by the Night Writer

A friend on Facebook the other day commented on having her 3-year-old, Ella, grab her husband’s iPod and refuse to give it up because she “had to check Ella’s email.” I told her I could relate to that because my own daughter had wrapped her mitts around my new iTouch that morning, delaying me in leaving for work. Then I said my daughter was 21, adding “They’re so cute at that age!”

So, yes, I have an iTouch, but mainly for the wireless access rather than the music. I love music, almost obsessively so at one point in my life, but these days I have enough going on in my head that a soundtrack just gets in the way. Nevertheless, this morning I barely missed my intended train and had to wait 10 minutes for the next one. “Hey, good time to shuffle some tunes on my iTouch,” I thought to myself, selecting a playlist and plugging my ears in. The little machine found a good groove and when the train arrived I decided to keep listening rather than turning to the novel I’m reading about the Spanish Civil War (the story has entered the horrific times and it can be a bit painful to read).

Sitting on the train, listening to tunes through the ear-buds, there’s not much else to do but watch your fellow passengers. I don’t pay much attention to them when I’m reading but today it was interesting to look around and see how many other people also had little wires coming out of their ears, and to note how they went about their business while plugged in. A woman across the aisle from me today, for example, was knitting something as she listened to her music. Every so often, however, she’d completely stop with her knitting needles, close her eyes and, I suppose, just listen. Then she’d start again. Was it classical music? A self-help track? A NARN podcast? I almost tapped her to ask what she was listening to, but it was her world and I didn’t need to barge in.

Other people were remarkably stoic as they listened to whatever it was they were listening to. One guy about my age in business casual clothes was especially stone-faced, so I imagined at first that perhaps he was listening to Joe Biden explaining health care but then I decided that if that was the case his face would have to show either pain or laughter at some point. A couple of younger commuters were multi-tasking; listening to music while their thumbs flew around the screen texting, or perhaps they were playing games. Or, who knows with this generation, perhaps they were listening to music, playing a game AND texting, all at the same time.

As I watched others I became conscious of my own actions. I was in a series of songs with some pretty strong rhythms and found myself rocking my right heel in sync with the beat and occasionally tapping my thumb on the side of my backpack. I hoped that anyone watching me would think I was merely listening to some pretty strong rhythms and not, say, in the early stages of an epilectic seizure. One guy, however, had totally surrendered to the music (or voices) in his head. He was black, wearing a red and white keffiyeh and kept jerking his head and turning his body rhythmically to his personal soundtrack while moving an unlit cigarette around his mouth. I bet he was listening to show tunes and was unconsciously doing the choreography from South Pacific.

My own fear is that I might listen to some favorite song and inadvertently start singing along, which I’m sure would not go over well with those who couldn’t block me with their own headsets and MP3 players. Then, of course, they’d HAVE to go out and get their own MP3 or Blackberry or iPod or whatever and I will have been responsible for stimulating the economy. And then we could all watch each other while we ride the train.

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