Sharing the Center of the World

A single word. A smile. A touch.

Sometimes I wonder at the world. It’s size. The innumerability of it all. So many people. So many lands. Languages. Cultures. Joys and sorrows.

How is it that we are all here and sharing the same world. And yet will never meet, touch, smile or interact? How can this world be mine and yours at the same time? Both of us living at the center of it but never knowing the other is there too.

We’re in it together. We are. Even if we often don’t think we are. Even when we think we are alone. Lost amid the crowded streets and jostling subways and endless miles of paved highways and dirt roads. If we take one moment to stop. To smile. To speak. Perhaps we would connect and know. Know that we share the center of this world in our sorrows and joys. In our differences and our commonalities. Even if we never meet. We are here. Together...

I sat sandwiched between two strangers. Jostled by the racing train. The sounds of metal screeching against metal filling my ears. My eyes roamed the car from advertisement to advertisement. Never knowing where to fall. You’re not supposed to catch another’s eyes in the city. It’s an unwritten rule. Or maybe it’s actually written. I don’t know. But I know it. You don’t look. You don’t smile. You don’t say hi to a passerby on the street. The only exception is to help a lost tourist or a little old lady cross the street. Maybe not even that.

So I sat.

But I’ve never been good at following the rules. And my eyes wander the car. Seeing the faces tired from work. The friends giggling after school. The tourists certain they are headed for somewhere they don’t want to be and not sure how to get off. I see the woman across from me. Sandwiched too. Her bag and purse secure on her lap. Staring straight ahead. At the dark tunnel flashing by or zoned out at some distance time and place. This is what I am supposed to be doing too.

But I look.

And I see her eyes close. Tired from a long day? A brief moment of rest from nothing to see? Her eyes close. And then they shudder. Her mouth quivers. Her face contorts. I see the struggle. One I know well. A struggle to regain control. To stop the tears fighting at the lining of her eyes. Her hands come up. Covering her face. Squeezing her cheeks and nose and eyes. A deep breath. Another. Calm comes from chaos. Her eyes open. Rimmed with red. Glistening from unshed tears.

Our eyes meet.

She looks away. I look away. A rule broken. A private moment intruded upon. A stolen glance. Her calm remains. Did I imagine it? Another look. Then another. My eyes flit from her to the window and back again. The glisten grows. The redness spreads. From her eyes to her cheeks to her hands. Her struggle continues on as she fights to stay in control. I want to reach out. To comfort. To consol. To ask if I can help. But you don’t do that.

So I sit.

The train is screeching to a halt. My stop. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to leave without saying something. But what good is a comment on my way out? I make a promise – I will reach out if she exits with me. I’m not sure if I want to see her move or stay. She moves.

Her pace is slow on the platform. I am next to her. I don’t dare reach out. But I find my voice doing it for me. Four little words. One little question. The tears burst forth. The calm shatters. We pause together between the trains and the tourists, buried under ground. A few moments. A quiet explanation. A genuine gratitude.

We exit together. Two strangers. Two friends. Her life isn’t better. Her sadness isn’t gone. Her heart isn’t heavier. Two strangers in the same world touched for a moment. Sharing the sorrow and the joy. One word. One smile. One touch can make a difference.