Somewhere in the Middle

Astor Place

The 6 train screeched to a halt, stopping for several moments to empty out a few dozen people all along its length before taking off again.

Jamie felt the vibrations of its movement under his feet where he sat, lost his train of thought in the loud whir of the engine, in the sight of people walking away from him and toward the exit. Until he was alone.

Again.

But being alone here was better than being alone anywhere else. At least he had the distraction of his memories, the consistency of trains pulling into the station every few moments and different people passing him by as they came and went. Because if he'd stayed in his hotel room, all he would've thought about was Greg. The friends that he wouldn't get to see because he wanted to spare Lisa and himself the awkwardness. Luke and Evie, who were God knows where with her mother. And he certainly didn't want to think about what Evie had said, the way she'd made him feel. Like he was no more than two inches tall.

Even if he deserved it.

He just wanted to disappear. To lose himself in the city. But of course, he'd ended up here. Of course, he'd found an empty seat mere feet from where he used to play. Of course, he'd wound up in the Astor Place subway station.

The ground rumbled beneath his feet again. Several more people had found their way onto the platform, waiting for a train that was on its way to carry them back uptown, but Jamie was going nowhere. He was just sitting, watching lives pass him by in real time.

But that was okay. Because he loved it here.

This place was a comfort to him, with its filthy gum-spattered floors and even filthier train tracks and dull white-tiled walls. It was an escape he'd used often at the tail end of high school, and in the years between graduation and finding his way onto tours. It was something he'd always looked forward to, coming here, guitar in hand. A reassurance he always seemed to need—he could do this, he was good, he was capable. At least, if the public's reaction was any indication.

His guitar was by his side tonight as well. He'd grabbed it before he left the venue—the one he always brought with him when he'd come here. It didn't feel right to be here without it.

Jamie picked it up now, as the doors of another train closed, as people walked by him, some laughing, some listening to music through ear buds, some walking stoically, some stumbling stoically—they were all the same. Completely different people, but exactly the same as they'd always been.

His fingers found the strings and plucked out a melody. A newer melody. Not something anyone would recognize.

No one stopped.

He loved playing new stuff here. It was always the best way to test out new material when he was busking, to see if people would like it, if they'd stop for a moment, or toss a dollar or two into his guitar case, or pull out a phone to record him. Or just keep going like he wasn't even there.

He kept his guitar case closed now. No one needed to pay to hear this song. Not tonight.

And all went relatively quiet as he sung the first words.

"Few dollars in my pocket,

not looking back.

Long shadows fall behind me,

but I don't react.

Feeling the wind on my skin, the pulse of the city in my feet.

Keep my eyes forward and hope we'll meet."

The platform was quieter than he was accustomed to—he didn't typically play after midnight, he was used to rush hour times—but that only allowed him to hear his voice better. Hear the melody clearer. It had never echoed so loudly around him before. Not with all the bodies filling up the space. But now, now that there were fewer people around, he could hear each nuance of the song, of his voice, of his instrument more clearly than he'd ever been able to before.