I got down to the station. A big black guy wearing an MTA vest with a bored look on his face waved in my direction. “No Trains” he said. I stare at him dumbly. “No 7 Train.” He repeats. “No 7 train?” I repeat. “No 7 Train.” Right! No “7” train! OKAY!! I’ll just wait on the “N” train platform for the next “N” train to take me to queens and then transfer for the “7” out there. A simple obstacle.
The platform for the “N” is packed. I play Plants VS Zombies on my phone, killing bosses with my flower pots. It’s a nice escape from the ever growing number of people streaming down the steps at 1am to get to the “Plan B” of the Un-Lucky number 7. I try not to get too upset. I’ll be home in no time.
An “N” pulls in across the platform and, like the sheep I was trying very hard not to feel like, I pushed onto the car. I sat and continued to kill nasty Zombies until the game finally beat me. I look up from the “Game Over” flashing across the screen and take in the now packed car. Everyone looked tired, staring off into the middle distance, not making eye contact. I felt exhausted, too. I scanned the faces.
Wait a minute.
I know that face. But, from where? Wait. Do I know that face? No. Yes. No. Yes. Noooo! That’s DOMINOS!
Oh my god. It’s been over a year since I saw that guy! He lives not too far from me in Queens, but we’ve never seen each other since I broke it off with him. Cray-zee.
I felt really weird. That guy and I saw each other a couple times. I liked him alright, albeit I thought he was just a “filler.” But, like, I knew him. And, like, we avoided each other. I didn’t look up again. I didn’t want to. What do I say? “Hello. Hi. How are you? Um. Wow. You look… good. I’m good. The trains suck. Remember that time we had sex? haha! The end.”
The “N” pulled into Queensboro and I filed off, carful to look like I was concentrating really hard on remembering how to walk so I wouldn’t look behind me.
The Un-lucky “7” took another 20 minutes to arrive at the packed station and pick up the couple thousand people shivering on the platform. I felt incredibly small. Dominos and I are still friends on Facebook for crying out loud. Why? And, why was getting home taking so long!? And I felt lonely! And I felt angry! And cold! And I blamed New York for all my problems and I blamed the MTA for being single and I cursed whatever “god” there is or isn’t and I muttered to myself about all that was wrong in my life, including how badly my toes were starting to hurt in my new shoes.
Where’s the big black guy in my life who can wave at me and not-so-patiently tell me there are no trains running? Except, the trains would be a metaphor for all the dead end guys I’ve dated. I need a “Take this train. It’s the G train. G for ‘Great’, ‘G-spot’, and ‘Gravy'” announcement. Oh man, if I got that announcement I would totally know how to get to where I needed to go. Yes. I need a big, stern looking, authoritative, government employee of life to direct me to the Gravy Train. That’d be sweet. And when I boarded, there’d be no Dominos or Mr. Kiss or Kismet or Cutie, there’d be… something better. I just don’t really know what.
The “7” finally pulled in, and for the second time that evening I felt like a sheep. I wondered how Dominos felt. Maybe I was his Dominos and he was thinking about how glad he was to see me engrossed in killing zombies on my phone so we wouldn’t have to talk to each other: “Um. Hi. Hello. You look… good. Remember that time when we–? Oh you do. Haha. Funny. Another delayed train, huh? This blows. Takes me forever to get where I want to go.”
March 30, 2013 at 4:10 am by Natalie Allen