Dedicated to my mother.
___

Its a beautiful thing really. It has always been this way whenever I had stepped through the threshold of my home and stuffed my hands in my pockets, thumbing on that multimedia player that had sent my earphones thrumming with life. Leaving behind all worries and stress to be shed once crossing that threshold into the world beyond.

There are many who have their way of coping with their stress in order to relieve it and settle their mind lest it would overwhelm and take them, destroying everything they knew. Some would jam hours on their instruments or even blast their favorite musician's music until their ears bled. Some even would read or would go along with some online gaming and blast their enemies to bits.

Others would shed their stress by sweating it out through the art of physical exertion [You would often find these people taking a walk or jogging] or even those who wrote until their hands cramped. Then there was what I did.

I was unsure who else had done such before I had but all I had known was that ever since I was young I had always been fascinated with the underground network in which had been home to those burrowing snakes of steel and electricity. That serpentine labyrinth I called my touchstone to peace had been New York City's very own subway.

I don't know what it was in particular. Maybe it was the roar and screech of the carts on their tracks. The shudder and shake of the ground underneath my feet and rush of wind that struck home, tugging at your clothing when it came ever so close to crushing you where you were standing on that red or yellow line marked as a warning to those who were passerby. And despite the warning I would often find myself standing there to feel my heart thrum to life one more time. Or maybe it was what I saw on that platform and within those carts that changed me and settled my mind, putting me to peace.

People spoke of America as the melting pot, but I have been to other states, albeit not all of them, and nothing brought me closer to what the melting pot could have been then the subway could. To say the least it was magnificent and would often leave me awe struck at what I could find.

I have seen all walks of life on those various trains that raced from uptown to downtown and across the city and boroughs. All walks of life. I had thought such things impossible and yet when I stood there and looked upon quiet, laughing and or silent faces, all in which sat and settled or stood as I had. I could see dozens and hundreds of different souls all settled into one place. The tug of war of emotions within was magnificent to look upon and see the contrast of differences there.

The people.

There was always that one person who listened to their music almost a bit too loudly. You would always wonder if they were attempting to intentionally make themselves permanently deaf. Most likely they had bobbed their head to some cool-headed thrum of a beat by their favorite latest artist. These were often than not younger teens and adults that you would find spitting rhymes or simply tapping their foot and swaying to that beat with eyes shut.

Idly I wonder if they were drowning out any urges and feelings that I had. Maybe that was why I hid behind a facade as I looked upon those around me.

Then there were peddlers attempting to sell their wares on the train, attempting to get by on a few measly dollars. These were often young-adults who had attempted to sell candy bars for their basketball team or other after school function that many chose to ignore unless actually craving some snickers bar. But for some reason they were always out and only had peanut M&M's or that one candy that no one cared for. Then there were those who had begun to sell pirated DVDs there and then. I hear those are good now, the quality I mean. I suppose if you don't have a date or time to waste on a Friday night to see the next big movie. Then you might consider one of these people for a look at their carry-around library.

It reminded me of how much easier I had my life now as I dug my hand into my pocket, fingertips brushing against folded paper money.

Let me not forget the beggars and homeless. What had overwhelmed them in this life that had led them to this point? If I had the change I often gave it up to them after they told their heart-string pulling story. Often or not they were people who were sick, tired, hungry and alone. Only wanting enough to get by on and survive another day in the concrete urban jungle that was New York City.

Often than not these people were ignored and thrown aside as if they were naught more than trash. It was sickening to watch them ignored because I knew if I had been in that similar situation I would have wished someone would help me. If what little coin could bring some semblance of peace to someone's soul then they could have it.

It reminded me that my life was not so harsh. I would have a home to return to at the end of the day.

Then my gaze would find another as the train had come to a halt and the beggar would leave onto the next cart to retell his story. I silently would give my prayer in hopes he would have enough to fill his belly tonight as my eyes settled upon that of a young woman. She was dressed for business and naught else. Her hair clasped and face bright, lips pursed together. Her black shoes clean and slacks settled about her comfortably with her purse slung over her shoulder. Her blazer was snug and buttoned and head held high. She gave me a smile when she found my watching her. I couldn't help but smile back.

Where did she come from today? I asked myself. Work? No doubt some high rise corporation building from looking upon what she wore. Things were going well for her and with naught to complain of. Some people had it easier than others.

I wasn't jealous, no, I was happy for the woman who stood in front of me awaiting her stop. I still had my own goals to reach.

Ding.

Times Square.

Time to move.

Now this was where the fun began where one would see the sudden rush of people entering and filling the cart. Often I moved more toward the middle where I would find myself pinned and crushed between others, gasping for air and a handhold to ensure I wouldn't fall face first onto the floor and embarrass myself. It felt like a game and I believe I became good at it for I was able to squeeze into the smallest of places without much trouble.

I'm not exactly sure if that's something to brag about though. So I'll stop tooting my own whistle. Atleast for a while so I can efficiently side step and dance around those filling the cart.

There, now i'm safely nestled with my hand upon the bar. My fingertips strummed as if pressing on the strings of a guitar, jamming them hard against the fret board as a free hand stroked the air as if I held a plektrum. My passion.

Back to the people while I raise the volume a bit upon my multimedia player, just loud enough to drown out the announcer's prerecording. I knew the stops by heart. I didn't need to hear them.

Here you would see those of a dozen races and ethnicities. Those of all walks of life. How I loved looking upon tourists and foreigners and their wide smiles as they spoke in some language I couldn't quite make out. Their wide eyes spoke of wonders uncovered and things having been seen. I would wonder what they saw that day. Had they been to the Metropolitan Museum or Art? Or possibly just Central Park. Maybe they visited FAO Schwarz or had gone for a broadway play earlier in the day.

Then I wondered when I would leave the country and brave the sea or wide air to visit Rome. I've always wanted to go there.

And then things had begun to clear when we had come closer to Canal Street. I wasn't surprised. It mostly always did and it allowed me the chance to steal a seat until my stop came. This was when I had often seen young or older couples together, gathered against one another and nestling, speaking of fond memories or future events while touching one another in such affectionate ways that it couldn't help but make you smile and wish you had such in return.

I couldn't remember the last time I had touched someone in such a way...It made me feel old and alone. There was much more to the world than this.

My stop.

It came a bit quickly.

Leaving behind my seat and those couples behind to mount the stair well and cross to the opposite end of the tracks so that I may make my trek home. In which usually the journey took from forty five to an hour and fifteen minutes total more or less depending on arrival and departure of the train. I never complained though. I wasn't going anywhere. But this was where I found that one young lady who had been attempting to drag up her baby carriage with no such luck. I helped her. My back wouldn't break if I did so, I wouldn't feel the same if I watched either her or her child hurt themselves. The babe was mewling in the stroller and the woman smiled her thanks before I moved on.

I wondered if I would ever have a child.

This was where I would often seek a bench and settle myself down when I did finally reach the opposite end of the tracks and awaited my train. This was where I would find that newspaper that someone had left after having purchased with their own coin rummaged from their pocket that morning. How many hands had this paper turned? I would ask myself when flipping through it before watching the train come.

I would come to my feet and leave it there for no doubt someone else would find more use of it than I had.

I watched the world pass before me stop after stop and watched all walks of life pass before my very eyes. I had watched love, triumph, sorrow and anger show in the faces of many within that number 6 train. I had watch different people linger with others and in their own ways cope with their life. I had shed my stress and worries when I had crossed the threshold to step into the world and now, before long, I would find myself crossing back indoors to shed my coat and shut the door, locking it securely before turning to motion up the stairwell.

Looking upon the melting pot made me realize that I may still have the strength to continue on. Maybe next time i'll enjoy my life a little bit more than I had. Maybe i'll broaden my possibilities and horizons and take a risk and attempt to reach a goal I had thought unthinkable.

Maybe i'll find love unintentionally out in the streets of the city because as we all know stranger things have happened. This world that I now live in seems a little bit less cold now as I rubbed my hands together and stepped further into my home to gaze upon a brother I did not see eye to eye with that morning. But we were used to such things and so we only smiled mildly at one another, inclining our heads in assent and silent apology.

Before long though I had soon sought the phone to make a call to someone I had argued with that afternoon. To make an apology that must be done. My brother having left me there to do what I must in privacy although he said not a thing, I was sure he knew. I awaited through the ringing after having thumbed the number and pressed my forehead against the door jamb near by as I always tended to do when on the phone. Eyes shut and brow furrowed until I heard the phone pick up on the other side finally.

“Hello?”

The voice came through the ear piece and I fell silent only momentarily before finding myself.

“Hi, mom. Its me.”

Looking upon the melting pot made me realize life was too short for silly quarrels.

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