The uptown F train was crowded as usual. Straphangers smooshed together in a morning rush hour clump. I lucked out with a seat and wedged myself between the end of the partition near the door and a man in a cap and navy blue overcoat. The genleman occupying the space directly in front of my knees wore a black trench, black slacks, and a stern scowl. HIs glasses were tortoise. Everyone else was a quilt of tweeds, denims, courdoroys, iPods, paperbacks, and downward gazes stitched together into my periphery.
He entered at East Broadway. The door opened and closed followed by a loud grumble. There was nary an inch to move, but I could hear feet shuffling and bodies edging modestly out of His way. The hair on the back of my neck stood up when it hit us. My stomach flipped and collapsed. I looked up just as the man in the black trench and tortoise glasses seized my eyes with dissolving disgust. It hit us again. Stronger, louder, and foul foul foul. I turned to the left to take a look at Him but only caught a sliver of curly hair and a slice of ruddy skin. Again it hit us. The rot of pickling skin. The hot breath of a deeply blackened lung. He was one of the walking dead, and He wanted to be heard.
Suddenly, the train screeched to a halt, and the doors opened at 2nd Avenue. More people than usual scurried out, and He came into focus as they hurriedly dispersed. There was a dark mustache, navy blue zip-up sweatshirt, and eyes gray and shifting. He shouted in a foreign tongue while swaying and shooing people out of the door like a matador with an invisible cape. Once they were out and the doors shut again, He struggled to find stable footing while all nearby straphangers scattered. Footing was found with a slam against the partition nearest to my head.
Already being aware of Him to my immediate left, I leaned into the man in the navy blue overcoat on my right as I raised the book I'd been reading aloft to protect myself from His incoming elbow. He caught Himself just in time but kept the elbow suspended in front of my face. I looked to the man in the navy blue overcoat. The man in the navy blue overcoat looked away. I twsited my chin up to The Elbow while trying not to breathe in the stench of stagnant tobacco and ethanol. The Elbow would not move. With a tiny inhale, I lightly tapped the edge of my book into His lower back.
He stirred. He awoke. He whooshed around to face me. Both eyes fixed on mine, He lowered his lids while each corner of His mouth furled upwards in a closed-mouth grin. "Excuse me..." He mumbled. "Excuse me...YOU." I couldn't move for fear that I'd make Him angry by not accepting His apology.
"You..." He mumbled again.
I said nothing.
"YOU, youuu, YOU!" He began to spit.
I began to shiver.
"YOU, YOU... Jeeeew. " He hissed, "YOU JEWISH. YOU. JEW!"
My throat went dry. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to move. He was transfixed on me and swaying in fetid delirium. I looked to the man in the black trench for help, but he, like the man in the navy blue overcoat, averted his gaze while closing a gaping mouth. The train lurched to a halt again as my eyes moistened.
The door opened, and another rush of people stampeded out. I leapt out of my seat and into another available one further down in the train. As I fell into it, catching my breath and clutching my bag to my chest, I watched Him sink into the space I had just occupied. He promptly let His head fall to His chest, and I believe He fell asleep.
