Part One: That Time I Didn’t Cry on the Subway
The
thing I do most on the subway is read.
Riding the subway has sort of taken all of the reasons I’ve read books
my entire life and distilled them into a mighty brew of need. I don’t just read
because I love books – I read because I need
to. Because reading saves me from so
many of the things that I can’t stand.
They say that introverts need time alone to recharge – oftentimes when I
read, it’s like I’m putting up walls around me, and everything else falls away,
and I can recharge. Maybe that sounds
sad, or lonely, but trust me. It’s
bliss.
When I’m
reading on the subway I don’t really care if I’m more or less nestled into
someone’s armpit. I can get over the
pushing and shoving, the jostling crowd that feels like it’s trying to rip my
shoulder bag away from my body. Everyone
who’s standing there and blatantly staring at me, slack jawed, glassy eyed,
certainly skeezy and possibly terrifying, ceases to exist.
Which is
why, when a man screamed at me on the train for reasons that might be
classified as being poor at best, I pulled out my Kindle and climbed back into Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell. Sure, my face was flushed. My throat was tight. Hands shaking and eyes burning, I chewed on
my tongue and said to myself, Don’t you
dare cry, Kayla King. Don’t you dare. Sources ranging from episodes of How I Met Your Mother to random
transplants on the street will tell you that you’ve truly become part of NYC when
you cry openly on the subway.
I’m not
ready for that. Because people like that
– bullies – don’t deserve it. So between
paragraphs, I would look up and shoot icy glares at him, like Ashe’s Frost
Arrows darting across the seats. I would
forcefully make eye contact and let him take some responsibility for the words
he let carelessly out of his mouth. I
couldn’t do that in the first five minutes after the yelling, mind you. But five minutes of reading a wonderful book,
of surrounding myself with characters that I love, made me strong again. So I glared at him, and let him know that I
was hell bent on making him feel some of the discomfort he’d inflicted upon me
and other passengers. And in a perfect
world, he thinks twice before he yells at strangers on the subway, just trying
to get home after a particularly exhausting day of work.
I know,
I know. Eye for an eye is not good. But guys, I’m weak when I’m wounded like
that, and I have kind of a twisted sense of justice. But at least I didn’t cry. Not a native yet.
Thank
you, Rainbow Rowell, for helping me not to cry on the subway. Thank you for protecting me with your written
words when a subway full of people stood by silent. You are worth tens of thousands of silent
people (at least).
It doesn't matter what that guy was upset about, or what he said. He got off three stops after his little temper tantrum, and I'm sure that I'm the only person from that train ride who is even aware of his existence. The city's going to swallow him back up, and I'll forget him. The specifics are not important or worth repeating, all that matters is that books are a wonderful shield that can bolster you at the right moment, and in time, even help you forget about jerks like that.
I'm still marveling a little over that moment on the train when I suddenly felt better. I was so, so sure that I was going to lose it in front of all of those people, just because some random yelled at me (I really don't take kindly to people who don't know me from Eve attacking me - at least do it for a plausible reason, you fools). But it was like Cath and Levi were out of the book, right there next to me, hands on my shoulders, saying, "He's not worth it. He's so not worth it."
