This morning I stepped on to a non-packed car on the Q at Atlantic and saw a large black bag right in front of the pole.
It was larger than a suitcase, probably about twice the size of a duffle bag. It was as big as the bag our high school hockey goalie had to lug around on game day.
And no one was standing near it.
So, naturally, my first thought was, “Cool, here’s a giant bomb.”
I asked the woman across the aisle, “Is that yours?” She shrugged. I looked around and asked, “Anyone?”
Then a guy in the middle of the seat a few people away, wearing a black ski jacket zipped up to the top with the hood pulled over his head snapped, “What’s your problem?!”
“I don’t have one.”
“What’s your problem?!”
I then had to contend with two competing regions of my brain.
Rational mind: The bag belongs to this gentleman.
Lizard brain: The bomb detonator has revealed himself and he is nervous before completing his mission.
But I kept my (outward) cool, kept reading my book (currently Shrill, which is impressive, I knew Lindy West was a good writer but I didn’t know how funny she was), and just kept subtly checking out the bag. What could be in there? There was a side pocket that had what looked like a brass knob sticking out of it. Is that some kind of switch? Is brass used in bomb making?
And then from my left, a line of dialogue that shocked me out of my investigation.
“It’s not a bomb, bombs are smaller.”
A few things instantaneously occur to me as another gentleman (wearing a sport coat and a tie but also sunglasses on the train, so, he was on his way to work but where?) said this. First, clearly I wasn’t being that subtle. It’s a little off putting when a stranger knows exactly what you’re thinking. And second, the word “bomb” is really jarring. No wonder they don’t allow you to say that shit in airports. Third, his little nugget of expertise thrown in at the end regarding likely bomb size is not reassuring.
And then he added, “I know. ‘If you see something, say something,’ right?”
Let’s check in with my brain again.
Rational mind: This guy is thinking what I’m thinking.
Lizard brain: The detonator has an accomplice and he’s trying reverse psychology to throw me off the scent. Shrewd move, my friend!
I continued the ride, reading my book, and having a mental debate. Am I fool for being so naive as to not leave this train? Or am I being crazy by even entertaining the idea that I’m in danger?
Rational mind: It’s just a bag.
Lizard brain: If I were a terrorist, where would I detonate my bomb? Over the Manhattan Bridge? Would that do any damage? Of course, given the size of this bag, I’m sure that much C4* could blow up an entire building and perhaps a bridge. But what would be most effective? I’m guessing Times Square, which is the stop after mine, so, I’ll be safe.
* I don’t know what C4 is, I just gather from what I’ve seen in movies that it is a potent explosive.
I just have to make it to 34th Street, I just have to make it to 34th Street.
We pull into Canal without incident. “What’s your problem?” guy has remained silent. Sunglasses has as well.
At 14th Street, sunglasses exits the train, shattering the lizard brain’s theory that he’s in on it. He admonishes a nurse on his way out for trying to enter the train before he leaves. I respected the intention but not the execution.
Also at 14th street, a young woman entered the train with her hair shaved all around the sides and a flop of hair on top that was dyed a perfect rainbow, I’m assuming for Pride. This detail has no place here but it was really cool.
One more stop to go before I either avoid annihilation or meet my maker.
“What’s your problem?” gets up and stands by his bag. Like me, he’s just waiting to get off the train at 34th. The doors open, he hoists the bag over his shoulder. He goes off to the left, I go off to the right.
As I would like it to say on my tombstone: See? All that worrying for nothing.
Rational mind: Write about this.
Lizard brain: What he said.
