I am on the train heading home from a
friend’s house. I’ve got headphones in my ears, blasting Brothers by The Black Keys. After a few minutes, the train begins
to slow down. We’re approaching my stop.
“New Dorp,” the conductor mumbles as I
step off the train and onto the platform.
I make my way over to the stairs but
can still hear the conductor muttering, “Stand clear of the closing doors.”
I disconnect my headphones from my
phone and place them in my pocket. The sound of blaring car horns quickly devours
my attention. There is always traffic here, but right now it is particularly
heavy because it’s dinnertime and the street is lined with restaurants. I
continue down the block.
Four women stand in front of this
Italian place, smoking cigarettes and jabbering about their weekends.
One woman is wearing bracelets on her wrist that jingle every time she takes a drag.
This sound makes me think of my grandmother; she never left the house
without jewelry.
Further down the street, amidst the
sounds of car engines and radios, I hear a barking dog. It's a tiny, little thing. It's bark is high pitched and piercing. I resist the persistent urge I have to pet it
and carry on.
I stop at the closest deli for a cup
of coffee. As I pull open the door, I hear bells ringing above me. I’ve always
hated bells. I find the sounds they make dreadful and annoying. I replace the
awful sound of the bells with the delightful sound of coffee trickling from the
pot into my cup.
Finally, I go to the register; the man
behind the counter rings me up, and tells me I owe him $1.50. I hand him a
single dollar bill and two quarters. He drops one quarter on the counter and
the sound echoes across the silent store. He opens the cash register, puts my
money in, and tells me to have a nice night.
I head out the door – there are those horrible bells again. I fumble around my pocket for a moment looking for my headphones.
I place them in my ears and start my playlist. The sounds of the busy street
I have been traveling down fade away.
