The Number Four

Train

The doors open late on the L train, and all of the passengers burst out onto the platform. The rush to the stairs is mad. I sideswipe someone shorter than me, a mammoth pushes me to the side. We all race, and reaching the stairways, the familiar game of metro tetris begins.

Left Staircase or Right Staircase? A quick look at both sides suffices to tell me that the left is moving slowly, having been forced to accomodate two-way traffic. I jump onto the line on the right, and move swiftly up to the first landing. Here, the choices are ample, and I'm forced to decide between four different two-way routes. I choose the second from the right, move smoothly past the next landing, and slide into the open area upstairs.

A Peruvian pipe player bumps me. I bump a smartly dressed young woman carrying her high heels and wearing sneakers. A dimunitive, balding man and I dance as we accidentally deceive eachother as regards the direction we will take. I advance in one direction at the same time that he does. We are perpindicular to eachother, and yet neither of us can seem to make progress towards our destination. Finally, we break this confusing and loathsome magnetism. We've figured eachother out. I go my way, he goes his way, squealing "excuse me" in a timid and broken voice.

I hit the stairs to the Four Train running and I'm forced to slow down, held back by the traffic, stopped before me. I've chosen the wrong side, obviously. We move slowly down as a train slowly approaches the station. I peer over the edge and see that it is my train. I try to run. I am unable, yet still make the train.

Boarding the car I peer around slyly and suspiciously, like a detective scanning a room that likely contains a suspect. The question I ask myself is, "what seats will open up?" The ride is long and standing is not an option. The train moves with a scream and a rattle and we hurtle forth through the dark tunnels beneath the Manhattan streets. We stop at Grand Central Station and the crowd on the subway begins to thin. I look about, maintaining a calm exterior, inside frantically praying that I find a seat in which I can peacefully read my newspaper.

It is like a Swiss Guard maneuver. Two seats free up, but they will be difficult to possess. The young Latin guy sitting between the two empties slides down to occupy the "aisle" seat on the long bench, freeing up the seat directly before me. I plop down and unfold my newspaper, sighing. As I do, the dreadlocked man beside me makes the same noise and we look at eachother, smiling in our mutual struggle.

"It's like I get on the train and all I do is figure out my next move, like which seat is gonna open up."
"I know the feeling, it's like a science."
"Where are you going to?"
"I've got a long ride, so I need to get a seat, there's no way I'm standing the whole way."
"Where are you going to?"
"All the way up to Fordham Rd."
"I'm going to __________, on the six train, coming from ____________. Two hours each way, every day."
"Man...."
"Yeah man, it's a long way."

At this, he smiles again and sighs again, and I do the same. He settles against the wall, obviously tired. I open my newspaper and begin to read about the calamaties of the day. I'm most drawn by the recent story of the young girl that was kidnapped and tied up and raped and killed and left on the side of the road in Brooklyn, somewhere far, far away. I'm perturbed by the story and I feel badly for her friend with whom she parted at the bar. Apparently they argued before going their separate ways. Seems rough to leave things like that.

The train approaches Fordham. I fold my newspaper, stow it away in my backpack, zipper up my jacket and don my gloves. I'm less worried about strategy now. I'm here, I can relax. I exit and move with the herd toward the outside world, which is now quickly becoming snow-covered.