Out of Transit.

Filth. I remember the filth. I noticed it just before I heard the woman screaming, “she’s in the tracks!” and thinking, thank god that’s not me, I always stand in the middle of the platform. But there is clearly more filth here, I think. I was lifted from behind and pulled up by a number of onlookers standing on the subway platform. I had fainted and fallen on the tracks; two men had jumped in to get me out.  People stayed with me, gave me water and washed my hands. No train came.

I had gone downtown to buy shoes. I broke my left hip and wrist. I had no idea at the time, in the ER, that my condition was so serious. I remember thinking, this has been quite stressful, maybe I will take a personal day on Monday. I spent two and a half weeks recovering at Bellevue. I couldn’t walk for a month. Until that time, I had been able-bodied, somewhat athletic, able to get around. And suddenly, due to the subway, I couldn’t get around at all. It was a mini-adventure in life, learning how to do everything with a wrist cast and wheelchair. Putting on shoes, getting in a chair, getting out of bed.

I fully recovered. One of the men who jumped in to help me checked on me in the hospital. I still think about him occasionally, though the memory of the accident wears with time. Yet I hope the reminder that I shouldn’t waste my life remains forever with me. And speaking of miracles, the shoes I bought somehow made it through the entire process, from the subway, to the ambulance, through Bellevue. I wore them to a wedding last weekend, but I took a cab.

2009