21 July 2006
Manhattan: A Common Uncommon-Tale
He bled over the edge of the step, the prominent red blotch on his body facing up. He had been lying there for about 30 minutes and at least 50 or so people had walked by him in each direction, but nobody paid him any attention. It seemed the more they stared, the more they steered away from him. Typical. He was wet from the rain, the droplets sitting on him like beads of sweats. “Somebody pick me up—I have money!!” he tried to scream. But he was worn out.
An elderly woman suddenly hovered over him and adjusted her glasses. Her hand shook as she slowly bent her knees, shifting her weight to her cane. She reached across her body toward him, ignoring the rolling coffee cup next to him that had been knocked over as he lay there.
“Evelyn, let’s go now—the train’s here.” Her husband started down the steps and switched holding the umbrella to his left hand to help his wife down the rest of the steps as the train came blaring into the station.
So he was left there. It was hot, but at least the dispatcher held the train in the station. The air from train was cooling some of the water off of him. The wetness was starting to mix with the red, diluting it as it spread across his body.
Suddenly, a girl in her twenties tore around the corner, swinging her bag with her as she pivoted and hurried down the steps not noticing the bright MetroCard innocuously lying there, worn out and wet. It was bleeding over the edge of the step. Both of her legs kicked up into the air as her right foot landed on the card and slid from under her—exaggerated like a 70’s cartoon with poor, disjointed animation. Both her arms went up over her head as she made a snow angel in mid-air before crashing back onto the steps in a horrific sprawl with her bag digging deeply into her armpit. She could feel the small, brown pools of water soaking into the back of her pants as she stared at the ceiling in a breathless daze.
“Doors closing.”
The dreaded operator-like voice.
The L was gone.
An elderly woman suddenly hovered over him and adjusted her glasses. Her hand shook as she slowly bent her knees, shifting her weight to her cane. She reached across her body toward him, ignoring the rolling coffee cup next to him that had been knocked over as he lay there.
“Evelyn, let’s go now—the train’s here.” Her husband started down the steps and switched holding the umbrella to his left hand to help his wife down the rest of the steps as the train came blaring into the station.
So he was left there. It was hot, but at least the dispatcher held the train in the station. The air from train was cooling some of the water off of him. The wetness was starting to mix with the red, diluting it as it spread across his body.
Suddenly, a girl in her twenties tore around the corner, swinging her bag with her as she pivoted and hurried down the steps not noticing the bright MetroCard innocuously lying there, worn out and wet. It was bleeding over the edge of the step. Both of her legs kicked up into the air as her right foot landed on the card and slid from under her—exaggerated like a 70’s cartoon with poor, disjointed animation. Both her arms went up over her head as she made a snow angel in mid-air before crashing back onto the steps in a horrific sprawl with her bag digging deeply into her armpit. She could feel the small, brown pools of water soaking into the back of her pants as she stared at the ceiling in a breathless daze.
“Doors closing.”
The dreaded operator-like voice.
The L was gone.
