Wednesday, January 22, 2025

In the rush hour home on the A train a man walked into the space between the cars, with it freezing cold and everything—not permitted, dangerou—but he did it calmly and deliberately, like he was just entering a different room at a party. I peered at him through the glass and wondered if he was suicidal, if he might just as calmly step off the edge into the tunnel darkness, how I’d then be obligated to pull the emergency alarm, which in fact hung on the wall beside me bearing slightly complicated directions about remove this and lift that. Yes, I decided. I’d have to pull it. Though no doubt there’d be groans from some onboard, even from some who knew why, people who just wanted to get home on a winter Tuesday night for fuck’s Jesus sake. I’d feel sheepish. But I could surely defend my actions. There’s a man there, a human being. He might not yet be dead. Is our collective inconvenience not justified by getting some EMTs out on the tracks to see if they can’t stanch his bleeding? Yes. It’d be the right thing to do and I’d do it. I’d be the one. I looked at him again and he was checking his phone now. The screen bore a colorful stream of pictures, Instagram perhaps. Just like everybody else.