PATH time
On an ordinary day, when I have no one special to see and nothing special to do, my favorite part of the day is the 13 minutes when I’m on the PATH train to work.
The ride always goes by too fast. Yet it wouldn’t seem as much fun if I got to the station a half-hour early and took an extra round-trip excursion before heading to the office. The delight in the ride is intensified by the fact that the 13 minutes are precious.I do not experience any other segment of time in an ordinary day as fully and intensely as I experience this ride, which seems to be over in a blink of an eye.
I sit in the first car, as it’s the nearest to the exit of my destination station, 33rd Street. I always try to go for the seat all the way at the very front, as it’s right by the front window – where I can gaze at the signals if I’m feeling contemplative – plus, there are a few extra inches of elbow room. During the week, I can almost always get away with putting my bags on the seat next to me, as I ride at an off-peak hour.
So far, this is wonderful. I’m sitting with a window view of the train tunnel, and I’m spreading out. The driver walks in and if I’m lucky I get a hello. I always feel like a celebrity when a driver says hello to me – more so than with the conductors, since drivers aren’t social by nature.
I come equipped with goodies from the health-food store – unsweetened iced herbal tea; tofu jerky; and an outsized, crusty sourdough roll – a good book (today’s will be Vol. 1 of the complete Peanuts), and the Good Book (King James version).
During the course of the ride, I start on the iced tea and devour the rest of the food – jerky first, then the roll. Eating and drinking isn’t allowed on the train, so I do this all discreetly, hoping the conductor will appreciate my efforts to look like I’m not consuming. I’ve been officially admonished only once in the past few years.
My method to avoid leaving crumbs is to stick my hands into the plastic bag containing the sourdough roll and break the roll into little pieces. Then I gingerly pull the pieces out one by one. It feels good to tear at that thick crust and reach the soft inside, which contrasts with the exterior like the flesh of an exotic fruit.
The book is opened up simultaneously with the iced tea and tofu jerky. It’s orchestrated with all the precision of a ballet. I’ve done it so many times that it’s unconscious, but I can map out the steps for you up to this point:
1) Enter train. Grab front seat.
2) Put purse in elbow-room section. Put book bag and food bag in next seat.
3) Look to see if conductor is watching. If no, take quick swig of iced tea.
4) Open tofu jerky.
5) Cross right leg over left leg. Smile and say “hi” to driver as he walks in and hope for a similar response.
6) Take out good book and open to wherever I left off.
7) Begin eating tofu jerky. Keep taking swig of iced tea when conductor isn’t looking.
By now, the train is moving, and I feel the wonderful forward motion. I’m reading in perfect light. No one is sitting near me, no one’s bothering me. It’s still early enough in the day that the car doesn’t smell. The sound of the car is a gentle white noise – loud enough to drive out other auditory distractions, but muted and steady enough to not be a distraction itself. The tofu jerky and intermittent iced tea is delicious. And the best part is…
There is absolutely nothing that I have to be doing right now.
I can’t pay bills on a train; it’s not a good idea to take out my checkbook in public. I can’t clean my apartment on a train. I can’t even call people on a train – not a PATH train, anyway. And I can’t get started at my job of copyediting the latest news articles on a train.
All I can do are my favorite solitary activities in the world – read and eat. Simultaneously.
Nine and a half minutes into the ride, the train hits 14th Street. By this time, I’m actively engaged in breaking up the sourdough roll and savoring the pieces as though they were the last such delicacy I will ever eat in my life. Indeed, they are the best thing I will have until I have another one tomorrow.
If I’m very disciplined, I’ll have put away the good book by now. If not, the closing doors at 14th Street are a wake-up call, and I frantically grab my Bible out of my book bag. The last three and a half minutes of the trip are reserved for Bible time.
If I’m feeling all right, I’ll just open to where I left off – currently it’s 1 John. But if I’m down, I’ll pick a psalm and read it carefully.
Too soon I hear the conductor call out 33rd Street. I grab everything, do an “idiot check” (looking back to make sure I didn’t leave anything – somehow, an umbrella on the floor will always escape this check), and take my spot at the door so I can pop right out like a petite jack-in-the-box when they open. I’m already wishing I had another sourdough roll. – Dawn Eden
Dawn Eden, a Hoboken-based writer, posts her work at www.dawneden.com.