Lost In The Big City

"Let's seize the day," said my art teacher before leaving the class room.  Why is she so excited? She's been to this place a bunch of times, I thought.  The date is a bit foggy but I can still remember the sulking feeling I had on that early day during my sophomore year of high school.  I remember feeling less than enthused once I heard we were heading to the High Line, an old railroad turned park in West Side Manhattan.  

 I hadn’t even been to Manhattan.  I only just started referring to it as, the city because I felt that was my job as a New Yorker.  The walk to the subway was quick but I didn’t know how to handle standing in such a swamp-like atmosphere.  The moist air in the platform appeared to be scraping off the bad paint job.  Cracks between each footstep grew more crooked and the billboards were clearly old as most of the films were no longer showing in theaters.  I felt like the walls were closing in on me and I had to dodge dirt filled puddles on more than one occasion.  The rigid ground poked at the soles of my feet as if I were an unwanted guest.  The dark walls tried to consume me while the air blurred my vision.  I looked to my left and saw no signs of worry in the faces of those among me.  I am not a true New Yorker, I thought.  The experience must've been some sort of initiation in order to earn my stripes.  Entering the train was like stepping into a shaky boat, all I could do was hold on for dear life.  The people in the train seemed like experts as they read their newspapers and ignored the plea from a panhandler.  

            The entire trip was a blur but when it was over my teacher's words were loud and clear.  “Does anybody not know how to find their way back home?”  I could only imagine lifting my arm up.  As I looked to my right, nobody seemed to have trouble, which meant there was no way my hand was going up.  I attempted to group up with my clan but ended up losing touch when they decided they’d go hang out elsewhere.  Unfortunately, I wasn’t paying attention to our route; instead I was too busy enjoying the view.  My instincts told me to keep moving forward as I began finding traces of where I came from.  The people around appeared much larger and I felt as if I did not belong.   

 The streets offered loud noise of construction, a vast difference from my quiet and secluded home.  Anxiety began to build, as I couldn't decide whether to slow or speed up my footsteps.  The smell of cigarette smoke began to fill my nostrils, but instead of walking away I felt comforted by the warmth.  It reminded me of how my uncle smelled.  Eventually a sharp pain made its way to the bottom of my feet - I've been walking around for a couple of hours now.  I stopped as my eyes wandered, hoping to find a familiar face.  The strange folks appeared to be moving in fast forward, preoccupied with their endeavors.  Even the buses appeared  foreign to me.  They were clearly not headed towards Queens.  There was no cell phone in my pocket, no tools in my back pack, no map in my immediate area.  This is it - time to set up a piece of cardboard and join the homeless man to my left.  He was completely invincible as far as the rest of the bystanders were concerned.  I wondered if he started off as a young buck lost on a field trip like me.  My shoulders sulked as my will began to break.  My surroundings became darker as the streets began to fill up with more business suits.  I turned the corner when I spotted my lifeline. 

  An off duty MTA employee.  Her legs slowly trotted forward as she was in no rush.  Her hat covered her entire forehead and her uniform fit hit her perfectly despite the rolled up pant sleeves.  I froze as she was approached by what I assume was her coworker.  I gathered as much courage as I could and softly spoke, "Excuse me."  I asked where the nearest train station was as she inched closer and closer.  I looked down to the ground and found our feet nearly attached.  She asked where I was going.  I did my best to ignore the people walking around us and held onto every word she spoke.  Her directions were quick and simple.  Almost too simple.  Had the train really been that close this entire time?  

I was walking in the opposite direction this entire time.  I smiled as I gained new found assurance.  I kept repeating her words over and over under my breath.  

The welcoming Times Square bright lights were ignored.  At this point my damp and factory filled home was my utopia.  There it was, the gloomy green stairwell leading to the underground with a number 7 hanging above.  My eyes lit up as I awkwardly jogged over ignoring the agony my feet had endured.  I rushed down the steps and exhaled.

An empty train awaited at a standstill.  I didn't care to know why it wasn't moving.  I just believed it had been waiting for me.  I entered the least filled cart filled and sighed as I threw myself onto the uncomfortable seat that felt like heaven.  I couldn't help but smile at the rumbling sounds of the train taking off.  Soon I could see the brightness burst through the windows as we left the underground and inched closer to home. 

Death In The Family

"Dad's gone."  I'll never forget those words.  It came from my older brother, Brandon.
"He died in his sleep.  Doctors say he went peacefully.  His funeral is next week."
"That was fast," I thought.  I still had to go into work that day.  Usually dad drives me.  He usually drives me to school, church, and anywhere else.  Our car rides had shortened over the years.  I was no longer up for the rides to the market.  The early Saturday drives ended due to my work schedule.  The afternoons at church were replaced my afternoons at school.

I could've called out of work but didn't feel it was necessary.  I had yet to shed a tear.  His body was gone by the time I got home from school.  It was an enjoyable day.  I guess.  I was complimented twice in two of my classes.  Felt pretty good walking out of class and exiting through the welcoming doorway.  I thought it was unusual that he didn't answer his phone.  I had been waiting by the bus stop staring across the street.  All the people who appeared to be on autopilot or locked into their cell phone screens.  They all seemed the same.

I had trouble meeting anybody new because the truth was, nobody around me was really new.  Their faces were too familiar, their mannerisms were predictable and they all laughed at the same jokes.  "That joke isn't funny anymore," I thought.  I did my best to not shake my head at the sound of their conversations.  Kept my eyes forward and bypassed the loud gestures.

Even walked past an ensuing brawl between two couples earlier in the day.  I could hear the heavy footsteps rushing into each other like two bulls.  I could smell the rubber burning off their running shoes, wondering if they were appropriate for street fighting.  I thought I should've at least informed the security guard.  There weren't too many people outside at the time.  I had to get to my next class.  Should I have stopped?  My dad would've done something.  Not me.  I heard the voices, thick with anger.  What would little old me do?  Right when my hand reached for the knob, I heard,
"Get off of him!"  She sounded in despair.  Worried about her other half.  "They asked for it," I thought.  My hands swung as careless as my head.  "They were loud enough for the security guard to hear," I thought.  Looking back I regretted not at least sneaking a peak into the action.

I leaned against the wall embracing the end of a long day.  My brother and I hadn't spoken in so long but for some reason he was calling me.  I thought about letting it go to voicemail but remembered that I promised myself to try and be more welcoming.  Delivering the news of my dad's death didn't exactly convince me that I should always pick up his calls.  Well, at least I don't have to be standing out here alone.  I slowed down and decided to sit on the long brown bench I saw every day of the week.  It was usually filled with students who would sit there for hours.

The ground felt warm as the sun began to move ahead of some clouds.  There weren't as many people outside as I expected.  Was there an ongoing pep rally?  An ongoing concert?  Did everyone forget it was rush hour?  Better start moving before the streets get noisy.  My book bag felt heavy as my body sulked downward.  I thought about chucking it.  Dad's gone, why keep going?  Then I wondered what else I could get away with by blaming my dad's death.

 Will nature make a man out of me now that dad's gone?  Sixteen, clumsy and shy.  My watch got stuck on my jacket sleeve as I decided it was warm enough to walk in a sweater.  The same sweater I got in the mall.  The same mall my dad would always drive me to.  The dirt on the trail offered hints of a snowstorm as my shoes crunched with each soft step I took.  Made me think of the time we threw snowballs at moving trucks.  "They interrupted my sleep," was my rationale.


 My hat covered my ears blocking the unexpected winds that hit me as I drew closer to the large buildings.  Upon reaching home, I headed to my room to get changed and rest until I had to head to work.  I was stopped in the hallway by my mom who immediately gave me a hug as she cried on my shoulder.  I wondered about the last time I hugged her.  Probably my middle school graduation.  Will she and I grow closer now?  I couldn't make out the words my aunt and uncle were giving me.  I just knew it hadn't hit me yet.  After a small meal and a quick shower I looked at the clock and thought looks like I won't be getting a ride from dad. 

Feet Don't Fail Me Now

As much as I wanted to slow down, I told myself to keep moving.  I walked past dozens of people on the Court Square platform patiently awaiting the arrival of the express train.  They were content with entering a cart closer towards the end.  I wasn't.  I never am.  I always shoot for the first cart whether I am heading to school or heading home.  It's a long walk but it's worth it.  The sweat filling my forehead made me wonder how many calories I was burning.  My feet were screaming for me to take a breather but I made sure to control my breathing.  I have been speed walking since class was dismissed.  On my way to the platform a seasoned old man quietly called me over.

What can I say?  I'm a people pleaser.  I turned towards him with squinted eyes wondering if I was hearing things.  He was a lot bigger than me but I didn't feel threatened.  I guess being raised by my grandparents gave me more patience towards older folks.  His legs remained still as he leaned towards the top of the stairs.

"Excuse me.  Do you know which G train is headed towards Long Island City?"
"Umm.  It should say right there."
I stuck my head down trying to find the sign without having to climb all the way down the stairs to no avail.  I ran down the steps.  Skipped the last step for fun.  Saw that both signs at the top of the platform read Brooklyn bound.  Or something like that.
"That one's going to Brooklyn.  Try the other side."  The man gingerly took a few steps down but I decided to head back down to check both sides again to only further confusion.
"Yeah both sides are going to Brooklyn."  I couldn't make what he said but I paced forward then back trying to appear as if I am inching closer to finding a solution for the stranger.  The further I got, the more comfortable I was with leaving him alone.  And that's just what I did.


"Sorry I can't help you out here."  I don't think he heard me.  I spoke just as softly as he did and was not turning back around.  After all, he was bound to find somebody with more transit knowledge than myself.  He's a big boy, he can manage.  I wasn't even sure if he knew he was already in Long Island City.  I was gonna tell him that but didn't want to sound condescending.  The walk towards the 7 train left me wondering why anybody would ask me for help.  I am usually told that I don't come off as very friendly.  I return to my race against time as I reach the platform and make my way towards the dead end where the first train cart will arrive.  Fortunately for me, it got there just when I had reached the front.  The trains were packed per usual on a 6 pm weekday.  I saw enough room in the first cart and proceeded to enter gently as I leaned

against the door.  An old woman to my right and a gentleman to my left who couldn't seem to remain still.  I barely had enough room to breathe let alone move.  My eyes were glued to the backpack hanging off a stranger's back.  We were all bunched up with the same goal, get to our destination.  Unfortunately the man to my left had other plans.  I could see him through my peripheral vision.  He pulled his arm towards his chest and began softly rubbing his shoulder.  His elbow was inches away from my face.  He'd eventually put his arm down but then began looking at his stretched out hand as if it were glowing.  He leaned heavily on the train door and kept looking out the window as if there was something calling out to him.


  I took a glimpse at him and could tell he'd spend one too many nights at the gym.  The slight hint of body odor disappeared once I saw Ed Hardy esque clothes.  To each his own, I thought.  The cocky look on his face made me wonder if this guy was looking for a fight.  I ignored him and did my best to ignore the rest of the men and women around me.  They were already a little close to me as I would've liked.  Then we hit 61st and Woodside which made me think, "Should I squeeze in the few inches that separated my face from another passenger's?  Or should I leave the cart to let the others inside?"  I moved forward with my head hanging as low as possible.  I wonder what the man to my left would do.  I noticed he didn't bother moving an inch, deciding against common courtesy.


"Hey! Don't fucking touch me!" he groaned at one particular guy attempting to get through the train door.
"Move in!" the younger man fired back.  He was more kid than man.  Taller in height but the sound of his voice was that of a school kid.  His bookbag was also a dead giveaway.  I didn't look at him directly, choosing to ignore the chaos instead.  The two men continued to bicker back and forth and stare each other down as the school kid moved towards the center of the train shaped zoo.
"Go to school" said the older gentleman with a thick Spanish accent.  He then made his best attempt at throwing different curse words together to no avail.
"Yeah, I am going to school because I'm getting an education so I don't sound like you."  Check mate.  That line drew some smiles from the other passengers but not me.
"Fuck you, you bastard," the older man said while clenching his fist.  He was inches away from me and I felt that if something was going to go down, his gorilla like arms will most likely be swung inadvertently towards me.  The old lion began to tense up as his eyes didn't budge against the young lion.  The kid was not going to back down.  He refused to look away.  I wondered what I would do if a brawl ensued.  Would it be considered a fight in a phone booth?  Would I put my hands on the man with the larger frame? Was I gonna learn something new about myself today?  Will all my time spent watching UFC fights pay off?  Should I go for a rear naked choke?  Shoot for a double leg?  Flying knee?  Spinning heel kick?

At that moment I briefly forgot about the showdown and thought back to one of the most vicious knockouts in MMA history.  I quickly snapped back to reality and stared back towards my left  upon realizing that I had nowhere to lean or hold onto as the train doors shut.  Somebody took my place and leaned against the door as I had entered no-man's land.  Too far to reach for a pole, I had no other reliance but my feet hoping they remained glued to the hollow floor.  My body swiftly move forward and back as the train began to pick up speed.  I firmly pressed down hard hoping that I don't wind up flailing into somebody's arms.  As romantic as it sounded, there was way too much testosterone in the air.  Instead I would take a deep breath and act like I was physically under control.

One more stop and I'll be out of this hell hole.  Each bump would make me regret moving towards the center.  That's what I get for being polite, I guess.  This felt like an awkward family reunion where everyone could be found in the same place but also completely avoiding eye contact or any other kind of contact with one another.  69th, 74th, 82nd street, 90th, almost there.  I felt like a bobble head doll with how much rocking back and forth I was doing.  Then finally, I arrived.  I softly left the train doing my best not to ruffle any feathers.  Who knows what happened to the two guys.  I'd like to think they kissed and made up by the end of the ride. 

Welcome to My Blog

Ever since I could remember, writing always came naturally.  Time always seemed like a breeze during writing class as opposed to my time in history, science, or math class.

I never really had much structure and the older I've gotten, the more I've neglected honing my skills as a writer.  It just stopped being fun once the stakes grew higher.  So many rules and formulas caused for headaches and felt like work.

After realizing that this was all a part of growing up, I decided to place more of an effort towards engaging the reader especially since I made the decision to pursue a career in journalism.  One of the journalism courses I took a few months ago offered insight on Edward R. Murrow's innovative style in using literary technique in reporting to create a poetic flow.

This was the first thing that came to mind when I thought about creative non-fiction along with feature profiles.  I used to enjoy writing stories of characters based on my imagination back in middle school along with occasionally free writing just to shake off the rust.  I am looking forward to reading more on writers like David Foster Wallace who I was introduced to last Summer.