Tag Archives: New York City Subway

On Board #30

We made it to 30. Keep your submissions coming: meanderingstalk@gmail.com.

Sept. 21, 8:16 p.m.
2 Train – 96th St. to Bergen St.

Kareem – A Drama In One Act

INT. BROOKLYN BOUND 2 SUBWAY TRAIN – EVENING

SUSAN boards the train at 96th Street. She spots an open row and sits next to DONALD, leaving an open seat between them. A 19-year old Asian, about 5’4″, she’s dressed like she’s off  to catch a bus home to suburban New Jersey. DONALD is black and overweight with unkempt dreadlocks. His loose white oxford, the bottom three buttons unhooked, makes him look even bigger. He has several items scattered on the bench – a stack of newspapers, a bag of bamboo shoots, and a once-black backpack – putting a buffer between him and SUSAN.

DONALD turns to SUSAN.

DONALD
Have you ever heard of Kareem Abdul Jabaar?

SUSAN
No.

DONALD
Have you heard of Bruce lee?

SUSAN
Yes.

DONALD
Well, Kareem Abudl-Jabaar taught Bruce Lee everything he knows.

DONALD pauses. SUSAN looks down and away.

DONALD
You don’t believe me? Ask your people. They did a movie. You ever seen Enter the Dragon?

SUSAN
No.

DONALD
You ever seen a Bruce Lee movie?

SUSAN
Yes.

DONALD
No you haven’t, everybody says they have, but they haven’t.

SUSAN
Yes I have.

DONALD
No you haven’t.

SUSAN
When I was a kid.

DONALD
Ohhh when you was a kid. Well, go see this movie, it’s called Enter the Dragon. You’ll see a tall black guy. That’s Kareem Abdul-Jabaar.

They sit in silence for over a minute as the train rumbles on. SUSAN desperately tries to avoid eye contact, wishing she had a book to stare blankly into. The train pulls into Times Square, DONALD collects his things, and departs. SUSAN waits, looks up to where DONALD was, then quickly sneaks out of the car at the same station.

On Board #29

Sept. 21, 3:53 a.m.
Q Train – Herald Square to 7th Avenue

A 50-year old man in an unbuttoned blue work shirt and floppy cap has what may be the very first copy of the Monday New York Times, mildly warm of the press. It’s folded in both hands, resting on top of his lap and beneath a red black and silver mountain bike with a brown leather seat. It’s scratched and dirty, but appears in working order. He nods in and out, and, thankfully, back in, just in time to exit the train at Canal St.

Details here. Send yours to meanderingstalk@gmail.com.

On Board #28

Sept. 14, 11:23 p.m.
4 Train – Grand Central to Atlantic Avenue

The subway is not for the easily shamed, and thankfully for those bored on this late night ride, it does not appear the young white man at the end of the car has any: He’s twisted a white t-shirt around the center pole of the train like a French braid, and – headphones plugged in – is dancing and lip-syncing.

His sports allegiances are mixed, with an all-black Red Sox cap, a black and gold Jordan t-shirt, and black Iversons. If one wants to go there, and I suppose we will, his white tee is perfectly placed as an inappropriate fifth appendage.

He has several dance moves. The thrust is his favorite. While going in and out, his body also vibrates.There is also the splayed fingers, gun-shaped, jostling up and down and pointing in directions unknown. When not thrusting – and sometimes while thrusting – he bobs his head side to side. He rotates around the pole and loses his braid, retying it quickly, but without the braid. The song appears to be at the bridge, and he’s calmed into a slow slide, back an forth.

As the train gets ready to depart Atlantic Avenue he stands in the door, looking out, the white tee bundled in his hand, still thrusting, still lip syncing, not stopping even when the door, his curtain, closes. He’s got other audiences to entertain.

Details here. Send yours to meanderingstalk@gmail.com.

On Board #25

Sept. 13, 11:04 a.m.
2 Train – Bergen St. to Fulton St.

A gym bag and bagel with cream cheese – an incongruous combo if ever there was, though their owner, a young man seems to have enjoyed a few more bagels than sweaty trainig session. But with a piece of coffee cake sitting in one’s own bag, who’s to judge?

Certainly not the three young women who look like they’ve never seen a meal they couldn’t satisfy with a Nutri-Grain bar. All three are pretty, as is the red head’s mother, who has taken on a classic matronly look but her toes – painted the same magenta as another woman’s Dunkin Donuts cup – suggest a different past. They look primed for a shopping trip, and one wonders if the black rolling bag is for someone’s trip home or to accomodate a few dresses and shoes. A conversation:

He tells stories like an old man.

He’s kind of boring.

He just bought a house.

I don’t know how old he is.

I can’t remember how they met.

And he’s short.

It’s amazing what happens when you fall in love.

Details here. Send your stories to meanderingstalk@gmail.com.

On Board #24

July 22, 10:04 a.m.
B train – 7th Avenue to 42nd Street

A young girl, probably 6, is bored. She holds the bar next to her seat in two places, her hands six inches apart. She looks up often at the people standing in the car, before returning her head to rest on her right hand, which she’s curled around the handle bar. Her father, a large man in an orange t-shirt, jeans shorts, and generic sneakers, leans over and says something. She laughs. Next to him is a woman who might be related, also Hispanic, about the same age as the man.

“Are we almost there?” the girl asks. She has begun attempting to climb the pole.

They are visiting from Florida. His father is in the hospital, has been there or a while, but does not know his son is here, in New York. The man and his daughter are going to a museum – the Met? Natural History? – and then will surprise his father at the hospital. The woman appears to be a relative, but not a wife. She spends most of the ride reading from what looks like my Intro to Theology book from high school, and was unaware that the father was sick.

Everyone around them is silent. An older Chinese couple, a large man with his iPod plugged in and his eyes closed, and a 65-year old white man whose look of nothingness suggests he’s worked all his life and is unsure what to do now. Down the car a black man in a dark grey suit holds his face with his right hand posed like a brace flying buttress. The cathedral, his head, seems to be staring at nothing in particular, thinking hard about something very serious. Across from him, an Indian man, tall and hulking, has passed out on his laptop bag.

The man is telling his daughter about the train. About why it might be stuck at the moment (a car ahead), about why we can’t see the streets (we’re underground), and about whether we’re there yet (we’re halfway). They have tickets to Yankee Stadium, expensive ones, for tonight’s game. They’ll go after the museum and the hospital. Grandpa won’t be able to come.

The woman gets off the train at West 4th, saying goodbye to both of them. Finally the girl gets her unspoken wish, moving to the seat by the window that the woman had occupied. She cups her hands like she’s staring through a toy store window, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever is outside – inside the tunnel.

Send your stories to meanderingstalk@gmail.com.

On Board #23

On Board rolls on. If inspiration strikes, send your stories to meanderingstalk@gmail.com.

Sept. 11, 9:45 a.m.
B Train – 7th Avenue to 42nd Street

“This seems like a nice place. Where are we?” he asks.

“We’re right by the park. Over here is Flatbush and it’s completely different,” she responds, pointing on a credit card sized map.

She’s in a black knee length dress. He has a tiny head peaking beneath a plush winter jacket, vaguely resembling that alien from Men in Black with the tiny head.

He speaks clean English with a Russian accent: “I’m just thinking about where I’m going to get breakfast.”

“Oh I should have fed you more. You did say yogurt and eggs.”

On Board #22

Go here to find out what’s happenin’.

August 10, 9:51 a.m.
B Train – 7th Avenue to 42nd Street

It’s supposed to hit 94 degrees today, and New York is prepared. One woman dabs her forehead, once a minute or so. Another fans herself with the Times sports section, and a third cools from the inside with a swamp-colored iced coffee. The lone man in long-sleeves on the platform has them rolled up just below his elbows.

Inside, the train is pneumonia-inducing cold, making one wonder how much the MTA spends on air conditioning, but not making one complain. It’s warmer crossing over the bridge and under the sun, owing perhaps to a) the sun or, b) some less-than-tight door seals. This makes one wonder how much the MTA could save on air conditioning with tighter seals. But again, it does not make one complain.