The 6 train at 7am is not a place where things happen. That's the whole point of it. You wedge yourself in somewhere around 68th Street, you hold the pole that everyone is holding, you stare at a stranger's backpack and you make peace with your own smallness.
But this morning something happened on the 6 train at 7am, and I've been thinking about it all day.
There was a woman next to me, maybe sixty, a canvas bag full of groceries between her feet. Somewhere around 51st Street she opened a paper bag of nectarines and, without any drama, handed me one. Just held it out. Like we'd agreed on this beforehand.
I took it. What else do you do. I said thank you and she nodded and went back to looking at nothing, the way you do on the 6 train at 7am.
It was a good nectarine. Ripe in that way where you have to lean forward so it doesn't drip on your shoes. And I stood there, holding a pole with one hand and fruit with the other, and I thought of my Ba back in Ahmedabad, who could not walk past a person without offering them food. Guests, strangers, the electrician, everyone left our flat having eaten something.
I've been in New York almost three years now and I have gotten good at the armor. Headphones in. Eyes soft and unfocused. Don't make it weird. And a woman on the train reminded me, with one nectarine, that armor is a choice I keep making and could maybe make less.
I got off at Union Square with sticky fingers and a full chest.
We never spoke again. I don't know her name. But I hope someone hands her something good today too.
Eat the nectarine. Say thank you. Get off at your stop.
Love,