An Old Subway Poem

I interviewed Robert Redford once. I was at a conference in Hollywood with my college newspaper, and I was part of a press junket asking him questions about his movie “The Conspirator”. I remember one of his responses to a question of mine was “Again?!”, having something to do with the political climate of today. But I’m not positive, and can’t seem to find my notes.

So I spent a decent amount of time combing through old e-mails trying to find some notes about the time I interviewed Robert Redford, which you’d think I would have. But, alas, I haven’t been able to find anything yet.

However, I did find something else. It was an e-mail that I sent to myself from my Blackberry (that shows how long ago this was) when I was riding the subway. It was sent on Thursday, November 4, 2010. At 5:51 P.M. The message header just said ‘hey’. And it was hidden in the annals of my e-mail until today.

I know it seems like I’m really hyping this up, but all it is is a short little bit of free verse poetry. I’m a little confounded though, because I don’t remember at all what it could be about. My best bet is becoming the next Editor-in-Chief of the paper. Now that I think about it, I really did stress a ton about that. Because if I got it: great, but tons of work; if I didn’t: I was going to quit the paper.

Now that I’m writing this down, a ton of strange emotions are coming back. Yikes. When some sort of life-changing event happens, no matter the scale, you tend to forget how you felt before you found out what would change. How you felt about the other option that could have unfolded, but didn’t. 

Anyways, here is the little ditty I wrote on a subway in November 2010, when I was worried about what was going to happen to me in the future.

Screech and rumble. Sounds as the wheels clunk the rail. An acceptable price (plus the two twenty five) for the escapeway.

The man with an old bklyn dodgers hat and coat. A sleeping ponytail. The hard faced silvered hair woman. A texting mauve maven. A mysterious doorman.

None of them know that my life will change in three weeks. None of them care.

None of them know about my struggle to stay afloat in school and at work. None of them care.

None of them are breathing down my neck. “Get this done.” “Do that now.” “Its important.” “You need to…” None of them care.

Not the mauve maven, the hard faced silver hair. Not the old time dodger. Or the sleeping ponytail.

Its not that they’re malicious. Apathetic. Cruel. They don’t care because I am incosequential to their lives, which only overlap for these few blocks of transit.

But the sleeping ponytail et al have their own worries. Their own life changes. The mauve maven has a promotion coming up. The hard faced silver hair has night class later. The old time dodger is going to work the night shift.

For a short ride, nobody cares about me. Nobody knows anything about me.  And it is wonderful. At least until I hit 242nd street. And then my escapeway ride ends. Until tomorrow.

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