Visiting the Big Apple

The subway doors close us into a steamy car together, and I immediately feel my ears redden in the heat. As the car accelerates, and the cars grow quieter, I hear Michael Jackson’s Thriller filter through from the back of the car, where I see a tall thin boy in a white t-shirt with jet black hair pulled back strutting around and clapping to the music. A small boy at his side dressed in camo mimics his actions until the taller boy steps to the side of the car, leaving an open space where the small boy is standing.
Together they yell, “Five, Six, SEVEN, EIGHT,” and the little boy jumps into step with the music, dancing in a circle, warming up his feet momentarily.
He quickly drops his hands to the floor and begins an impressive, yet amateur break-dancing sequence. His camo shirt slides up over his shoulders as he pushes up into a back arch, exposing his milk chocolate stomach for a second before his feet leave the ground a second later and he is left in a handstand while still partially in a back arch.
Several of the surrounding passengers smile at the spectacle as the taller boy encourages some applause before taking the dance area. Some passengers step in front of my view, but I see his hands flying around above their heads, and then his feet just as quickly. After about ten seconds straight of feet and hands flying above passengers’ heads, the boy pops back up and returns to a stationary spot against the car door just as the floor begins to quiver and shake as we approach the next stop.
“1st Ave.,” is all I hear over the music. I watch the tall boy wipe some sweat from his forehead as I step off the hot and crowded train.

Once I get away and over the streets clogged with cars and aggressive motorists, and people leaving their terriers shit on the sidewalk, for the first time I feel comfortable enough to be myself in such an atmosphere, and I am even finding some amiable aspects of this city.