Subway Learnin' - Part 1

I grew up riding the subway. The last stop on the 7, Flushing, Main Street, was home. I remember taking long treks with my Babushka and her best friend so they could shop for the finest bargain goods na Delan-see. My sister and I would dart to the seats nearest the window, then kneel and press our little hands and faces against the glass. We would spend the entire ride gazing at the scenes of Roosevelt Ave, Queens Blvd and dark tunnels as they whizzed by. Baba would warn us not to touch our face to the pane, or we would contract a monstrously violent illness.

There are many memories of my mother packing up my sister and I to go to a museum, a Broadway play, or to watch her get an ear cuff and bohemiam gear in the Lower East Side. On the ride home, she taught us about the finer things, how to discuss art and appreciate a good musical. If we were returning from a day of shopping, my mother would pull her wares out of her bag to examine them. I gained a deep appreciation for clothing that complemented my collar bone, a love of funky jewelery, and an understanding of the importance of color coordination.

From 8th to 10th grades, I'd cut school with friends (or my sister) and head to 8th Street in the Village to play pool and shoe shop. Sometimes, we'd make our way to Steinway Street in Astoria, Queens to check out boys I was too terrified to speak to. There and back, lessons entailed how to not attract suspicion when we got home, and how cute, and stupid, boys were.

When I graduated from college and moved to Brooklyn, I was teaching in Harlem. The commute always felt endless. After a 9 hours in a classroom with 8 year-old children, I'd go into what my friends lovingly dubbed "Marianne World" and zone off, often almost missing my transfer stops. One late pre-iPod era winter afternoon, looking off into space and trying not to blatantly stare at fellow subway-farers, my body suddenly snapped to attention. I felt someone blatantly staring at me, and when I looked up, I learned that he was pret-ty damn ... fine.

We locked eyes. He mouthed Hello. My first instinct told me that this was ridiculously corny. Mouthing across a subway car? Seriously? However, having no lesson for this moment, I decided to play along and whispered, "Hello" back. "How are you?", again, silently. I smiled, and stood up as I was approaching my transfer stop. Glancing back at him, I grinned again and then lifted my hand and slightly waved my fingers in a good-bye, then turned my head to face the doors. The train pulled into the Atlantic Avenue stop, and as I stepped off, he was at my side.

Stepping onto the platform, the conversation was brief and to the point. This wasn't his stop, but he informed me that he needed to talk to me. We exchanged introductions and contact information. I noticed he has a light West Indian accent. Digging his confidence, I got to the point. We set a date to meet during the week.

Click here for Subway Learnin' - Part 2: Fit