This could've been me...or worse.
When I got dressed on Saturday night to hit up the party on the east side, my biggest concern was making sure that I had cash in my wallet and that my arms weren’t ashy. It never crossed my mind that I might end up on a bench tryin’ to account for lost time, dirty jeans, and a sharp pain that shot up and down my left arm. Even though each year I age brings down the warranty coverage on my body, I still like to believe that I’m relatively invincible and impervious to high levels of pain. I also like to think that no matter what I do on any given weekend that I’ll wake up on my bed or couch with leftover hood Chinese food nearby. Yeah, I like to think that…
So I made it to this party. I had a couple mixed drinks, then chilled for a bit. The tipsy tingle wasn’t too far off, so I waited before switching to beer. 2 Coronas would be my limit. After all, I wasn’t out with the regular homies and wasn’t tryin’ to sleep past my stop on the train and wake up in the Bronx or touching White Plains in black shoes. I’ve done it before. It’s pretty f*ckin’ annoying, like when you stub your toe and can only blame yourself for the pain.
By the time I finished my Coronas, hunger and initial sleepiness started setting in. My plan was to stop at Penn Station, grab some food, then hop on the train up to Harlem. I felt no different than any other night out with ice cubes clanging in glasses and limes floating amongst bubbles. And since I was so sure of myself, I had a glass of fancy champagne right before I left. You can’t turn down the fancy bubbly. It turned out to potentially be one of the most costly drinks I ever had in my life.
I walked out the party, got in a cab, then headed to Penn Station. And somewhere between the time I got out the cab and on the escalator, I was either abducted by aliens or blacked the f*ck out. And when I returned to a semblance of my regular self, my eyes were closed, my clothes were damp, and my left arm was throbbing. I knew that I was somewhere unnatural and could hear the faint echo of late night conversations. When I opened my eyes, I saw metal, mud, and mice. Nah, they weren’t mice. They were curious rats wondering why someone had come down to visit them so emphatically. It was at this moment that my heart skipped a beat and I realized I had fallen onto the train tracks in a NYC subway. I looked to my left and prayed I wouldn’t see tons of iron barreling toward me. Then I looked to the right and saw 4 police officers sprinting in my direction. With a left arm that was worth no more than the pain in it and weight of it, I tried to climb out of the subway, but couldn’t. It was probably the most helpless I ever felt even though help was clearly on the way.
They grabbed me and pulled me out of my predicament. I looked at my pants covered in the brown filth of the subway tracks. My t-shirt was ripped and muddied. My heart was pounding like I was about to go on stage and rock my first show when in reality I had just hit a potentially deadly bottom. The police asked if I wanted to go to the hospital or get an ambulance. I shook my head and said I could make it home. They pointed me to the other side of the tracks to catch the train in the right direction, but I opted to go above ground and catch a taxi. I wanted no part of the subway system.
I tried to hail a cab and not one would stop for me because I looked like one of the many homeless men that I ignored everyday — dirty, crestfallen, and desperate. The shock of what happened beneath ground was wearing off and the reality of what could’ve been was coming to the surface. There was a bench nearby that gave me a chance to pull myself together as much as one could given the circumstances. And when I sat down, I broke down. The realization that I could’ve died from crackin’ my head on the rail, breakin’ my neck, or gettin’ hit by a train was beyond sobering. My first thought was my mom. She always tells me to be careful and take care of myself — particularly when drinks are involved. And I always respond with “I know. I’m grown.”
Then I thought about other family members. Then I thought about my friends. Then I thought about online folks. This would not have been the way I wanted everybody reading my writing to find out my name if they didn’t know it already. For a moment, I felt all the pain that I would’ve caused others had I not made it out of that night alive. Aside from getting the news in 2008 that my father had passed, this was unquestionably the worst moment of my life.
Eventually I made it home. I started undressing before I even got in the door. Never had a shower felt so essential. I wanted to wash away the events of the night, go to sleep, then wake up hoping it had been a terrible dream. It was simultaneously the best and most unsavory shower I ever took, but it was enough to help me sleep.
When I woke up in the morning, I went to my living room to see if my clothes from last night were back to normal. I was banking on a dream I knew I didn’t have. So it wasn’t too surprising when I saw the worst night of my life on the floor where I had left it. I considered washing the shirt and the jeans, but was sure that no detergent would be able to remove the memory of the night I could have very easily ceased to exist.
They say you can’t just throw away the memories, but best believe I put those clothes in a bag to be thrown in the garbage. And now that I’ve written this post, I feel like I can finally bring the black bag downstairs, toss it in the trashcan, and try to stop thinkin’ about what could’ve been and focus on what I am…
Alive.
Thankful as ever,
OMG. I’m so glad you are okay. that is really, really scary.
very happy that youre alive and well.
OMG That’s crazy. I’m glad you survived that night.
be careful out there dog…… crazy story
That is wild as hell
Oh my God…there’s nothing else to say but Oh my God!!! I was waiting for the punchline and then I realized the seriousness of your tone. Glad that you’re okay. I’m sure you don’t need any words of advice from us. The lesson was in the burden and the blessing of what happened to you.
This is such a scary story. I'm happy to hear you're alive and well. Please take care of yourself. Thanks for sharing your story.
I’m glad you’re alright, and I hope this will be your first and last such experience. I personally have nothing against the consumption of alcohol, but I limit mine to the occasional glass of Pina Colada or other cocktail. Even the thought of being out of my senses makes my nose wrinkle.
Why is my heart beating so fast! I'm glad you were foung and are alive but you mad me cry
Oh no,glad to hear u are well.
That’s a miracle. Thank God you’re okay.
Whoa Slim. Whoa. WHOA!
Thank God you’re safe, what a horrible night.
Throw that ish out, but don’t lose the lesson. And hug your mother, shoot, hug a stranger. *ehugs you whether you like it or not*
That’s pretty damn frightening. I’m glad you made it out. Thank God. I’ve had a near death experience and your breakdown of your thoughts is exactly what passed through my mind. Glad you’re still here.
i'm so glad you made it out alive….. be blessed
:-O
I’m praying for you and I’m glad you’re ok
Wow man…thats a very intense story. Glad to hear you’re okay.
Thanks for the comments on this. Very much alive, well, and not 800% traumatized.
Hearing this made me want to come back to NYC just to make sure you’re iite. Happy to hear you’re still alive and we can have another Slim and Seattle Adventure. Take care of yourself man, really.
Just read this and as I was taking in exactly what you were saying I kept picturing this scene from CSI:NY where one of the Det. was getting his a** beat on a subway. He’d been drinking away the grief of his GF who had just been killed (she was a det. too). He wound up on the wrong side of town (and on the wrong subway) and the script allowed Nelly’s guest character to find him, rescue him from his attackers and take him to his apartment to shower and sober up
I’m SO glad you’re okay and that you made it home safely
So glad you’re okay.
Ok wow. That’s just… Good to be alive.
I came across this post and felt compelled to comment, I have read your stories on single black men and would have kept myself quitely in the background laughing to myself (cause of your wit :p)or pondering in serious thought except this story hit close to home. Someone very special to me;the guy I was involved with for the large portion of 2011 a fellow member of Omega Psi Phi died Nov 19,2011 because he was ran over by a train in NYC.He was only 24 years old and was intoxicated at the time of his death. What I say to all who read this is be careful,life is such a short gift and this brother though you didnt know him was one of the greatest people I know . . .knew,beautiful in spirit exceptionally intelligent, caring, genuine,ambitious and this world is a little less bright without him in it. Rest in Peace Briant love you more than words can say and you are always in my heart. Bless.
Hey,
Just seeing this comment and as soon as you mentioned someone close to you, I knew you were gonna say his name. Life is indeed short and Briant’s accident was a potent reminder of what my reality could’ve been. Bless his soul.
Small world for you to find this post on my blog. Wow.
Even smaller world for you to actually know him . . . “of all the posts,in all the blogs, in all the of the world she reads mine . . ” :p I was at work last night reading your blog and this post was a jolt to my heart. Thats crazy . . .were you close to him, did you attend the funeral? because the tribute the bruhz did at the wake was beautiful and they set it “owt” at his funeral and the repast *sad smile* . . my name is Rebecca by the way . . .
Wasn’t able to make it to the service, but I said my prayers for him. I’d seen him out before since I know a lot of the bruhz he’s cool with. Never had an in-depth conversation, but the loss of frat is the loss of frat. Can’t help but to think of all the lives he touched and the amount of mourning.
**throws a hook of remembrance**