Familiar Strangers

Like a lot of people I commute to work every day via mass transit. I go to the same train station every morning and I take the same train to work every day. As I take the Long Island Railroad or LIRR as it is abbreviated, I depart at the same time every day, with mostly the same people.

I see these same folks every day and they see me, yet I’ve never spoken to any of them, well not spoken anything of any real value anyway. Usually just excuse me, or no, you go ahead. This is my preference, I always have my ear buds in and in cooler or wet weather the hood on my hooded sweatshirt will be up until I am seated. Upon sitting, I open my messenger bag, pull out whatever I am currently reading and immerse myself in my book. This is my quiet before the storm, my sacred solitude.

However, this doesn’t stop me from wondering what these familiar strangers are like. The two girls, who arrive to together, dress almost identically and carry their way too big purses in the bend of their arms, while wearing their ridiculously huge sunglasses, and yet they never sit together.

The young man who shows up slightly flustered, suit jacket over his arm, tie not even around his neck, let alone tied, belt in his other hand! Dude, take a few extra minutes and actually finish getting dressed before you leave the house.

The young girl who is either goth, punk, or really depressed. Always in black leggings, a black top of some sort, and her Converse sneakers. Pale, black hair buzzed in the back, always looking dour. If Erin and I had a daughter, I imagine she would probably look like this girl.

When I get on the train I almost always end up sitting either right across or diagonally across from the woman with the big blue headphones, always drinking her coffee through her straw and peering at her iPhone. Usually with a furrowed brow as if she’s studying or concentrating very hard on something.

Sometimes I wonder what these people are like, what their jobs are, what music they are listening to, who they are texting so furiously, or what show or movie they are watching on their iPad or what they are reading on their e-reader.

I suppose all this is human nature, just as I suppose that they might wonder all of these things about me. Wow, it was loud when that guy cracked his neck, what is he listening to, what is he reading, what does “BJJ” stand for, why is he limping today?

Is it strange that I’ve never attempted to start a conversation and neither have they? Is it a consequence of being New Yorkers, would it be different if we lived elsewhere? Is it disinterest, distrust, laziness? What is it that keeps these familiar faces that I see more often than some of my closest friends and family strangers? Whatever it is, I’m sure that it will continue.