Xi Richard Chen

New York City, New York, United States of America

The 7 Train

I walk down the steps into the subway station, looking for the 7 train.

Commuters push past me in a fury of elbows and shoulders. A waterfall of languages clangs in my ears. The 7 train is nicknamed the “International Express” because it travels through multiple immigrant communities, especially along Roosevelt Avenue. Hindi, Spanish, Korean, Indonesian, Tagalog, stomping feet, and trundling trains—this station contains the sounds of the world.

My phone vibrates in my hand. I rush onto the platform under a glowing purple sign with the number “7” on it.

As I catch my breath, I notice a different sound flood the station. The music is foreign, yet it overwhelms my mind with nostalgia. Wandering around, I find a bearded man playing the Chinese violin. With a familiar grace, the man pushes an ancient-looking wooden bow back and forth across the horse-hair strings of his instrument, producing long and melancholic notes that remind me of birdsong.

He stops playing and adjusts his rickety stool when I drop some change into the empty soup can on the ground in front of him.

“Do you play?”, he asked, with a smile.

“No,” I replied, “but my father did.”