child in awe, to see the firetruck pass through the traffic. That behemoth seemed to slow time as it floated through the intersection, gleaming from the morning sun, and he smiled, watching the ladder truck for as long as he could.

   As he proceeded towards his destination, he thought about the wonders all around him – the lives, the sounds, and all of the many different things that brought those streets to life every day – and his face seemed stuck in a smile. He’d contracted that contagious joy from the odd woman on the subway platform, spread it to the woman with the flowers, and then he deeply felt the lasting side effects.

   He arrived at the building that housed the office where he worked and, as he grabbed the door handle to step into the main lobby, he hesitated, took one more long look around, and he thought, the city never changes.