Subway Story

Why does it always seem too early, or too damn late in the day to deal with those people handing out the scruffy bits of paper with all that “I’m deaf and dumb. Please buy my finger alphabet for a dollar blah blah blah?” I mean, I’m trying to believe you. Really. But to be frank, my conscience is still being saved by a monthly donation to Habitat For Humanity.

If I were being honest, I only really took the lady’s bit of paper because the girl next to me did. This is what it looked like..

The girl next to me got off at the next stop, which cleared room for ‘Evelyn’ to sit down beside me, and gave me just enough time to unravel the awe that had been shoved into my mouth.

“But I don’t understand,” I said, not sure whether to look at the amazing note or the amazing Evelyn herself, “Where on earth did you find the guts to do this?” The words are clumsily slipping out of me for the surprise. “I’m British so public displays of expression tend to be completely off limits for me. I think what you’re doing is absolutely amazing.”

“Well thanks!” She told me heartily. Good Lord. Even at 7:30 in the morning on a cruel, cold Monday someone out there was capable of that kind of joyous positivism. All given willingly with smiles you find hard to believe are real. Her two words were thrown at me with a confidence that still rivalled any I might have had in my voice. To be fair, we were still on a dirty subway and my surroundings couldn’t help keeping me just a little skeptical of her.

“Honestly hon? I was terrified. The first time I did it, I hid in the corner of the car for almost my whole journey home. I only raised the courage two stops before I had to get off. I quickly stood up, took a deep breath and just started handing out the note. Truthfully, I’m not sure I knew what I was doing until I had no more paper in my hand. But I tell you something. Somebody always wants to talk to you. Always.”

I mean, this was insane. I’d met my hero on the J, M, Z from Bushwick to Manhattan. We talked about her story. My story. I told her about how I hadn’t seen my dad in ten years, and how I’d fallen in love with a lad I’d found on rooftop amidst a Brooklyn thunderstorm. It was bizarre and lovely to share all these things with Evelyn. She knew no details about me, but seemed comfortable hearing my life stories before I’d even given them up to her.

“Honey, I’ve read all the books and newspapers I possibly can on this train. I’ve listened to all the CD’s I’ve got. But I ride this train with hundreds of people that have amazing and different stories to tell. I don’t get to leave New York all that much so I just want to see if I can travel a little further than the Lower East Side everyday.”
“In the last three months I’ve met bankers, nurses, ex-cons, mothers of two, mothers of twelve, people from Taiwan, Argentina, Nigeria, Australia… and now I’ve met someone from London, England! Who’d’ve thought? And what a life you’ve had! Well honey it’s been so lovely to meet you, but look at that. This is my stop.”