I find the sounds of the city around me comforting. Lately, I’ve been noting that I can tell what time it is – sometimes down to the minute – just by closing my eyes and listening.
Joyful kids and parents chatting in the morning means that it’s about 7:45 am and the kids are all getting dropped off at the church school across the street… and it’s high time for me to stop hitting snooze and get out of bed.
An idling bus outside in front of the same school means it’s about 1:45. I can’t figure out why they never turn off the engine, but between the loud idling and the exhaust fumes, I’m usually forced to close my windows. Even with the windows closed, the screams and shouts of a streaming swarm of middle schools moving en mass toward the subway station means that it’s 2:31 on the dot. If the final bell rings at 2:30, it’s pretty impressive how quickly that jittery blob of peer pressure and insecurity can move the 4 blocks between the middle school and the sidewalk below my window. On the rare days that I’m not on a conference call and haven’t closed the window to avoid bus fumes, I always find myself chuckling at some of the conversations I overhear, while simultaneously offering up a prayer of gratitude that I will never again have to relive the agony of the 12th through 14th years of my life.
Things get noisy again at the church school across the street at about 5:30, when the children who stay for after school care get turned loose on the small playground to await pick-up.
Evenings are a pretty steady hum of traffic, with the comforting clu-clump-scrape of cars going over the speed bump under my window too fast and bottoming out. The busiest time for fire engine and ambulance sirens seems to be between 6 and 9 pm; I suppose my neighbors here in Queens all commute into Manhattan for the work day, and get into trouble and mischief at home only in the evenings.
Adults chatting outside the church, accompanied by the smell of cigarette smoke, means that it’s about 9:00 pm and the Alcoholics Anonymous or other support group meetings are wrapping up, and everyone’s trying to get a few last words of support and camaraderie in. These chats are sometimes boisterous, but never as distinct or discernible as the middle schoolers in the afternoon. This group has learned the value of discretion.
Once the traffic dies down a bit, after 10:30 or 11pm when I’m in bed reading or falling asleep, it’s pretty common to hear someone walking home singing show tunes or opera arias along the deserted street. I haven’t figured out whether this is always the same person of if there are just enough Broadway hopefuls in my neighborhood that it’s a common practice among many residents.
Sometime between 11 pm and 1 am – the exact timing of this sound is less predictable than many of the others – the garbage truck comes to empty the dumpsters from the convenience store on the corner. If I fall asleep before it comes, I’m usually able to sleep through it; if I don’t, I’m shocked by how loud and disruptive it is and astounded that I am ever able to sleep through it.
Between about 2 and 4 am, the street is finally silent. When I find myself laying awake during these hours, I often find myself in awe of how peaceful and still it can be; it is such a stark contrast to the busy bustle of the day and evening.
By about 4:45, traffic picks up again. Slowly at first – just the earliest commuters and taxis starting their shift. The real morning rush picks up around 7… leading up to the flood of excited kids being dropped off at the church school by their harried parents at 7:45.