As New Yorkers, we excel at nonverbal communication. Think of all of the signals you send out and receive daily in the city without ever uttering a word. One step to the left can mean, yes, you can have this seat on the bus. You take out a debit card, the person behind the counter pushes a button and swipes, you sign and pay, and never say a thing. Just the other day, it was raining and two girls about my age walked past me, and we all immediately noticed that we were wearing identical turquoise rain boots. We made eye contact and all fought back laughter as we past each other, rolling our eyes at our lack of uniqueness. (Though…I was proud to see other New Yorkers wearing something other than black!)And then, of course, there are the less pleasant forms of wordlessness that we toss at each other far too frequently. Frustrated sighs as we swerve around tourists gaping at skyscrapers. Nasty hand signals to cab drivers ignoring red lights. Dirty looks to the person that cut in front of us on line. The list goes on and on. We have all seen it and, at one time or another, been guilty of it.
The subways are one of those places where we see the best and the worst of our wordlessness. Whether it’s a step to the side on the escalator, a dollar tossed into a bucket as the guy playing guitar on the platform starts strumming your favorite song, or a shifting of shopping bags as the train crowd swells, we are constantly communicating with each other underground.
Having just moved to the side myself to avoid a hurried Queens – bound passer by, I hopped off the escalator to begin my usual shuffle down to the middle of the NRW platform. I had only taken a few steps when I spotted them. A couple, probably in their 30’s, stood silently in front of each other, moving their feet in perfect mirror images, fingers intertwined and hips moving to (what I had to assume was) salsa music. Only, I couldn’t hear the music. Nobody could. Except them, that is.
Together they stood, not only mirroring body motions but also donning matching ear buds; the universal signal that somewhere in their clothing hid mp3 players. Even without wrecking their private dance practice and demanding to see their iPod screens, I was sure they were listening to the same song. Not a word passed between them, only tiny smiles and head bobs as they cha-cha’d away to what, at first glance, appeared to be the clangs and bangs of the subway cars, ignorant of the small crowd forming around them.
As she was mid-spin, the R train came barreling into the station and they stopped in unison, still silently, and stepped through the sliding doors. I had to follow them… would they continue while the train was in motion? Alas, once we lurched forward, a quiet kiss ended the performance, their headphones came off and they settled into a conversation.
Though the dance was over, and the silent salsa music was no more, these New Yorkers had proven that we can use our expert powers of wordlessness for good. For art, even. So the next time you have the urge to use your New Yorker-given power of silent articulation for something less than sweet, even if they really have it coming, don’t waste your talent on them. Wait until you have a moment to samba in the subway…and then show New York that just because you walk the walk, you don’t always have to talk the talk.
