Interviewing the Dead
I dozed off on the B train today.
Like a bag lady asleep in a navy blue suit, I crashed on the subway.
I wasn’t supposed to be on the B train. I thought I had stepped onto the F train. It was only 10:30 a.m. and I was on my way home. I had no work today so I used the time to interview for a new job.
I was done selling myself in just over an hour and headed back home.
I nearly fainted when I saw the empty subway cars post rush hour. I grabbed a seat and closed my eyes because I knew that my connecting stop in Brooklyn was at least 20 minutes away.
The train rumbled softly underground and I could care less that I wasn’t offered a position today.
I drifted into a rare realm of sedate New York City commuting. I didn’t think about terrorists blowing up the train or the Chinese chick selling refurbished double A batteries.
Suddenly there was light. The darkness of my eyelids turned blood red as the morning sun struck my face unsuspectedly.
The B train came above ground and was crossing the Manhattan Bridge. “Oh darn, where am I?” I murmured while rubbing my eyes.
Nothing is more dangerous than falling asleep on the subway. I realized I picked the wrong train on the orange subway line.
Only one other person was on the subway car with me and of course she was sitting in front of the subway map. She moved her big hair for me and I quickly assessed my position on the B line.
The stop of DeKalb Avenue appeared close enough to my house for walking so I got off at the first stop in Brooklyn and headed home.
“Oh, I see why I’m out in a suit and tie today. It wasn’t about a new job or interview after all, was it? Yes, I know you died on this day, but why can’t I just move on with life? You know? An interview, more money, more power?” I asked at last as I walked past Brooklyn Hospital Center, the place where Shawn died four years ago on this day.
Like a bag lady asleep in a navy blue suit, I crashed on the subway.
I wasn’t supposed to be on the B train. I thought I had stepped onto the F train. It was only 10:30 a.m. and I was on my way home. I had no work today so I used the time to interview for a new job.
I was done selling myself in just over an hour and headed back home.
I nearly fainted when I saw the empty subway cars post rush hour. I grabbed a seat and closed my eyes because I knew that my connecting stop in Brooklyn was at least 20 minutes away.
The train rumbled softly underground and I could care less that I wasn’t offered a position today.
I drifted into a rare realm of sedate New York City commuting. I didn’t think about terrorists blowing up the train or the Chinese chick selling refurbished double A batteries.
Suddenly there was light. The darkness of my eyelids turned blood red as the morning sun struck my face unsuspectedly.
The B train came above ground and was crossing the Manhattan Bridge. “Oh darn, where am I?” I murmured while rubbing my eyes.
Nothing is more dangerous than falling asleep on the subway. I realized I picked the wrong train on the orange subway line.
Only one other person was on the subway car with me and of course she was sitting in front of the subway map. She moved her big hair for me and I quickly assessed my position on the B line.
The stop of DeKalb Avenue appeared close enough to my house for walking so I got off at the first stop in Brooklyn and headed home.
“Oh, I see why I’m out in a suit and tie today. It wasn’t about a new job or interview after all, was it? Yes, I know you died on this day, but why can’t I just move on with life? You know? An interview, more money, more power?” I asked at last as I walked past Brooklyn Hospital Center, the place where Shawn died four years ago on this day.
posted by Charles George Taylor at
10:17 AM
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