On the A Line
What a daily commute can offer us.
What a daily commute can offer us.
In my city there are only three tram lines: A, B and C. The C line in fact joins the first two, so really there are only 2.5 lines. This means my city is big enough to have a tram system but is, in fact, a tiny metropolis. Paris, in comparison, has 16 metro lines and 5 rapid transit system lines.
Because of its size and relative newness (Lines B and C only opened last year) the system is modern and remains fairly clean. It is not free, but I find it affordable compared to other cities I’ve lived in, even though most French people will disagree.
It provides me with nourishing morsels of humanity and opens my eyes to how human nature works.
The A Line is one of my favorite spots in the city. It provides me with nourishing morsels of humanity and opens my eyes to how human nature works. Despite it being annoying sometimes, the tram offers tiny moments of connection with people I would never be in contact with otherwise. It’s a window into worlds that co-exist alongside my own. A reminder that while we may live very different lives and make take different routes, we’re all trying to get somewhere, often headed in the same direction.
Thanks to the tram, I’ve discovered another side of the city which I was unaware existed before riding regularly it. When we lived downtown, I rarely took public transportation. Everywhere I went, I could do by foot.
Walking is a wonderful way to discover a city’s hidden secrets, but riding the main line is the best way to discover its soul.
From babies to the elderly; people in wheelchairs or with broken arms; teenagers getting off school; college students on their way to a party; families coming back from hockey games; military personnel going to training camp; nurses returning from a night shift: the tram is where I get to witness a piece of the world every day. A random sampling of what exists outside my limited cognitive purview.
Other than French, I’ve heard Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, Portuguese, Spanish, English and various African dialects I’m too ignorant to identify. The symphony of languages that floats in the air is music to my ears and makes me feel more at home.
I take the bus too, but the vibe is different. I’m not sure why. All I know is that my experience is never quite as enriching. Perhaps the seating layout or the narrow aisles create a barrier for people to connect, thus making it harder to capture these fleeting moments.
Perhaps it's because of the A Line's extensive route, which stretches across the city from the northeast to the southwest, making stops at downtown and notable landmarks. Most notably, the main public pool and hospital, the hockey arena, the convention center and train station. On Saturday mornings, the A Line passes by the city’s best markets.
While riding the tram, I’ve:
- Watched an angry mother pick up her phone, asking her child where she was. “I’m tired of all the lies,” she said with despair. “I’m done. Don’t come home.”
- Caught glimpses of puppy love in the eyes of an awkward tween.
- Admired people leap forward in synchronization to prevent a tall man with crutches from falling over.
- Discovered a crowd’s indifference to a woman in a wheelchair trying to get on during rush hour.
- Observed a man's quiet devotion as he lovingly massaged his partner's clenched hands, while her face mirrored the pain that afflicted her body.
- Noticed a young woman, engrossed by her phone, give up her seat to an elderly lady who had just entered.
- Overheard two fathers returning from the pool with their young daughters explain the detriments of plastic wrappers for the planet, and deciding it was the last time they’d have Kinder Bueno for snack time.
The A Line has provided me with snapshots of love, joy, loneliness, heartache, boredom, bullying, and intimate conversations either over the phone or in person. I always wonder what surprise it holds or what revelation it might unveil as I board.
The other day, while riding the tram, I noticed a guy with white headphones bobbing his head to inaudible music. He looked like he was in a club where the d.j. played all his favorite beats. I try not to stare in admiration at his total disregard for other people’s judgement.
Shortly after, a woman and a man boarded the tram. They began a low, soothing conversation in Japanese, oblivious to the club kid standing next to them. The man had a distinguished academic presence, with his groomed hoary hair, metal-framed glasses, and gray trench coat. His slightly younger companion, dressed in an elegant red silk dress and navy peacoat, was equally stylish. I found their quiet chicness magnetic.
The A Line was being generous that day, yet I still didn't know to what extent.
The tram filled up as we approached downtown. Soon a young couple squeezed in with several pieces of luggage and a large tote bag in hand, headed to the train station, no doubt. The passengers compressed further into each other. I found myself crammed into a corner behind a wide woman, whose brown leather backpack kept pushing against my abdomen. The next stop was mine, and I was trying to figure out my exit strategy when the young man with the luggage caught my attention.
“It’s a crime fiction, from a well-known French author,” he said.
I couldn't see nor hear the person he was talking to. I stretched my neck to get a glimpse of the book in question, but to no avail.
“She won a prize in Marseille.”
“Well, that’s hardly a reference,” someone rebutted in a cultivated French.
The scholarly man emerged from the crowd, and it became clear they were conversing with each other.
“In any case, I don’t see a use for the genre,” the professorial man continued. “The world is already schizophrenic enough. Why do we need such books?”
Then they began sparring on the merits of crime fiction in a tram full of people. I listened wide-eyed. This was my first encounter with impromptu literary debates in a public setting.
Things got slightly heated as the conversation moved to Poutine and the spread of misinformation. The older man and his companion got off at my stop. The crime fiction enthusiast leaned out and continued defending his beloved book, but his opponent maintained his position. A pile of luggage blocked the exit. Clearly, neither one was ready to concede. They remained cordial, but it wasn’t clear for how long. I said excuse me several times, then gently nudged my way through before the doors shut behind me.
The tram continued on with the crime fiction aficionado and his luggage. The scholarly gentleman just smirked with amusement, satisfied with himself.
I don’t know what the A Line will offer next, but I can’t wait to find out.
Questions for you: Do you have the equivalent of the A Line in your town? Where can you observe small instances of human connection? What have you learned from these glimpses into people’s lives? Send me your stories, I’d love to know.
Things worth sharing
- Kung Hei Fat Choy (Happy Lunar New Year)
Saturday, February 10th marked the Year of the Dragon. We had friends over and made dumplings. I bought the wrappers, but used this recipe for the filling, which was delicious. Hint: If you have a food processor, it’s really fast to make.
Sarah
- Dark Matter by Blake Crouch
What if you could see all the various possibilities of your life play out in front of your eyes? A thriller that is part romance, part sci-fi. It only took a few days for me to finish this genre-bending novel. It also left me with a decent book hangover, so I would classify it as a fun and well-written read. Apparently, Apple TV+ is coming out with a series this spring, which doesn’t surprise me, but I think the book is worth reading instead.
American Symphony
“You must confront the brutal fears of the reality that you might not pull it off, but at the same time have unwavering faith. Complete unwavering faith. And you have to do both. At the same time.”–Jon Batiste.
An award-nominated documentary about the touching story of multi-talented artists and couple, Jon Batiste and Suleika Jaouad. Is this a film about battling cancer? Love? The creative struggle of writing a masterpiece? The answer is all the above, and more. Inspiring yet heart-wrenching, watch this film if Batiste’s quote captivates you like it did for me.
Thanks to those who’ve sent other suggestions. If you’ve read, watch, or listened to anything worth sharing, send them my way! I’ll publish a special readers’ share list for the next edition of TIL.
