It was a year ago today. I was standing on the subway platform at Broadview Station, waiting for my gentleman friend. Our plan was to go to the theater in Yorkville to see George Clooney in Up In The Air. He would meet me on the platform at 2pm, and we would catch the next train in. The 1:58 came, and he wasn’t on it. I hoped he would be on the 2:03.
My iPod was in, listening to Christmas tunes. The Long Blonds were singing Christmas is Canceled, and it was a quiet part of the song as the lights of the train came through the tunnel into the station. I heard it more than saw it. The ear is quicker than the eye, though the brain took a moment to process the thud. It wasn’t until I heard the shrieks and cries of those around me that I realized what had happened.
The conductor - a pint-sized readheaded woman of about 30 - came out of her booth, crying, asking who had seen what happened. She became hysterical, looking to me like she would be the next one down onto the tracks. That would do no one any good. I and a few other TTC patrons with cool heads shepherded her up the escalator where there would soon be dozens of police waiting to take her statement. They could deal with her hysteria better than I could, especially away from the not-as-gruesome-as-I-expected scene below.
People were crying around me as the TTC staff moved us all up to street level where shuttle buses were being readied. The subway would be shut for a while to clean up the detritus of desperation below ground.
I felt nothing. The place I was in at the time - both physically and emotionally - had dulled my senses. The only thing I could think at the time was “Good for you!” I was a little envious, but in no way horrified or disturbed. It was what it was. A week before Christmas, despair had gotten the best of yet another dweller of this overburdened city.
Oh, as an aside, my gentleman friend wasn’t on he 2:03, either. Tardiness is a sin, dear.
He called while I sat not far from where the police were comforting and questioning the conductor. The phone rang, and I answered it “It wasn’t me.”
We met on the street, and walked the rest of the way downtown, through the cold and the human Christmas traffic.