"Some ... Island," was all I heard before I was roused from my illegal slumber into a state of utter discombobulation. How did I arrive at an Island? Was I on vacation? And what Island was this, Cayman, Staten or Lagos.
Alas, I was in Coney Island Brooklyn, New York. And I had arrived on the very palatial express N train (mm hmm). What I thought I had taken was the R local train and my real destination was 23rd street in Manhattan. It would have only been four stops from where I got on and taken about ten minutes to get there. That is assuming no one's foot got caught in the closing train doors or some rascal was not holding the doors for six generations of family members or better still the neighborhood was not on an excursion trip. This is New York City folks, stuff happens and I mean strange stuff.
So how did I end up about 50,000 stops from my destination and 45 minutes behind from the time I embarked you may ask. Well, I am asking the same question myself! I was sleeping remember? I could have blamed it on the fact that I was working on a project all night and/or the fact that I finally found a seat on this train. Either way, I should have remained in Seattle my city of birth and maybe would have been sleepless :).
But anyways what I think had happened was... Well I really don't know what went down, but this much I found out when I was jostled back to reality.
The opposite bench was filled and they all seemed to be starring at me in an enchanted way. So I stared back in a huff, (i.e. street attitude in case the opponent intends to pounce). What was going on in this weird train car I thought in a panic, had they never seen anyone nap before. As I checked around to see if everything was still in place, my legs were just where I left them the last time I checked. My purse... my very special designer hand bag (I would tell you the brand name, but they don't pay me for advertisement) was still in place but slightly open with my wallet within easy reach had someone tried to grab it. Or had they?? Strange indeed.
Then I noticed another peculiar detail, I was the only person sitting on my bench.
While everyone else clustered in the surrounding spaces. I felt awkward as I silently begged and hoped for an explanation. No one was budging. Whatever it was that got their attention was indeed enthralling. Good luck to them, I for one would jump out this train at the next stop even if it proceeded to go cross-country!
But just before my escape plan was executed, a lovely elderly lady with a very broad smile stood up from the opposite bench and bent over by my ear. Here is what she said: "Nice devoted and huge young man you have there, he protectively watched over you while you slept. We all thought that was so beautiful and sweet".
I got on that train by my cute self, and as she spoke I was still sitting by my (not so cute anymore) self. But I caught on quickly enough and let her talk. People are usually angry and frustrated in this city, rigidly avoiding eye contact. I had never seen them so softened and engaged, so I let them enjoy their encounter. It was their episode after all not mine and I was glad and honored to be a conduit.
The next stop sounded like a foreign city, but I bolted from the train anyhow and wept in sheer gratitude. Waving my bag in the air and skipping down the street. No one cared to stare this time, because this is New York City. I was back in the murky grind.
.
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