![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
The World In-Between
While I was sitting in a subway train last night, I thought, I have found another liminal space. I had for some time felt that my refugee existence in Toronto was liminal, with my bed in a dining room, but this little trip in the underground vessels opened my eyes to the little liminal niches in our society.
The entrance to this tiny world isn't glamorous; it is usually governed by a distracted, frumpy, old man seated in a cubby booth, with only a small circular hole at the base of the glass window for change. I've tried asking these guys for assistance, but they responses have only lead to my confusion; one man gave me free fare simply because I smiled sweetly, the second man didn't give me the quarter change I deserved, because I had already dumped money into the little glass fare box and he wasn't able to refund me in reverse, and finally the last man was unable to sell me more than one ticket (which I will admit was because I didn't have enough hard cash, but don't any of these places have electronic abilities? What era are we in any way?)
The others entering this world are also distracted, and apparently in a massive hurry to embark upon the slithering vessels. Once admitted, you try to remember which way is north or south, and because there are no natural signs, I am left to question my intelligence and hurt my brain trying to figure out this equation so that I will embark on the right train. My technique has been to associate downtown with south. Obvious to most, I know. Another helpful tip is to memorize the stations north and south of the present one. Then once I am convinced of the correct direction, I anticipate in relative silence to hear the thundering tunnel sounds and to see the burst of light and to feel the warm rush of wind. Finally the vessel slams to a stop and I step forward, only to be bon-barded by the fleeing others. Do I still want to get on? But of course! So I push in, and dartingly look for a seat next to someone who doesn't look like they will attach me. I spot one next to a middle-aged white woman, wearing a large brown jacket, mousy short hair; she is hunched over, reading a book. She looks safe. A jolt of the train demands I find a seat or be thrown across the width of the train, and so I stumble towards the seat, sinking gratefully into the red felt seat.
My eyes naturally search for the subway train map to ensure that I am going in the right direction. I find my location, notice the next couple of stops, and in general concentrate on calming myself by taking deep breaths. After I am reassured, my eyes notice the large signs plastered above the train's large windows. I amuse myself at reading each one in detail, as if it were an exam. Then I study the other passengers. Taking note of the heated discussion in front of me - a student and a professor. He is saying some words in a foreign language and then explaining their meaning to her - she is repeating them, and then asking him questions. A tutoring session. Other people are staring off into space, or listening to music. But we are all here, all together. If there was an emergency we would all automatically trust each other, depend on each other, and help each other. But no accident occurs, and we are able to leave the underground world without making one connecting comment to another soul.
It is only the in-between world, where strangers sit side-by-side, sometimes touching arms, but never speaking. A world of steal, shades of gray, and spotted with red seats and red doors. We don't want to take anything away we didn't bring in. We certainly don't want to leave anything there.
It is not a life lesson; it's just a trip into the world in-between.