Dancing in a Subway Station

Since moving to Boston, I have more or less successfully managed to blend in and quickly adapt to the ambience and taking the subway (though I still lack those subway legs everyone here seems to have been born with. So once I see an available space I make a mad dash for it before the train moves).

Unavoidably there comes a time when you see something completely unexpected that causes your jaw to drop and your eyes open in wonder…possibly making you look and act like a loony…

For me it happened in the subway. There were three of us casually making our way to the Red Line T. Beautiful music reached our ears as we descended into the pits of Hell (more on this in another post). I thought adding music to the subway station was nice, but not practical, as it’s already hard enough to hear the announcements over the screeching of the train as it sputters to a stop and people’s feet pound on the platform.

My train of thought then cancelled all stops as I saw the source of that incredibly hypnotizing music. A man stood on the other side of the platform expertly and smoothly manipulating the strings of a guitar, microphone and speakers amplifying the melody. His voice was rich, deep, and full of meaning as he interpreted Beatles songs and some others my friends recognized from the sixties.

“It’s real…” I managed to say. “I mean…I thought that was a radio.” My wonder gave way to concern that the man would get arrested.

“I thought it was a radio, too.” This from my just as dumbstruck friend.

Our tour guide and friend, having lived here for a year, smiled and calmly explained that many artists and musicians got permits to play their music and/or sell their art in the subway. The permit is strictly limited to specific parts of the station and many hope to be discovered there. One of her friends does this sometimes and earns quite a bit of money in the day.

Even then you couldn’t get me to stop gaping at this man in fascination. I felt he should definitely be working on his own CD and I was dying to speak to him. Alas, he was on the other side of the tracks and it was impossible for me to go over.

I looked around at the faces in the crowd and was quite disappointed by the lack of interest. Some looked at him in annoyance, others ignored him, plugging their ears into their iPods, and others looked utterly bored. Only one couple smiled at the man and tossed some money into his open guitar case. I briefly contemplated making a paper airplane out of money…

My friend began to sway to the music. She tapped her feet and bobbed her head, wearing a big smile. Taken by the music and the giddy feeling it left me with, I joined her and we danced in earnest, surrounded by dejected people, content in our little bubble of happiness. It took a while for insanity to claim me again and I stopped dancing. I regretted that almost immediately. There are very few times when life offers you the opportunity to break into dance with joy, and when the time comes, we should take advantage of every precious second.

The music slowed and stopped, followed by the glare of lights, screeching, and clamoring horn of the Red Line T. The moment was gone, but the feeling remained throughout the day. I hope I get another opportunity to hear this man again and to speak with him.