The R Train This Week

I boarded the train with my copy of Details magazine, listening to the soundtrack to Sweeney Todd, which I've been doing for the better part of three months. I had the volume turned low because I wasn't in the mood for random onlookers. Michael Cerveris can hit a note and I know people can hear what I'm listening to. Because I had the volume low, I could hear things. Such as the sound of the out-of-tune harmonica that was coming through the open train doors at Union Square. I looked up from my magazine to see if I could spot the blower but I couldn't. The doors closed and we were on our way. Relieved at the silence, I turned back to my book only to hear another sound. A performer was in my midst. I paused to compose my dirty look, because what I was hearing was not pleasant. And there he was in full view. A short plump man in his mid-60s with three or four chins holding an accordion. An accordian. He played his ditty over my din of Sweeney and I longed for 8th Street. He'd hopefully be done by then. And he was. He made his way to the other side of the train in short steps. Why is he walking like this, I thought to myself. Hurry up and put your hand out for the few coins you'll get. And then his short steps made sense. He was blind. Clicking his stick side to side across the narrow aisle. Ah shit. Well I couldn't very well complain. He was the first blind performer I'd seen on a train. And I've seen many performers. When he was near me, I hoped he wouldn't hit me with his stick. He didn't. And I didn't give him any money. I only thought how much it's gotta suck being a blind accordian player trying to walk down the aisle of a moving R train. He made it to the other end safely and once again, I was relieved to be able to read in silence. And then I heard another sound. Jesus Christ! But it wasn't the sound of an instrument. Unless you consider this voice an instrument. I looked up and to my right once again. And once again, I was ready with my look of contempt. And there she stood. Signs of homelessness written all over her seemingly 40+ year old, life-worn black body. Stained white baseball cap propped up on her mini-afro. Stone-washed jeans and an uncharacteristic t-shirt. She sang some sort of incoherent rhythmic melodies in her rather baritone voice that may very well have been deeper than mine. I went back to my book thinking she'd stay where she was like the blind accordian player did when he sang. But she didn't. She started walking. And I heard clicking. I looked up. Again. And fucking hell if she weren't blind. Never seen a blind performer on a train, and now I've seen two. In one day. On the same train. Was the other guy there? I looked for some reason, thinking there might be some kind of a blind-train-performer dual. So I looked to the other end to see if the other one was still on the train. He was, but it was all right. There would be peace on the train. She clicked her way toward me, much more furiously, I might add, than the one before her. I was certain she'd nail me with her stick. But by the time she was close enough for me to really be concerned, I didn't care. Because that's when I heard it. "Always and foreverrr, each moment with youuu...." No she didn't. "...is just like a dream to meee, that somehow came trueeee. And I know tomorrowwww..." It was about this time that, despite the fact that Sweeney was in my ears, I fought hard to keep my mouth shut. "...will still be the saaaame, cause we've got a life of loooove that won't ever change and every daaay, love me your own special way..." I did keep my mouth shut. But I hummed, folks. I hummed. I couldn't help it. And who wouldn't? "...melt all my heart awaaaay, with a smiiiiiiiiile. Take time to tell me......" She didn't hit me with her stick.