Life On The Train

I’m once again on the number 6 about to embark downtown. The car is filled with an air of nervousness. I attribute this to the half dozen policemen patrolling the platform.

 Since the war broke out, the city is on high alert.

  As I prowl the car for people of interest, I see a very well-dressed woman in heels so high, they make my ears pop just looking at them. Wow, I think. Wouldn’t it have been wiser to wear flats till she gets to work, or wherever she’s headed? That’s the model in me with her bag of tricks. On top of that, she’s standing.

  My toes shudder in their Chuck Taylors.

   Another woman in green hospital scrubs plus a mask looks as if she was about to assist in the OR. That’s if we discount the Danish she’s eating sneaking bites beneath her mask.

   A little boy in coveralls keeps staring at her, and who can blame him as his tired mom in a threadbare overcoat rests her eyes.

   As the doors slide open at 68th Street, the Hunter College stop, a herd of students hit the platform once again met by police. A group gets on including a family of tourists clutching maps.

   I smile.

   “Where are you going?” I ask the mother. “We’re not sure. We wanted to walk across Brooklyn Bridge but the concierge at our hotel said it was too cold.”

   “No it’s not,” I said, defending what might be our noblest landmark. “You’re bundled, plus it’s sunny and there’s no wind. Believe me, it’s well worth it.”

   You never saw four people, a dad and two kids besides mom, get so happy so fast.

   The snazzy boy of color leaning up against the door, you assumed wasn’t listening, his golden dreadlocks streaming down his back, takes out his earbuds and says to the family…

  “She’s right on. It’s the fla-est thing in Noo Yawk, and it’s mutha-f–kin’ free. “

   I preen like a lawyer who just won her case, running up the steps of Grand Central station.