A-TRAIN PEOPLE

Cool Summer Day, Hot Memories Rise in The NYC Train Platform

Is it always sad for us in the subway?

Today, the air outside was unusually cool for the middle of the summer in New York City.

What a pleasant surprise, I thought, smiling at no one in particular. This is going to be a great day; right? I asked myself; trying to convince myself.

The cool breeze gently passed through my thin, white cotton shirt, adorned with playful prints of tiny flamingos and palm trees, enhancing the lightness of my mood.

However, as soon as I descended the subway stairs, the atmosphere changed drastically.

The air turned hot, damp, and unpleasantly odorous. I hurriedly walked deep onto the platform, aiming to position myself at the back of the train upon arrival at my stop. The sweltering heat caused beads of sweat to trickle, making a slow path down my neck. It moistened the fabric of my once crisp shirt, which now clung uncomfortably to my back, chest, and armpits.

Longing for the approaching train to bring some relief, I leaned forward and peered down the track.

Dismayed, I saw there was no train in sight for me.

I took a deep breath, immediately regretting doing so. The oppressive air flooded my lungs. This is going to be a bad day.

As I stood upright, I had nothing to do but wait. I lazily glanced at the opposite platform and observed the crowd of individuals — a Hispanic family, Black subway dancers, and young White gentrifiers. However, my attention was unexpectedly drawn to someone specific.

“Julie?!” I whispered in shock.

“I’m sorry, Damon. I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she said.

At least her voice was thick with sadness.

It was of no comfort to me, though. Her words squeezed my heart mercilessly.

“Leave then, GO!” I barked at her, saying words I did not mean at all.

She backed away, taking one trembling step after another, glancing at me momentarily before turning and running — out of my life.

Unlike that day years ago, no tears were streaming down her face today.

She looked — spectacular.

I could feel my heart constricting again like it did that day.

You’re not over her yet? My brother’s imaginary voice mocked.

Her train pierced through the cavernous hole of the station, ruthlessly shoving even more hot air into the space.

That blasted train was why tears now burned my eyes, I thought.

Julie, my mind whispered her name with a feeble nudge as she stepped into the cool air of the subway car and out of my life — again.

Amidst the bustling subway station, a petite South American immigrant caught everyone’s attention as she gracefully balanced a baby on her back. Her warm, sun-kissed complexion spoke of life under a different sky. Her eyes gleamed with hope as she held out a container of vibrant tropical fruits to person after person on the platform.

She did the same to this tall, mixed-race man with tears welling up in his eyes before her. His demeanor was burdened with unseen struggles. As he glanced at the array of colorful fruits, his emotions seemed to be in conflict.

Estos gringos ricos están tan tristes*, she thought.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands.

The woman’s eyes lingered on his shirt, dotted with flamingoes and palm trees, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of her lips. A hint of nostalgia danced in her gaze as memories of her cherished home sprung.

The baby, eyes open but glazed, was eerily quiet.

As his train enters the station, it makes a distinct and rumbling sound, a quintessential metallic melody that embodies the essence of city life in this harsh, somber metropolis.

© Scarlet Ibis James, 2023: All Rights Reserved.

*Translation: “These rich White people are so sad.”