Subscribe to RSSBoroughing: Into My Mind
By Jacob Snider
Recently I have been obsessed with the mannerisms of human beings—the way we speak and talk, and also…the way we walk. This fall, in New York City, I have been consumed with simply watching the way people maneuver through space—on the sidewalk, crossing the street, on the subway, or while they are eating on a bench. In all of these arenas, there are social contracts and standards of “accepted behavior.” Of course, these public spaces, being inhabited mostly by people who are strangers to one another, do not have written constitutions—rather, we observe silent contracts and silent standards.
Often, humans follow other humans’ behavior because they are afraid to stand out, or to be caught doing the “wrong thing.” To me, this is never more apparent than on the hustling bustling NYC streets, where everyone hurries from A to B, and no one wants to engage with some strange stranger.
In this piece, I created a scenario based on real experiences, that flips some of these expectations. In my world, non-conforming movements are prized possessions, and interacting with a completely random human can be sacred and beautiful.
This is the Boroughing into my mind after experiencing the sidewalks of New York.
late afternoon on Amsterdam
crying on the sidewalk, face down naked lathering gallons of sun is not necessarily admired in this America. this may be the wish of the vendor who peers behind his silent streetcart, eyes wary like the stare that greets a stranger at a motel with no vacancies.
we are approaching my favorite time of day. summer sun has fallen, light blue glow bathes over everything, relaxed twilight. puddles line the street like ponds, do they ever dry?
it’s the shit and tears we’d like to spill on the sidewalk, the girl in the red and yellow dress quips, and her laughing sounds like crying. they’re putting a small dog into a small dog carrying case before they board the person bus. mama says shut up and flicks her bony finger in the girl’s face. redyellow is still laughcrying.
this noise can’t push past the wooden doors of the cafe, where the younger european whispers above american grandma. “that’s why she goes crazy. because she’s too smart!” snaps the blonde, wobbling, a terrible porcelain doll of a person. the middle schoolers will rush in soon. these younger ones are a flood-tide that knows no limits.
we look adoringly at three things: children, dogs, and old people. excusing all the actions of, holding the door for, smiling at, nodding toward, a slightly blank gaze. is it unthinking? overconscious? on the surface, infinitely forgiving.
though there is so much screaming we wear on our faces.
the bussines-man
Business-man is still going for it. And the energy is increasing.
The fat city bird watches, perched on the city bench.
Business-man flings his head to face the bench, and scowls in disgust, as if he has smelled something awful. He begins to rotate his head, gesticulates with his hands, and lets out a wordless noise that lasts for over ten seconds. He contorts his body theatrically. Amoeba. Machine. Dinosaur. A combination of all three.
His performance is directed at a woman, who belongs to the fat bird.
She has thick glasses, a raincoat, and wrinkled hands. She is preparing for something. Her eyes begin to fidget.
She lets out a sqwawk, whipping her face up to the sky.
Woman responds to business-man’s contortions with movements all her own. There is no gracefulness whatsoever. A unique physical gesture has been assigned to every number in existence, and a random number generator has replaced her brain.
Unclear whether the tango of recklessness is a battle or an alliance. They are stomping, gyrating and jerking together like baby raptors.
Seeing such expression—which is fearless but not vicious—some passersby faint. Others attempt to walk onwards, to pace politely past the situation, toward wherever they were going, but fail, falling to the ground. A gravitational force has connected their eyes to the two-person spectacle, and with torsos glued to the pavement, their legs still mindlessly pursue a walking motion, feet suspended in the air.
\\JACOB SNIDER is a junior in Columbia College. He can be reached at jss2195@ columbia.edu. Photo by Flickr user Tonicito.
