Communicating on the Commute.

The morning commute is a sacred time.  If you take the T, the Subway, BART, MARTA, commuter rails, and all the rest of it long enough, you begin to understand a certain unspoken code of silence that generally falls between the hours of 7-9:30AM.

For me, it's valuable reading time as those twenty minutes on the T en route to the office can at times be the only chance I get to dig into my book the entire day.  For others, it's the chance for a cat nap, a crossword puzzle, a zoned out moment listening to whatever their favorite song is that week.  Of course, there are always a handful of people that don't follow this unspoken, ahem, "guideline" of quiet time.  You can always spot the tourists right off the bat.  They get on in a group, standing -always standing, never seated - anxiously clutching the railing so as not to fall over.  They'll talk loudly about the site they're headed to, their hotel, or debate which stop to get off at.  Of course, I can't be too hard of them.  They're excited to be visiting my city, they are spending money that boosts the local economy, I've been a tourist in cities many times myself.  Plus, they don't know any better.

Once in awhile you get the drunk guy who stands in the corner of the train (or worse, sits, which ultimately takes up three seats instead of just the one because no one in their right mind is going to sit next to the crazy man) yelling or mumbling to himself and anyone else who will listen.  One of the worst offenders is the your music is way too loud, seriously ALL of us can hear it through your headphones rider.  This commuter usually starts singing along at some point too; proving once again the notion that sometimes your shampoo bottles are the truly the only things that should hear you sing.  Still, for the most part the morning train ride is a quiet, peaceful one and makes for a nice way to ease into the work day.

This morning, as I sat with my purse in my lap and my newest read in my hands, a woman about ten years older than me sat down beside me.  I'd watched her board the train, suitcase and purse in one hand, cane in the other.  She looked like she might be battling the early stages of MS for her gate was a little halted, her coordination slightly off.  Still she sat down with a smile, apologizing to me when she bumped my shoulder with her bag.  After a few minutes she leaned toward me.  "Are you reading that book for a class?" she asked politely.

"You know, I'm not.  I've just never read it, have been meaning to for years, and figured now was as good a time as any."

She smiled.  "I've never read it either," she told me.  "I'm still rather amazed I got through school without ever having it assigned."

I laughed and agreed with her, and we talked for the next ten minutes or so about other classic American works of literature, the film version of Grapes of Wrath starring Henry Fonda, and the little bit each of us knew about The Great American Dust Bowl.  As the train slowed near her stop, she rose, making her way gingerly toward the exit.  "You've inspired me," she said.  "Maybe I'll go home and read that book myself."

I smiled.  "You should!  It'll be like we're having a long distance book club...and then rent the movie when you finish."

She laughed.  "I think I will. And I'll think of you while I'm reading it."  With a wave and a final goodbye, she walked off the train.  A moment later the T doors closed and I was whisked away to the next stop.

Odds are I will never see that woman again.  I have no idea what her story is, where she lives, what she does.  But I know that our brief conversation this morning was the highlight of my day.  It made me smile, lifted my spirits.  I will think of her as I continue the book, will remember her when I sit down to watch the DVD of Henry Fonda's performance.  For strangers, we'll forever be connected by Steinbeck's work, by a novel that has stood the test of time.

Talking to this woman today reminded me once again that the world works in mysterious, connecting sort of ways at times; that you can meet the nicest people just by saying hello.  In fact, it made me think of one of my favorite quotes, from Augusten Borroughs: 
“I used to feel so alone in the city. All those gazillions of people and then me, on the outside. Because how do you meet a new person? I was very stunned by this for many years. And then I realized, you just say, "Hi." They may ignore you. Or you may marry them. And that possibility is worth that one word.”        

(And I guarantee none of this would have happened had I been holding a Kindle.)