"Did he just say Grand Central turmoil?" asked the character by the window, with a big grin. He very much resembles a character in a movie, so expressive, so much personality on his middle-age face. Even more so when he smiles, in wonderment in this case. Yes, the conductor did say that on the PA system, instead of the obvious "terminal". That got a few other people smile too on this gray morning.
I see the usual people every morning. Mostly they are men. The one with the Soviet hat. The black man with the gray hat, often smoking on the platform. The young man with the crew cut and deliberately half-shaven face, who has been standing with a woman I haven't seen before this week. There's the Asian man, probably of Southeast Asian origin, never looking at me, but why do I notice that? I bet none of the others look at me either; in fact I am probably the only one looking at anyone. There are two young women, always there before me. One always wears the same outfit: white hat, white scarf, white leg warmers, and everything else black, unless sometimes she decided to show off a bit of her rather average legs. The other woman I can't remember much since she doesn't wear anything spectacular. In this winter season, most people just wear black. Like me!
Once the train pulls into the main station, other usual suspects file in, like this stocky and rather cherubic man with the goatee sitting in front of me with his own iPad. I wonder what he does, another software engineer? He wears this Yankee cap, average glasses (meaning, utilitarian), and always, without fail, a black sweatshirt. I can imagine him sitting in front of his computer all work day, slouching while coding. Or reading the latest tech news.
I could be way off, but on quiet mornings I sometimes let my fantasy play out a bit. The innocent kind of fantasy, not the kinds that get me all dramatic and heartbroken.
And on my way back, I decided not to draw, not to read, but just to listen to some music. Be spontaneous, even if it's a small wavelet in the normalcy of my life. But really is my life that normal, that predictable? Not at all. Still, I got to do something different from all the other evenings going home. I decided on some slow songs from my tango collection.
They aren't tango songs. They are what we call "alternative" songs, for those needing a break from the traditional Argenintian songs or just aren't used to them yet. I personally don't like dancing to these alternative songs, but tonight, I wanted to listen to to them because they are really beautiful. And I was taken back on the memory lane again. I remember being much more involved with the tango community here. I was the treasurer of the main tango club here, for three years. I was DJ for longer, though not consistently. And when I used to DJ a lot, I would throw in some alternative songs. Less and less so as I became a better dancer. But the memories seemed fresh.
The first song I listened to was actually a Polish song. I didn't mean to pick a song specifically in Polish, but it happened that way. And I remembered. I remembered being seductive with this Polish woman. I remembered seeing the seductive response. That was the first time I felt seduction, felt the strength of flirtation. I have no idea what the words mean, but I remember her singing to the song when we danced. And while Polish is definitely not in my mind one of the most romantic languages, while listening to it, I felt that seduction, a tiny, fossilized remnant of it. I remembered being in Poland, being with her, but by then we weren't seducing each other anymore; I was the one causing the pain. But before, between the nights in a Communist-era apartment in a city hardly anyone outside Poland has heard of, and the night in some milonga organized by a common friend where my first seduction started, between those two nights, a chapter, brief, but still a chapter of its own, was written. And now that I listened to those Polish syllables, I remembered that chapter. What a crazy world. Another woman who couldn't bear to lose me but had convinced herself that she felt nothing but friendship for me even as she stumbled through confusing signals to herself and to me. She would be the first but not the last woman to do that.
Then other songs came up. They gradually put the memories of that woman back in the cabinet of my past and replayed the less confusing, happier times when I was trying to be a better dancer. I still try to learn, but back then, I was growing up all over again, trying to know what I was in the context of tango. I was interacting with so many people, being disappointed so many times but also being elated just as frequently. All those connections. Whether at the level of moments or at the level of people. How could I leave this city without gratitude? If I had been in New York I would never have found tango, and I am doubtful I would have found something equally rewarding in a world of so much coldness. I learned in this city to not let other people's walls bother me. I am still learning, just like with tango, but I am much better at it. New Yorkers walk with thick armors, but once they put their defenses down, they are beautiful. I am not so different, I guess. One of my closest friends told me once that it takes time to find my beauty, and there's plenty of it.
That Polish woman. She saw it, barely. She couldn't let it go. But she preferred to lose it than to come close to it.
As my move out date approaches, I am saying goodbye to this city. I knew I have learned a lot from it. I tell myself I owe nothing to it because I learned everything on my own. But at the very least, I am grateful the city has given me the space to learn, to figure out how to connect, to figure out how to listen. To figure out how to love when knowing love given might not be received. I am still learning, but I have graduated and am ready to face a less conducive environment. I now don't feel desperate for my friends' assurance of being there for me. They have proven more than enough times that I could call them whenever I wanted and I could cry like a baby without being judged. All this happened in this little city.
Yes, there will be more turmoils waiting for me over there in Grand Central and beyond. But finally, I am ready. Whenever I listen to these songs I used to play so much as a DJ here, and even danced with love to these songs on several occasions, I would unfold my gratitude to the city that doesn't need to be compared to New York.
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