gratifying squish

from: journal entry 4/14/04

it is a monday morning after a long winter, 7:50 am. i’m on the red line, heading outbound towards cambridge. towards the front of the car there is a pool of coffee with cream, partially absorbed by a discarded metro that is slowly seeping across the marbleized grey linoleum floor. it’s a menacing mass of animate liquid, about three feet across, growing larger and more out of control with every bump and sway of the train. there is a suspicious froth at the edge in some areas – a reaction with whatever godforsaken substance winds up on a floor of a subway car.

the train is so crowded between south station and downtown crossing that it is impossible to avoid it. the odd jolt produces tentacles that strike passengers who mistakenly thought they were strictly spectators. those of us closer to it are looking down with nervous anticipation and fear. i am trying to stand on the outside edges of my feet, without really understanding what good that will do. others in more expensive shoes are trying to get on their tip toes, which, as evident by the strain on their faces and their failing ankles, is the first time they have tried to do so in a few decades.

enough people filter out at downtown crossing that i am able to escape, taking a seat far enough away to observe other’s clumsy attempts at avoiding the spill as it expands and attacks. i am mortified, realizing that only moments before i was guilty of the same irrational fear and ridiculous gesture. i had promised myself when i started doing this commute that i wouldn’t be one of those uptight, heads-down, cattle-people that i took such pleasure in scoffing at only months before. now we were no different.

the doors open at park. on walks a college-aged asian girl in flip flops and hip hugging jeans – the excess fabric of which is dragging precariously on the floor. those close to the situation look at her exposed feet and dragging jeans as if she were the guy in hitchcock’s “the birds” who was lighting a cigarette over a pool of leaking gasoline. she catches herself in time, freezing in front of it and staring, petrified. her unexpected stop causes a temporary back up of commuters colliding into each other – all confused, all dancing around the pool, loosing their balance and risking injury every time the train accelerates.

as the crowd further thins, it parts around a man, mid-twenties and well dressed; with the tell-tale white earbuds of an ipod stemming from his ear. he is planted defiantly in the thickest area of the spill, glaring down at it while playing subtle air guitar. as we lurch over the longfellow, i stare out the window at various crew teams – performing their early morning warm-up under a promising spring sky. their wake leaves a shimmering herringbone pattern across an otherwise placid charles. somewhere between this guy and the river, i feel, for the first time in my life and with great confidence, that the secret to life is in the appreciation and enjoyment of it while it sloshes beneath your feet, or passes outside your window. as i get off at dendall i make a point of stepping on the coffee-soaked metro – it lets out a gratifying squish as i continue out the doors.