Subway station at rush hour, sprawled out dramatically. Seeming unhurt, his eyes become responsive through a pharma glaze. Two young women are concerned, involved, others simply step over.
You okay brother? His street savvy prevails, it’s time to get up. Balance elusive, he half leans on me. I’m good, he keeps saying. You look really good, I joke. You’re feeling good. We laugh. People stream past.
Girl one calls 911. The stairs will kill him, she urges him to sit. Her shrill harshes his buzz. I’m good mami, he assures her. Girl two hovers, receptive, waiting as he gropes to gather his bags. People brush by.
Girl one’s stair fears erupt as he approaches the turnstile. I move to guard the steps. But no metro card. Girl two talks to him, gentle, sweet. Metro card vending is complicated.
Some inner clock clears, determined he pulls it together. Through the turnstile, onrush commuters. Girl two smiles softly thru the bars and disappears.
Down we go. Bump, stumble, sit, slide. Girl one steers, I brake. I’m goooooooood, he says as we all stumble on the last step, relief becomes laughter. Something shifts, the crowd passes three.
Girl one hops the C as an Uptown A arrives, an older woman helps him in. I watch the doors close. Down to the D train and home to Brooklyn.
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