Hive Ave Fall2024 - Flipbook - Page 28
Fiction
Hive Avenue Literary Journal
the MTA takes this measure. Nobody’s stuck between the doors,
dragged along the platform, their life in mortal peril. That’s the
only occasion I can think of meriting the tug of the red handle.
A mother separated from her child doesn’t count.
I steel myself and grab the red handle, pulling the brake
cord and bringing the train to a complete stop. There’s a large
hissing sound and a slump as we lose momentum.
“What happened?” yells someone from the other end of
the carriage.
“Some asshole pulled the emergency cord!” The passengers, once more, begin to build a cacophony of low-humming
vitriol against a White man on the train.
“You know, I have to get to work, man,” says the Hispanic
guy, frowning at me. “This train is going to sit here for ages,
thanks to you. I might get 昀椀red!”
“I’m sorry! I thought it was the best thing to do.”
“But the lady got o昀昀 the train,” states the young guy, who
also seems pissed o昀昀. Even he and his Air Jordan’s had somewhere to be.
“I know. I just thought about the kid standing on the platform. And the gap.” Both the Bulls fan and the construction
worker look confused.
An MTA o昀케cial walks through from the adjacent carriage.
He identi昀椀es where the cord was pulled. I brace myself for the
inevitable arrest.
“It looks like someone pulled the emergency brake from
here,” the train guard says into a walkie talkie. I look up at the
ceiling, desperate to avoid eye contact. “Yeah, they pulled it and
jumped o昀昀 the train.”
“That’s not what happened,” interjects the young guy,
clearly eager to land me in trouble. “It was a kid. A kid left the
train and…”
“I know,” interrupts the guard. “That’s what I’m saying!
Some kid wanted to get o昀昀 and pulled the brake like he’s pushing stop on a bus. It’s nuts! That’s not the way it works on subway
trains. Sel昀椀sh bastard!” Chicago Bulls can’t get his story out fast
enough and the guard isn’t listening. MTA’s 昀椀nest 昀椀gured out
the true story and it doesn’t involve me.
The train doors open, with an announcement of a twenty-minute delay while the brakes are reset. Feeling a sense of
repulsion from my fellow passengers, I leave the train. As I walk
to the escalator on my way out, I see the woman and her boy
reunited. I want to go over but I see the tall White businessman
beside them. He’s kneeling with his hand on the child’s head
and, as I walk towards them, he stands up. I steer myself in the
other direction wondering, as I escape into the a昀툀uent air of
the upper west side, what he’s doing there with them.
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