The Midnight Train to Broadway Junction

It was late. I was tired. I started my day in the Catskills, then drove backroads to Connecticut for a baby shower before returning to the City just to take a shower and head to Pier 17 for a concert. On my journey home I discovered the A train was running local. Unfortunately, this doubled the time and negated the muscle memory I developed over the years for the typical 5-stop ride. So instead, I settled in, completely engrossed in a new collection of poetry called 'Love Ends in a Tandem Kayak.'

I lifted my head from the page once I heard the announcer say 'Liberty Ave'. I looked around. I had never seen this stop. I looked at the map on my phone. I was farther than I should be. I got up, frazzled. "Did we pass Broadway Junction," I asked a fellow passenger.

A man with a thick mustache nodded yes. He clearly felt bad for me after noticing my disorientation.

I missed my stop. Damn it. Quickly, I exited the train.

A little context on Broadway Junction— it's sketchy enough in the daylight. I've been through Broadway Junction much more than I care to admit. This three story mammoth used to be part of my daily commute to a production office I worked at off the Jay St. MetroTech stop. Now, being one stop further during the night felt even worse.

Once I made it back to Broadway Junction, I still had to traverse the endless amount of stairs leading from the basement, up to the middle floor (where you could catch the JZ line) and then more steps over a covered causeway to catch the West-bound L Train. There was a lot of ground left to cover.

Broadway Junction, Summer 2019. Photo taken by Shelby Coppola

On the empty Liberty Ave platform I made my way up the stairs and over to the Manhattan-bound side. The screen said the next train would arrive in 10 minutes. Not bad, but not great. It could be worse. I felt annoyed and pitied myself for roughly one minute. It was only 10 minutes. What could I do to pass the time? Oh right, more poetry.

I kept my wits about me. I had to. As a solo 5 foot tall girl, in the depths of Brooklyn on a Saturday night, I needed to be on guard. To survey every situation efficiently and evaluate each person I encountered. Mid-poem I would throw my attention to the group of teenage boys who laughed down the platform. Out of my periphery I saw them walk over to the 'Queens-bound' side— a little sus. Even with people around, it can be eerie to be one of the few waiting for the train around midnight. Especially at a stop that's just far enough from home.

A Hispanic man with a backpack and hat on came towards me to wait at the back of the train. He spoke on his cell phone. I checked because had he been talking to himself I would've felt differently. Instead, I breathed easy, feeling like I got this. Then a brown woman in a Park uniform casually ambled past me and the Hispanic to stand the furthest away. See people are out, it's okay.

Then the Cartoon Character appeared. Not actually, but I wasn't hallucinating either.

He had a peanut-shaped head. Under his turned-to-the-side cap he had dark short hair tapered up the sides. His over-styled look consisted of a colorful, busy patterned t-shirt, a few chains layered around his neck, round, thick brown acrylic glasses on his face and big gold watch on his right wrist. He didn't even look real to me.

"This is the train to Broadway Junction?" He said, pointing his pointers and thumbs on both hands to the track.

"Yeah," I said to him. I loosened up, figuring we could commiserate over the same mistake. A typical NY interaction.

"I missed my stop," he said shrugging.

"I know man, I did the same thing. Good thing is the train will be here in a few minutes so you don't have long to wait," I said.

"What? You mean, the train to Broadway Junction?"

"Yeah."

"This is the train going to Broadway Junction?" He pointed back to the tracks. One hand this time. 'This one."

"Yeah."

"I missed my stop," he said mimicking the same shrugging movement.

Fuck. Why did I start a conversation with this wackadoo? Two more minutes left to wait.

In moments like these, I think about my mom's recent visit to the City. She said good morning to everyone we passed on our way to the local train. I snapped at her and said the sidewalk is not the hallway in high school. In this moment, I felt humbled. Clearly, I am my mother's daughter.

"Is this the train to Broadway Junction?" He asked again.

"Yes." HELP.

The other two people on the platform were glad it was me instead of them. It was obvious. That's how it goes in NYC. When weird things happen near you, you're thankful it's happening to someone else and not you. Or maybe that's just how I feel. Nah, I'm pretty sure it's universal.

Thankfully, the train approached in its spark-screeching glory.

Cartoon dude raised his voice to say, "To Broadway Junction, right? This train to Broadway Junction?" Endlessly pointing. Endlessly asking the same god damned thing. "This one? Next stop?"

I nodded my head and pointed. I stepped toward the still-closed doors. I knew I was in too deep. This dude was going to find a way to keep talking to me.

The doors opened and I climbed aboard. I sat down. The Cartoon Character took the seat next to me. His face was close to mine. I no longer looked him in the eye. He proceeded to ask the same questions, "This the train to Broadway Junction? Next stop?"

"Mhm," I said, trying to keep my cool, on the verge of losing it.

"I missed the stop. I can't believe it. What time is it? Do you know."

I stared blankly at the shoes of the person standing in the middle of the train. I was in survival mode. No more engaging. Instead, the Cartoon Character turned and asked the black woman on his left the same question. "Is this the train to Broadway Junction."

"Yeah," she said.

Victory!

"What time is it," he looked down at his oversized, blinged out gold watch. "Is it 6? It's 6. Oh shit." His head turned sideways. He turned the watch toward me to read. My gaze remained down.

Great, he can't tell time either.

"What time is it? Is it 6? It can't be 6." He repeated to the black woman.

She showed him the screen of her phone. It was just before 12 a.m. Before he could ask another question, our midnight train to Broadway Junction arrived.

I stood before the doors, again. I tapped my foot in anticipation. Adrenaline coursed through me. I knew once I escaped this weird bizarro universe, I would be entering another one.

"Broadway Junction?" He said again behind me. "This is Broadway Junction? I missed my stop."

I looked down to find the black woman had 2 used lollipop sticks stuck to the butt of her leggings. She felt them on her. She reached her hand down and swatted them to the floor. Were they her lollipop sticks? Or had she not looked at the seat before she sat down?

Nighttime on the Subway Platform. Photo taken by Shelby Coppola

The doors opened. Bing. I was OUTTA THERE. I heard the Cartoon Character call out— at who, I'm not sure— I was already weaving through the night walkers, sidestepping slowpokes in slip-ons, walking up the first set of stairs—two-by-two—to get home as soon as possible. To escape the freaks.

I fast walked to the tall escalator. I marched up the moving steps. On your left, I said to the rude people standing in the middle. I widened my stride up the hallway passing the market of remaining table-sellers.

I was comforted for a moment when I saw the dark night sky. Until the L train lights approached the station in a fury. The train was on the other side of the tracks. SHIT. I needed to SPRINT. The window of time to make the train was small. My arms pumped at my side, two-by-two, up two more flights of steps. I hung a left and passed a round Asian woman who screamed, 'WAIT! WAIT!' as she pulled a cart behind her.

The train was parked with its doors open when I reached the last set of descending stairs. A smaller Asian woman was steps from the platform, 'HOLD THE DOOR! HOLD THE DOOR,' she yelled. Her hands waved wildly overhead in the air.

I'm not sure what came over me, but in my mind I thought If I can make it, so can she. I can't leave her behind. So, I nestled my hand underneath her armpit and lifted her across the precipice as the bingbong tone sounded. The pocket metal doors began to converge. We both shoved them aside to get her through, but she kept pulling back. My hand was still secured under her arm. I realized she was reaching for her cart-pulling friend, who finally made through the door.

The doors closed. We all made it. The train moved onward to Aberdeen. I sat on the middle of the bench seat, sucking wind. The two women sat across from me. "Thank you, thank you," they said.

"The next train was coming in 30 minutes," one told me. "If we missed it we would've had to wait."

"We made it," I said with a tired smile. I was relieved I wasn't being accused of assault.

"You're really out of breath aren't you?" The other noted.

"I haven't ran that hard in years," I admitted.

I got to that train within 30 seconds, if not less. Keep your wits about you, kids.

Try not to miss your stop. If you do, reroute. And please be safe.

Broadway Junction, Daytime, July 2019. Photo taken by Shelby Coppola

My experience as a woman reminds me to delicately balance being open while being on guard. At any moment, someone I invite in could have different intentions, ones I may not suspect. By nature, I am an open person, but sometimes that can open me up to dangerous situations. It is unfortunate that I have to think like this, but I've learned I have to.