Hey Blue, Thanks for the Ride

The sun shines brightly through windows designed to make riders feel outside. Instead, the glass resembles over-sized picture frames, showcasing people sitting on aluminum seats and cheap fabric. On the Blue Line you'll find sticky, wet floors, paint chipped aisles, graffiti-scratched metal, a cultural art gallery floating on greasy tracks. Twenty three million ride the mechanical wave yearly, with train stops serving as bookmarks, keeping a place for those coming off the graveyard shift or on the way to work, visiting a parole officer, prepping for a job interview, falling asleeep on the way to class. Everyone just trying to make it. I realize why I was reluctant to ride the Blue Line. Now it’s hard to say goodbye. I developed a unique relationship with Old Blue and all its nuances; the funky smell, the nauseous motion, the sudden braking, the grimy, urban landscape zooming by in my peripheral. This is where I come from and where I’ve never been. The Los Angeles no one visits and others call home. The LA you won’t find in travel guides, the place too many leave behind. And yet, I associate it with love. Photo by Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times The Blue Line represents my son Ezra because he’s the reason I had to "sacrifice" and make the trek. I use sacrifice lightly because it implies struggle and struggle is relative, especially when sitting near a woman asking about a restraining order or when the man across the aisle is holding a plastic bag containing all of his belongings. "Welcome out OG," someone says. Ezra is not on the train with me but I see him every day in the eyes of kids fidgeting in their strollers, being brats, others sitting patiently, asking grandma a million questions. Of course, when I recount this whole experience to him years from now I only hope he’ll empathize with the human stories I’ve witnessed here. I will remember them vividly, turning them into instant urban legends, my epic tales that start out like this …"When I was younger, I rode the Blue Line…” Blue Line? All I see is white, black and yellow :) Turns out my wife and the Blue Line are in cahoots. They have conspired to reveal the hardworking, grind it out, no excuses, blue collar type of guy inside. Get up, drive, fight traffic, catch the train, be on time, stand, knee pain, tolerance, compromise, understanding, back hurts, tired, keep going – all of it together tells a story, the first chapter of when my life became life, which is to say when things got real. When responsibility began checking on me, keeping me honest like an LA County Sherriff looking for fare evaders. My wife keeps me on my toes too. Two years ago I shared my vows with her and for two years I’ve been on this ride doing all I can to love her unconditionally, respect her, protect and love her. All I have to do is give up my seat, hold the closing doors, show up every day with love as my ticket, giving us access to anywhere. Next stop: another level. As my commitment to the Blue Line ends, it taught me that my marriage to Candace is a daily adventure filled with ups and downs, starts and stops, funny and heartbreaking moments, anger and frustration. Ultimately, there is faith, hope and, the greatest of them all, love. The last part comes from Corinthians 13. Yes, there are preachers on the Blue Line, sharing the Good Word to whoever will listen. I started posting all of my observations on Facebook, collecting these memories hoping someone could relive it with me even in their imagination. The ridiculous impromptu entertainment became my ride partner. The overheard conversations from cell phone users lacking any damn shame or sense. The sometimes creative, many times annoying, sales pitches from the homeless needing real change not just coins and cash. The informal fashion shows, cheap sunglasses and hoodies on a hot day...CALI- FOR-NIA. Knock-off brand named shirts. Are they fake on the Blue Line? Or are they real? Real enough to make us feel connected to something, a cause, a community. I am a proud card carrying member. Its light aqua, says TAP, and has two dollars left to use. Two dollars better served for an agua or a Snickers. History tell us the Red Car Line used this route back in the day from Long Beach to Downtown until service stopped in 1961. The Blue Line sprouted back up in the 90s and it’s taken nearly 20 some years for a revolution to brew, a slow but rising demand for public transportation in Los Angeles. I know I'm late to the party. So many have relied on trains and buses before and will continue to do so. Ironically, I leave for the current Red Line, North Hollywood to DTLA, but it won't be the same. Old Blue won't be there to comfort me, to provide a safe haven, a moving office, a respite to collect my thoughts. It will no longer tour me through the place that offers perspective, something of which I still need daily reminders. No more Staples Center, no Watts Towers. No more knowledge-filled vignettes provided by average Joes living life. That’s the beauty of the Blue Line, a lesson always being taught and learned; an opportunity either seized or missed. Keep your eyes and ears open or it might pass you by.  #BLChronicles Other perspectives: "Killing Time on the Ghetto Blue" LA Weekly 2004  "Blue Line cuts across LA County's Invisible Boundaries" Los Angeles Times 2010  "History of the Blue Line" The Transit Coalition