BigCity HardSpirit

Saturday evening, I was walking down into the subway when a bunch of people stood on the stairs, blocking my way as they took pictures of the train across the platform.

I barreled through them, my inner monologue raging “God-damed  tourists, haven’t you ever seen a f*king train before.”

I looked at the train, and then realized there was someone on the tracks underneath it. All I could see was a man’s twisted hand, emerging from a navy hoody. He was definitely dead.

Then a train pulled up on my side of the platform, and like most people there, the thought  “If I don’t jump on this train, it could be hours before they let another train into this station”. And with that, we got on - silently taking a seat next to people unaware of what lay less than 5 meters away.

I tried to grasp what I had just seen, and why I didn’t feel… anything. I told my Newyork friends about it, and they agreed that when crazy shit happens we often don’t register. It could be shock or self preservation. They then went on to tell their own tales from 9/11 and other events that have warranted unexpected human reactions in themselves.

The next day, at the same station I looked for evidence of the man’s death. A tiny red X marked in electrical tape smaller than my hand lay where his body had been. I wondered if this is how ants feel, when we kill one, and then watch as the other ants survey it, passing a message down the ant line, and then continue about their antly duties in a slightly new direction.

Then a train pulled up on top of the mark, and I went to class.