Now Where Was I...

by Raquel D'Apice

Engrossed in a book, I feel my body jerk uncomfortably and, glancing around, discover (to my complete surprise) that I am on a downtown F train that has stopped at York Street.   

Where am I? I ask, incredulous. 

York St. 

Where am I going?

Probably home. 

Am I there yet? 

No.  You do not live at York Street. You are going downtown to Bergen Street and transferring to the G train to Queens. 

And I go back to my book, only to get lost again, immediately.  All memory of York Street and the F train and my immediate goals evaporate into the thick subway air that reeks of pit stains and hard orange seats. What was I doing again?  Why am I doing this?  "Excuse me!" I am constantly asking myself and occasionally want to ask other people.  "Where do I exist in time and space?" 

I feel my body jerk again and, like a neurotic prairie dog, quickly peruse my environment for clues as to where I am and whether or not there's anything I'm supposed to do.   

Where am I? 

Jay Street-Borough Hall. 

I know some people who work near this station-- am I going to visit them? 

No, you are not going to visit them. You are going home.  We went through this fairly recently. 

I can transfer to the A train here!   

Yes, you can. But you are not going to.   

Turning back to my book again I am suddenly sent writhing by a high pitched, piercing noise, like the opening of an enormous ironing board.   

What is happening?!   

It's the train. The train sometimes makes noises like that when it's stopping.  It happened a lot at the 21st-Ely station when the E train came through and you are used to it. Cover your ears. 

Am I at the 21st-Ely station?  

No, you are at Bergen Street. Transfer here to the G on the opposite side.   

This is my stop?   

This is your stop! 

I get out and transfer?   

Get out of the train! 

Narrowly slipping through the subway doors, my umbrella half-heartedly hooked into my coat pocket so I do not have to hold it, I transfer to the G train.  I exit the station, cross the street and (thank god) arrive on the other side just as the G train (which I am supposed to take) pulls into the station.  I get on and open to the page where I left off, erasing all memory accumulated in the past 47 seconds.  My body lurches left. 

Where am I? 

Fulton Street. 

Like the Fulton Street Mall? 

Yes.  Like the Fulton Street Mall. 

I don't get off here.  

No. You don't.  

I bought a nice pair of shoes once at the Fulton Street Mall.

Good for you. 

Another sound, previously unheard, enters.  The sound says, "Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen..." and I establish that either I am at a circus or performance of some sort, or it is a homeless person asking for money. 

Looking up I see what at first appears to be an old woman but later reveals itself to be a relatively young woman who has not taken care of herself.  She is bent over to such a degree that her body reminds me of an upside down L--she reminds me of that Tetris piece, I think to myself.  The Tetris L piece that you can rotate so it looks like a hunched over old/young homeless woman.  I imagine rotating the woman in air and sliding her into the board to make several other homeless people disappear.  I spend a moment feeling bad that I wanted homeless people to disappear and suddenly feel someone standing over me. 

I blink.  The woman is still there and there are no other people shaped like Tetris pieces.  I look around and everything is black, which means we are in a tunnel.  Suddenly I see red.  And then tiles.  And then red.  And then tiles.   

I recognize that red. 

Those are the pillars at the Bedford-Nostrand stop. 

I live off the Bedford-Nostrand stop. 

You do.  Didn't you establish earlier that you were going home? 

Maybe.   

Just 'maybe?' 

YES.  I was.  I should get off the train. 

Get off the train! 

I'm trying! 

GET OFF! 

And slipping once again through the doors I find myself standing on the platform.  I establish the direction I should be walking and start off in that direction.  Glancing behind me briefly, I see that the old/young homeless woman has also gotten off the train.  She is standing by the garbage can, eyes bloodshot, muttering to herself.   

Crazy, I think.  She’s crazy. 

She is, yes.  But when you're that crazy, you might not even realize that you were crazy.  It might just seem normal to her. 

"I suppose," I said.   

I walk outside into the sunlight onto a street corner that looks extremely familiar, past an apartment building that looks a great deal like my own apartment building and I decide to go in.  My key fits the lock (what are the odds!) and having had a stressful past 30 minutes, I lie down (Am I home now?  You are.) and fall asleep.

Raquel D'Apice lives in Brooklyn, off the Bedford-Nostrand stop. She is a stand-up comedian and
moderately attentive waitress.  You can read more of her writing at www.livejournal.com/users/theuglyvolvo.