Source & Credit: Babylon Beacon, Long Island, NY
By Rizwan Alladin | North Babylon, NY
Have you ever experienced Déjà vu? As I look back on 2009, I recall having one of those moments. I, like many Long Islanders, have the regular, boring commuter persona that resides only in the steel gray cars of the Long Island Railroad. We enter the train, quickly claim our seats and then raise our invisible walls. Anybody who touches the wall gets one of those electric shocks, the kind you get when you rub your feet on carpeting and then quickly touch your little sister. But, we train commuters, with our assortment of fine weaponry: a good book, an iPod and a Blackberry, defend those walls vigorously, just waiting for those magical words from the Spirit above to release us from our defensive stance: “We have reached Penn Station. Please make sure you have gathered all your items…” the conductor wails.
But on one particular day, I met someone who was on the offensive. I entered the train and chose an open aisle seat (Frequent Fliers, think: seat 2B). As I started to place my bags in the overhead rack, the salt-and-pepper haired burly man in the window seat (seat2A) asked incredulously, “You are not actually going to sit here, are you?!” Dumbfounded, I responded, “Yes, there are no empty rows, and I would prefer not to sit between two people.”
He adjusted himself to give me a little room. I sat down and found his body taking up half of my space. With my puffy down Eddie Bauer jacket, I thrust my arms back and “created” space for myself. Well, that countermeasure became my downfall. My neighbor angrily retorted, “You have to be kidding me. I’m going to go find another seat you@#$%&*moron.” Wow, bonus, I now had two seats plus the coveted window. I’ll have to remember that for next time.
Later on, another man looking for a seat found sanctuary in my previous aisle. I closed my eyes and awoke to the Spirit’s boding, one hour later.
The next morning, I was able to catch the same train, with time to spare. As I neared the door entrance, I saw a cluster of people, all who were staring at me, some with an eerie grin. As I neared the group, I saw him—Mr. Expletive, laughing and jeering at me.
That was my Déjà vu moment. I was transported back to the 7th grade. I think the train turned yellow with a cranky mom at the steering wheel. But it was at that moment that I looked at my commute in a new light. As I sat in the train, I noticed that no one was smiling…no “good morning,”… no “I hear there might be rain today,”… no “what about them Knicks”…just invisible walls.
As I long for a cheerful, happier 2010, I’m reminded how real people carried themselves in public. Jesus, facing the horrors of crucifixion greeted his adversaries with salutations of peace and turned the other cheek. Muhammad is reported to have said, “a smile is an act of charity.”
A few days later, I got on the train and realized I had forgotten my pass. This time, however, the man sitting next to me reached over that wall of indifference. He turned and offered me his ticket.
Suddenly, my hopes lifted and I thought I wouldn’t mind seeing that Déjà vu “all over again,” in 2010.
The above article appeared in the December 31, 2009 edition of the BABYLON BEACON (Long Island, NY).
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