Making Love Understandable

The subway platform is crowded three deep. ‘This,’ I think, ‘is gonna’ be good.’

I lean on an iron support beam deep in the 79th Street station below Broadway. All around me, straphangers crane their necks uptown to catch a glimpse of the oncoming train. My gaze is locked on an article on Tibet in Rolling Stone, but I’m not reading anything.

When the 1 finally arrives, I look up from beneath my sunglasses to scan the cars for rider density. ‘It’s packed,’ I think. ‘Though it is fourteen degrees outside.’

Thed doors open, but no one emerges. Instead, two dozen of us pour ourselves towards the entrance. We don’t acknowledgment of one another, but shuffle quickly past the sliding doors. We clot just inside, pushing as far as we can without bumping into one another.

Faces are drawn and vacant. Expressions are blank, exasperated, exhausted, and angry.

It is 8:45.

In the morning.

There is a young, bespoke man reading The Wall Street Journal, slouching across two seats. There is an elderly woman standing with her arms braced across the width of the train. I am backed up against the west side of the train, wedged between a large black man in a puffy North Face jacket and a young woman intent on reading AM New York.

I turn up Jeff Tweedy.

Cheer up, honey, I hope you can
There is something wrong with me

I look across the platform at 72d Street and hedge my bets. ‘Express?’ I think ‘Or local? Express? Or local?’

I remain on the local, my gaze locked on an article on Tibet in Rolling Stone.

But I’m not reading anything.

I relish the six blocks en route to 66th Street, then dread the doors gaping yawn. No one exits. My bag is tugged and trampled by a gaggle of gasping new passengers. I roll my eyes, and swear to myself.

59th Street? Worse.

I consider walking at 50th.

‘You’ve made it this far,’ I think.

Finally, the doors open at 42d Street. The elderly woman and young, Wall Street Journal man both stir from their comatose. We all do. Slowly, we move for the door. Outside, the subway platform is crowded three deep. I step off the train, and into the fray.

Cheer up, honey, I hope you can
There is something wrong with me

‘This,’ I think, ‘is gonna’ be good.’