Round 1: Yesterday, I took the oh-so-lovely metro down to DC to interview for grad school. The ride down was uneventful at first, a little crowded maybe, but quiet, except for the tunnel-twirling, screeching sound of the train. But just as I was feeling relaxed and slightly comatose, the train stopped and the conductor with a "don't listen to the man behind the curtain" type voice came on to say, "Umm. We have a delay getting into Washington." Now, answer me this...why does a train need to stop in a dark tunnel? Always, it's going to be a dark tunnel with no exits. Why couldn't we stop in...say...the open, outside world of whizzing traffic and distant trees assuring us we will not be trapped until we rot. In those brief moments, I'm always thinking...why are we really stopped and how do I get out of here? Post 911 trauma I guess, and (confession) I might be a little claustrophobic. Dark, tight, spiraling cave-like spaces leave me weak with panic. But was I the only one? There were those chewing on morning granola bars, those staring at the seat ahead or looking blankly at the tunnel scenery, hanging like monkeys from the railings. A few read the news, but not a single page trembling between their fingers. Yep, I was the only one afraid. Five minutes of tunnel snoozing is five minutes too long for me.
Finally, we pulled into Foggy Bottom...my destination (at least it's not called saggy bottom). I walked forth in the brisk December city smog, trying to find the right building. The campus IS basically the city in those parts, surrounded by, well, city folk. Very cool. Edgy. I liked the beat and pace of it all...reminded me of my younger days. I found the building finally (after being pointed in every which direction by many well meaning people) and went in for a much anticipated interview. It was an enlightening interview session and I was honored to be considered. The candidates and professors I met were highly interesting (and intelligent) and all passionate about education. I was clearly in the right place and was no longer trapped in metro purgatory. It was like an abbreviated Hero's journey. But I knew, as many Heroes' Journeys go (writers' love the hero's journey), I would need to go back the way I came, but changed for the better. Strong and self assured, I would have to descend yet again into metro's dark mouth. Bring on the dark tunnels, the empty stares...
Round two: We all took our seats and dared not look at one another. Then a well-dressed Asian man hopped on, proceeded to open a song book (which looked to be written in Chinese), cleared his throat and shouted, "Excuse me!" to gain every passenger's immediate attention. At that he belted out O Little Town of Bethlehem. I looked around and observed that some were dumb-founded, others acted as if nothing in the world could make them budge or even blink. At the next stop, right as he finished singing the last refrain, some people rushed off to another place, others to another metro car. I guess they were afraid he might be in possession of other melodies. Who knew songs could be threats. I clapped when he finished. As you might predict, I was the only one bold enough to do so. The stares were immediately diverted my way. But I was changed. I was inspired and I wasn't going to stare blankly ahead and ignore his plight for an audience. He sang; I clapped. We were not afraid.
When I returned home, I received the call, the call that informed me that I had, indeed, been recommended for the grad. program. Yes! The journey was worth it and now I could sleep well...at least tonight, "for the times they are a-changin'."
~M
