the in between
—
moving fast, and then
something in between, and then
it begins to stop
—
rest stops
We exit our multi-hour moving enclosure
air
then inside
time buzzes, and compresses, and squishes to a point, and I blink, and
it’s awfully quiet
a chime plays
I take a whiz while my brother orders filling food for the family
mama leans in her chair - it hugs her
other chairs prop up in my periphery as my gaze sweeps, hugging others, many who need the comfort from their enclosures
parents, hungry kids, enclosure drivers
across hundreds of miles and hundreds of choices, we chose this exit and were blessed thusly with a true melting pot of the ages to explore
sunlight knocks on the windows, asks permission, then gently caresses through the glass, a twinkle in its eye
it is warmer, somehow
in my heart
the paper bags of food crinkle in my grip
my brother slurps
obnoxiously on his soda
The Enclosure glares at us from the outside
as though we are in a diving cage and there is blood in the water, wafting about in the eddies of the repeatedly recycled
air
And back in we go
—
it is through the gaps
that we learn the most about
the Solid, Real
—
the subway
Take the Red Line for five stops, then transfer to the Blue line.
okay, sure - feet tapping on steps, the beep of cards,
someone has missed their train, a child cries, the brief cacophony of Joes jostling sans joy, just
Waiting
Google Maps Says Ten Minutes Till The Train Touches Down.
the rubber of my case fights valiantly against the indignity of being put in my pocket; alas, that is a losing battle, and it is silenced
The world, however, is rife with vocalizations
of the vicissitudes inundating People.
there are People talking about their work, their shitty bosses, the breakroom coffee, a kind coworker
Others mention dinner plans, a bar, a nice toffee, popping the Cork
on a nice glass of wine
a kid talks about her homework, a boy talks about his fiance - “the wedding’s coming up!”
across the way (three tracks), a rippling man with a black tee carries a terribly tiny, feisty dog in a cream colored tote
to his left is an Aunt with a teal patterned shirt and beige pants, sitting calmly and smiling at the dog. Behind her, the Red and Orange tile tessellations provide some interesting color contrast, surrounding the station name that is itself simply Blue and White.
two girls seem to be having a spirited conversation, though I can’t tell about what
silver roars past, with brief flashes of the Other Side permeating through, flashes of Red Orange Blue White Teal Black Pink Cream Red Orange Blue White Teal Black Pink Cream Red Orange Blue White Black Pink Cream Red Orange Blue White Black Pink Cream
Huh. I wonder where the Aunt went. She Sure Is Spry.
clack clack, clack clack, clack clack
the tunnel shines brighter and brighter
the train screams once, twice
its wind attacks me briefly, warm in my face, before settling down
and it grinds to a halt
the exodus and the entrance anew, like clockwork.
—
a liminal space
is a place where time is not
but People still are
—
airports
It soars up and up and up, and soon, its thin side profile is eaten by the pale midday hues.
I am twenty-two and my face is nigh pressed up at the glass, but a precocious child peruses these planes alongside me – good taste in hobbies, my friend.
There are arms and legs splayed about, inevitably, of people in contorted positions amongst the rows of chairs at the gate. A snore or two eked out, some masks. A few scattered chargers, someone on their switch, a boy on his iPad, people eating Dunkin’ and Currito.
Sun glints off the metal armrests.
No one is anyone here, really. And
Everyone is Somebody, here. And
Each interaction is an interlude, a brief moment of respite that two parties engage in as they escape the pack-dogs of obligations that chase them down relentlessly. And
while outside the turbines spin up and roar to attention,
thin glass and walls separate us from reality
for just a brief moment.
It is a special kind of quiet
in my mind
right now.
—
stationary, and
something in between, and then
it begins to move
—