The Tarsal Serenade

The New York subway system can be difficult for a novice to navigate. The map is alphabet soup with numeric croutons: a mass of colored lines that criss-cross so much it can be hard to tell which station belongs to which line. The 4,5 and 6 trains can take you to the A, C and E, but if you need to get to the V you’d better take the 9 Local to the F Express. I get by, but it can take me awhile of staring a hole in the map to figure it all out.

Once safely inside the train, you are in an enclosed space with a potpourri of personalities (I use the word potpourri with intention, as some of the personalities give off an aroma) that make for an entertaining ride. I can already tell that the subway train is one of the spots that will be uniquely NYC; one of the places where the city defines itself on a daily basis.

Definition One was a wide man wearing a red sweatshirt with a dirty hood. He was bulky and hunched over, the sort of man that might make you call the cops if he was hanging out near a playground. He was swaying back and forth a bit, in an unsettling way, and staring sharply at his feet. He started mumbling something. A woman next to him said took exception with the conversation he was having with his shoes.

He laughed. It’s not funny, she said. He laughed again, and continued staring at his shoes with a smile on his face. His feet seemed to comfort him; even entertain him. He clicked his heels in a happy, there’s-no-place-like-the-4-train way.

She frowned, and at the next stop, moved to sit on the other side of the train.

He began to sing. It was difficult to tell what he was singing over the rattle of the rails, but it sounded like a spiritual song. He was swaying back and forth, and I would occasionally hear “lake” or “deedeeedadadadeeee”. More people moved to the other side of the train. He just continued smiling and looking at his feet.

After a while, even I started to look at his feet. Mine never made me smile or deedadee or anything. Was it his shoes that brightened his day? The fun of wiggling his toes? In the end, the only thing I knew for sure is that singing a song to your feet gets you extra space on a crowded train…. so I took a mental note to learn the art of the Tarsal Serenade.