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The Christmas Train
by: Elizabeth Horner
I have a long commute: two subways and a train. Most of the time I
don’t mind. The alone time with just my school books practically forces
me to study and, as I stand-- bracing my legs against the rocking of
the car-- I tell myself that I am helping to make up for the amount of
time I spend sitting in a day. And yet, there is one problem with
relying on public transportation to get you from Point A to Point B on
time, every time: namely that you can’t.
I was on the the way home from my British Literature II class when I
noticed the lights flickering more than usual. Eventually, they turned
off altogether as the PATH I was on ground to a halt between
Christopher Street and Newport. You know because I’m writing this, that
this was more than just a pause to let another train go ahead of us--
but the worst part of being down there when something goes wrong is the
not knowing: whether or not it is a medical emergency or a train
malfunction, if you are going to be stuck for five minutes or an hour.
Eventually one of the conductors got on the loud-speaker, hinting
strongly for the latter in both circumstances. I let the backpack which
was resting heavily on my shoulders slide down onto the floor.
I can’t say any of us were happy about the situation. A woman stopped
one of the PATH workers as she was walking down the aisle, and yelled
at her to get another car to tow us out of there. It wasn’t a fair
accusation, and I was glad when someone else, only a few seats down,
stopped the worker again, this time to express his thanks that she was
doing all she could to remedy the situation. His words were followed by
murmurs of approval rather than the dead silence that followed the
woman’s comments.
In fact, the longer that I stayed down there, the more I noticed how
even people’s grumbling wasn’t really grumbling, but a segway into
funny stories about other train mishaps-- a means of introducing
themselves to the person next to them-- an invitation from someone
seated for someone else to take their seat (“Geez, it’s crammed in
here. My legs are falling asleep. Ma’am, do you want a chair?”). I
ended up talking to someone who had, just a few years back, graduated
from NYU, after she helped me find my pen that I had dropped. And all
of it made me feel… hopeful? Proud?
Right now, we are in the midst of the holiday season-- that magical
time of year where we release family tensions, social strife, and find
cohesion in the desire to celebrate. The lights we see glimmering along
people’s roofs, the trees framed against window sills, the very
lightness in people’s steps, are symbols of our desire to share a
peaceful moment with our common man. And yet, in some ways, it is too
easy to play nice when everyone has a present to give everyone else,
when we are all warm in our Christmas sweaters, and full with turkey or
ham. Get a bunch of people singing “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer”
together, and it’ll likely turn into a happy occasion.
But on that train, we were overheated, squeezed together into the cars
that had managed to maintain or regain their lighting. And people still
showed a remarkable amount of kindness, patience, and sympathy for
their fellow human beings. I knew that from then on, whenever cited the
coldness of people from New York City, I would think of that moment,
and remember the truth.
Perhaps you think I’m making a big deal out of nothing: trains have
problems all the times, and it doesn’t mean much besides the obvious,
but what happened down there really did affect me. I know there are
troubles in the world-- the controversy with the Ferguson trials, among
other issues-- and yet, having been part of that moment, that common
every-day sort of Christmas, led me to believe in the triumph of good
intentions. It made me realize that in addition to the holiday’s
religious significance, how it rightfully gives us the chance to
celebrate ourselves and what is good in people.
From somewhere up the line of cars, we heard the motors starting up.
Cheering resounded as the subway started moving.
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