Days of Past and Now

The morning was brisk, and a cool breeze warned that summer was coming to an end. Glints of sunlight bounced off parked cars. Foosteps crunched over gravel and dirt. The aroma of coffee wafted into the air, and another flap of breeze tried to pull newspapers out of hand. And sunlight fell before the Shortline bus pulling up in front of the park and ride.

It took roughly an hour and a half to reach Manhattan. The Lincoln Tunnel was notorious for its traffic jams, and if stuck, the arrival would be delayed longer. The commuters inside would bide their time with a flip of a newspaper page, the buzzing of headphones in the ear, or just leaning their heads back and closing their eyes, and there were times, where I would even doze. But most of the time, I would just sit back and watch the scenery flash past my dark window.

Once at the Port Authority, I would check my watch, making sure that I was still early. I ventured down the escalators until I reached the main floor. The staircase leading toward the subways rose into view, and it would be a hop scotch to the last train taking me downtown. And then after a few blocks of walking, I would reach the law firm, where I was tempting as a legal secretary.

A herd of commuters passed me as I stood still. Glass doors to the Port whooshed back and forth. Everyone was in a rush. Everyone was going somewhere. Eyes darted back and forth but at each other, and thoughts were occupied with the day's events. Nobody wanted to entertain any sign of danger or threat but to be left alone and go about their life. Yet, its presence lingered in the back of my mind, but I still made my way toward the first subway ride.

I always hated the morning rush. Commuters poured past sliding doors. Thunderous footsteps roared up stone steps to the outside world. Elbows shoved into the side, feet clicked together, and hands bounced back and forth along the metal guardrail, and we pressed tight like sardines in a can. But such was the life of working in the city, occupying the same schedule as those beside me, and hardly did an danger or threat cross my way. And the doors parted, and I bolted to the next phase of my commute.

But one subway ride did not go so smoothly. I was on the first to last train heading down to the financial district. A man sat opposite from me. His eyes were full of rage, and his mouth spouted pure hatred. His hands curled into fists, and he was poised for a fight. An innocent bystander bumped into him, spiraling him further into his endless rants, and commuters desperately tried to move away from him. But we were packed in tight, and one girl trapped between him and another burst into tears. And he laughed at this, sensing her weakness, and then his gaze tried to meet mine. But my line of sight fell over his head, but I wished that my ears could shut this man out. And two stops later, I bolted from the train, but I could hear him going off in the distance. And when I found a transit cop, I informed him of what was going on, and he said, "This man has to do something first for us to look into it."

My temp job only lasted a few months. I was back on the looking for employment track. I began to take exams for government jobs, but in the meantime, I needed to work. Many days were spent wandering city streets, going into agencies, and hoping that my qualifications met an opening, but most days were unsuccessful. And I would find myself on the last train home, going to a dead-end retail job, and I feared that my life would never venture past that point.

And I didn't always know where I was going. One job interview led me into an unknown area of Manhattan. The meeting went well, but they didn't offer me the position. It was still early out, so I would be home before dark. But as I took one train to another, I became aware that someone was following me, or was I just paranoid? As I exited one train, heading up to another, he walked faster behind me. His breath touched my neck, and my eyes darted about the oblivious commuters that passed by. But why was I afraid of him? I spun around, nearly colliding with him, but my actions threw him off-guard. And his gaze averted from my glare, and he slid past me. His hands curled at his sides, and he turned to look at me over his shoulder like the fox with the sour grapes. But I wasn't afraid but furious to be seen as prey, and as he disappeared from sight, I returned to my trek home.

Why do I mention these encounters? What made me think of those moments? It was late at night, and I despise watching the news, grabbing tidbits of it in the morning. The remote lingered in my hand, and I pushed a channel. The story unfolded before me of the foiled terrorist plot, and I knew that part of the city. During the summer months, I would wander aimlessly there, drinking in the sights, but someone nearly destroyed all that beauty, all those lives. But for what?

What if I was there? I tried to keep that thought from crossing my mind. It knocked on the door, trying to slip through my four walls of sanctuary. A knot tightened in my stomach at the thought of all that devastation, all that tragedy, but thank God, he failed. We were lucky, grateful to the heroes that rose up in our time of need, but behind their wings of glory, a darker thought crossed my mind. What if they try again?

I remembered sitting on that subway, waiting for the man to explode. I wondered if I could escape, but there were so many commuters crowded by the doors. Fear touched my spine, and his words were as cold as his heart. But why was I afraid? Where was my will to fight? If you let fear inside, let it fester, and take you over, then you succeed in becoming their prey, but why surrender? Don't you have every right to exist, live and breathe, and not be crushed beneath their weight of ignorance? What makes him better than us?

I was grateful when the city days fell behind me. I felt safer working endless hours in a retail store, but fear still tugged at my spine. It was a lie to believe that you will always be safe, or was that thought just feeding my paranoia? But what was to stop someone from robbing this store or find me walking alone in a dark, vacant parking lot? There is no guarantee of safety, and awareness is essential to survival. Intuition is that voice in the back of our minds, yelling for attention, and it's too easy to shut out. But if allowed to speak, our eyes and ears become open, and any danger or threat lurking in shadow, hovering across our path would be discovered before becoming victorious. And we need to be aware in the days that find us now with stories such as this foiled attack, and we can't allow ourselves to be afraid. Why let fear control us? Don't we have every right to be here, to live our lives?