I wrote this on the A train Sunday, November 22, on my way to the Met Cloisters. It’s just the beginning of an idea, but it came out all in a rush and was so fun to write out!
I sat on the orange plastic seat of the A train, headed uptown, the sounds of Angèle filling my ears. I practiced thinking to myself in French (ils ne savent pas que maintenant je veux être à Paris), part of my France-themed day. Baguette in my bag and sandwich parisien in my stomach, I was full and warm and happy. I’d picked out my clothes carefully this morning— big pink woolen coat, black dress with tiny white polka dots over a white turtleneck, multicolored silk scarf knotted at the neck, lime green hoops, a lavender mask, and my Swedish clogs.
Closing my eyes, I settled further into my seat, ready for the 40 minute journey to the Cloisters. As Angèle sang through my headphones, the surrounding subway noises began to subside, and I floated off on a baguette-scented day dream.
With a sudden JOLT of the train, my eyes snapped open. I must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because somehow, without me noticing, I was the only person left in the car. I readjusted myself, fixed my headphones, and looked at my phone to figure out how much longer was left. No service. “Damn,” I muttered to myself. “Guess I’ll just have to wait until the next stop and see where I am.”
The train kept clack clack zhuzh zhuzhing along, rattling its way through the damp tunnels. My feet had fallen asleep and were waking up, all pins and needles. I stamped my right foot, trying to speed along the process before my stop came.
Finally, the train began slowing, and a voice over the intercom garbled out a message: “hkldapordvn last stop ghlkghewr everybody off aghplodrdr”
“I’ll just hop off here then, and look at one of the maps,” I announced to the empty car.
With a loud screech, the train ground to a halt, and the doors opened with a whoosh of air. I grabbed my bag and stepped off, headed to the exit. There was no one waiting for the train. “Maybe I really did go further than I meant,” I thought. I pushed through the turnstile and walked up the stairs to the sunlight, clutching my coat closer as the cold, brisk air began to blow past my face.
To my surprise, the first thing I saw upon exiting the station was a field with a stone fence. “Is this... Yonkers??” I wondered to myself, hoping I might have service even out here in the middle of evidently nowhere. Alas, no service still. I turned around me in a slow circle, noting that there was what appeared to be a dirt road stretching from the station steps forward, parallel with the stone fence. The station entrance, with its traditional pale green globe lamps, seemed to be the only sign of civilization in the grey landscape. I decided I’d better turn back and retrace my steps, and wait for the next train in the opposite direction. But, when I turned back to the stairs, a yellow placard on a chain was strung from end to end, across the steps, reading “Station Closed for Cleaning.” I gaped in confusion. I hadn’t heard any noises besides the wind in some far off trees and my own clomping since I’d gotten here. All at once, the near silence hit me. Where was the noise of the city? Even if we were a bit outside, there should still be SOME noise pollution. I couldn’t even hear any underground trains making their way up the tracks.
“Hello?” I called out, unsure who I wanted to answer me. “Hello, anyone? I’m not sure where I am!”
The only one to reply was a confused looking squirrel who gave me a moment’s notice before turning his attention back to his acorn.
dun dun dun
where have I ended up? I know where I want this to go, but haven’t sat down to get it out. will try to write more later!
