Two weeks ago, in the New York subway, a man sat down next to me and smiled shyly. I didn’t pay much attention, I was looking over the music of some tunes I had transcribed. But after a while I put a way my things.
The man next to me touched my knee and thrust a piece of paper into my hands. The thought that crosses every New Yorker’s mind at a moment like that is, “oh no, how do I get rid of this pan handler/bum who is hitting on me for money?” But I was wrong.
He said to me, “ask me questions.” His accent was thick.
I didn’t understand until I looked down at the creased piece of paper in my hand. It was a series of questions, starting with “What are the colors of the US American Flag?”
I looked up at him, but he had put his face in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees in an attitude of concentration. So, I picked a question and asked it.
“What do the stars on the US Flag stand for?”
“White,” he said.
“Yes, they’re white. But what do they stand for?”
He looked at me, worried.
“What do they mean,” I continued. “Why are there fifty stars?”
“Ah! One star for each state in the Union.”
I picked another question. “When is Independence Day?”
“July Fourth”
“What is term of office of a US Senator?”
He smiled as he answered, “US Senators serve for a term of six years.”
The train was rolling into my station, and I handed him back his paper.
“When are you up?”
“Tomorrow.” He looked worried again.
“Good luck,” I said, and then I had to get off.
As I walked away from the station I was thinking about what America means to those inside it, those outside it, and those in between. And I thought about change.
. My call may come any time between now and a year from now.