Come As You Are(35)

An interview. A fun interview. The phone in my hand, recording us, is a reminder of that.

We stand by the window as the train rumbles forward at a more leisurely pace this time, as if it knows that its job is to let us catch a glimpse of the past.

“Look,” he whispers, almost reverently, pointing to what’s beyond the scratched glass as the train curves into the loop.

I gasp quietly. It’s like entering a time warp. We’ve slipped back decades. The old, abandoned station is a marvel of days gone by. It’s New York in another era, with vaulted ceilings made of glittering tiles, and stained-glass windows, with mosaics lining the walls. Brass chandeliers hang from the ceiling, hearkening to days when New York was a city of splendor and gold.

“It reminds me of where we met. The hotel. It had that olden glamour feel,” I say.

“Yes. This is the same. The city in days gone by. This station was the crown jewel of the transit system, and yet they had to shutter the station because it couldn’t accommodate the longer trains. It could only handle five-car trains. It was too curved, too round, so in 1945, they shut it down,” he tells me as we circle past it, the tracks serving as a mere turnaround, offering a now-you-see-me-now-you-don’t view into what once was.

“Why is this your favorite place? Because you only catch a glimpse of it?” I offer, trying to understand what excites him about the abandoned stop.

He shakes his head. “It reminds me that we can all become obsolete at any moment. It reminds me that success is fleeting.” He sweeps his arm out wide, gesturing to the grandeur that has no purpose anymore. “You can have the best transit system in the entire world, and if you don’t plan for the future it can be shut down.”

Nodding, I let that little nugget of insight soak into my brain. A part of me almost hates how quickly I agree with him. I want to quiz him, to poke a hole in his argument, like a good journalist. But I can’t because his observation rings wholly true. “I can see that. It’s like a beautiful warning.”

“Precisely. A reminder that at any moment we might be shut down.”

“Haven?”

He nods. “This station is incredible, and I love it, but I don’t want my company to become a relic.”

“Can I quote you on that?” I ask, because this feels personal, as if we’re diving into territory that needs the consent confirmed.

“Of course.”

He points to the station as we leave it in the rearview. “This is a recognition that there is so much to look out for—the past, the present, and the future. You have to adapt to the changes so that your train can keep using the tracks.”

“Love the metaphor.” I study his face for a moment. “You kind of remind me of old New York.”

“I should be shut down?”

“No,” I say, adamantly. “I mean you. There’s something about you. You’re thoroughly modern, but I could see you fitting into the Gatsby era.”

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past,” he says, quoting the last line in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s most famous work. “Another warning not to repeat the mistakes of the past. Or, wait. Should I not quote Fitzgerald? Same rule as T.S. Eliot for you, Miss English major?”

“Exactly. You’re asking for trouble,” I say, smiling, since I’m amused, maybe even overwhelmed by Flynn. He has so many layers. I want to keep peeling away at them, peeking at what lurks inside. “You’re an interesting man. You’re not just a math nerd. You’re a Renaissance man.”

“Is that so?”

I nod resolutely. “You are.”

He shrugs, and his lips curve into a smile. It’s one of those I’ll take it grins, and I love it.

When we exit, I turn off the recorder and tuck my phone away. I’ve accomplished some of what I’ve come to do today. I understand what motivates him. He’s a man of learning, not only a numbers guy. He finds inspiration everywhere. That’s what makes him tick.

Perhaps he’s figured out it’s my jam, too, because I love the tour.

He’s a member of the New York City Transit Museum, and they offer private tours for its members. A docent shows a small group of us through the once splendid subway station and I drink in the mosaics, the architecture, the feel of old New York, as well as the stories of the master artisans and the architect who worked on this station.

For an hour or so, I feel as if I’m transported to another era, as if I’m in New York before my own time and before all my own troubles. On this fine June evening, I’ve made my great escape and I’m existing in a slip of the past, a whisper amidst the storm.

When we’re done, I thank the docent and we head aboveground.

“That was amazing,” I say, practically bouncing. “I’m almost ashamed I’ve lived here so long and I haven’t done that.”

“Don’t be ashamed. Be glad you did it. I think there are so many things right in front of us that we don’t do. We don’t always take advantage of what we have. I try as much as I can, but you can’t get to everything.”

“Do you try because a great idea for work might come from doing something unexpected?”

He shakes his head vigorously. “I suppose it’s a welcome by-product if it happens, but no. I like new experiences in and of themselves. I like learning for learning’s sake. I do it for that reason, whether it has an obvious benefit or not.”