I'm sitting outside of the West Building at Hunter College. I hear the idle rumbling of a truck's engine. The sound of the grill sizzling at the RoadSide Grill food truck suggests it's sometime around lunch time. There are sounds of chatter coming from all different directions. A young man screams, "Where is she?!", over the syncopated percussion of a woman speaking another language on the phone. There is a rhythm of click clacking shoes that walk by. Women in heeled boots are the loudest, as they stomp down the streets of the Upper East Side, and some shoes make no noise at all.
The idle sounds of motors suddenly turn into sounds of movement, and I hear the vrooming car and truck engines run. Some motors sound rustier and older than others. When I feel the vibrations on the sidewalk, I can hear the 6 train under me gliding against the metal of the tracks. To my surprise, the sounds of distant car horns and echoing police sirens are meaningful to me. They suggest that I am not alone in this city filled with action, and that help is never too far away. It's soothing to hear the buses squeak when they stop, and rumble when they go. I've grown accustomed to the absence of silence, and the trivial background sounds that are essential to NYC.
