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by Denise Difalco

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Ten years prior to 9/11 I had my very first experience with New York City's subways.
I was apprehensive and fearful to travel on the underground railway but I didn't want my spouse or children to know of my concerns. I remember waiting as they zoomed
by with lightning speed. I wanted to run away or hide. The noise from the transit
seemed to shake the concrete walls. The walls that were decorated with tons of
graffiti...the only thing that drew attention away from my anxiety. Finally the
train stops and there are tons of people bouncing out of the doors, pushing whoever
they must to scurry on their way. For a moment I longed to be at my boring home
in Michigan. We were next in line to load on but if you don't sit fast enough, you
are going to have to stand and hang on to the cold metal pole. I had to stand because I wasn't experienced enough to win at the musical chairs game. I was quick to notice that it didn't matter whether I held on to that pole or not
because there were enough people packed up next to me in case of a quick stop.
This is the first time I ever felt like I was part of a sardine can. Everyone looked
like they had these sour looks on their faces and I knew that it was because they
didn't want to be there either. Imagine tons of eyes surrounding you in this
fairly small compartment and they all belong to strangers. The important thing is
that I survived and lived to share my story. Have I ever used the subway since that
time? Of course not, as much as I enjoy people that kind of closeness was rather
extreme.

Learn more about this author, Denise Difalco.

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