Coping Skills

I haven’t been riding the subway much, during my sabbatical. In some ways, I have become a suburbanite. I stick to my neighborhood. There are places to get food and a really great park to watch the sunset. It’s not that I am avoiding the subway, it’s just not something that occurs in my daily life now. Yesterday, I had the pleasure of riding it to midtown and my coping skills were tested.

All New Yorkers have a very developed set of coping skills. This life isn’t normal. There’s the rotting trash in the summer. The overcrowded subways with people with questionable hygiene. Hauling food and furniture on the subway, because it seems like too much of a hassle to rent a car. This life is not for everyone, so you develop the skills or you leave.

My subway stop is two stops from the end of the A line. It’s pretty rare that I don’t get a seat, especially during non-peak hours. Yesterday was no different. I sat by the window, the seat next to me was open. It remained open for three stops and then a man forcefully plopped down next to me. All seemed fine until the doors closed and it began.

Nigga, Nigga, Nigga, why you lookin at me?

Nigga, why you lookin, step back Nigga.

There was no one near him except for me and I was staring forward.  When someone starts screaming, the NY thing to do is to go on lockdown. Don’t make eye contact, don’t acknowledge you hear anything, put your sunglasses on if you need to. It’s our version of closing our eyes, putting our fingers in our ears and screaming “La, la, la, la, la, I can’t hear you.” There is a reason the transit system’s motto is “If you see something, say something.” We have to be reminded to get out of our cocoons.

Try me Nigga!

It is still unclear who he is talking to. No one is engaged. I scan the car to see if he is actually addressing someone and I don’t see any acknowledgment from my fellow hostages. I say hostage because we are on an express train and relief is delayed. Also, if you acknowledge by getting up and walking away, you run the risk of becoming the target. I decide I need to see what my seatmate looks like. I quickly glance to my right. My seatmate is a Latino man in his 30’s, wearing dark sunglasses.  Despite the big sunglasses, I can see a star tattoo near his eye peeking from behind. That’s all the information, I could gather in my 20-second scan. I turn back and face forward. He didn’t notice me.

Nigga, you want to hold me. Hold me down like Rodney King. Try me Nigga. TRY….. ME….

Girl Power Nigga!

Girl Power….

Fuck that shit Nigga!

We reach the next stop and a woman tried to sit in the seat in front of us. Our subway kidnapper slams his feet on the seat as she is about to sit down. The woman quickly scoots to the seat next to it.

Nigga naw, naw Nigga!

He continues ranting and I keep my music on full blast, but I can still hear Nigga being thrown around.

The woman gets off at the next stop. The doors stay open for a while and she stands on the platform. It becomes clear to me she got off because of my seatmate. My seatmate is still ranting shifts towards me in the seat and then screams “Fat Bitch.” I assume he was talking to me, but I ignore and then he slams his foot on the seat in front of us and takes his shoe off. He starts wiggling his sockless foot around on the seat and pointing it at the man two seats from us. Everyone is still ignoring.  As you can see from the picture above, no one is acknowledging him. That’s his knee. Look at the people across the train. Most have their eyes closed. I can assure you they aren’t sleeping. That’s a coping mechanism.

I snuck the picture. I couldn’t get one of his face. I am a journalist, but I am no Christiane Amanpour and getting a picture of his face seemed one step too close to danger. My stop was the next stop, but the time in between 125 and 59th street is at least 8-9 minutes. I hold my breath and hope I can make it. Then I realize, I have to ask him to move his leg, so I can get off. How will I accomplish this? We pass 72nd street and I brace myself. My stop is next. Will I have to talk to him? Will he rage out.

We reach 59th street, I stand up and miraculously as the door opens my kidnapper puts his leg down and releases me. I run out of the car before he changes his mind. The car quickly fills up with more unsuspecting hostages. I turn around and wish them luck as the train leaves the station.