His fingernails were a deep green — almost black — and his dirty fingers were wrapped around a coffee cup, the kind you get from a street vendor. He’d gotten on the uptown 6 train and took the vacant seat next to me. When he sat down, I braced myself, expecting him to smell bad, to reek of urine and liquor. But he wasn’t drunk.
“I’m a little bit crazy,” he informed the couple to his left. They looked uneasy, shifted away from him, as though they were afraid they’d catch crazy. The man went back to his coffee. He took a sip, glanced in my direction and offered me some.
“You want to share? I got it for free. Real nice man to give me free coffee.”
“That was nice of him,” I said. “But no, thank you.” The middle aged black woman seated across from me smiled sympathetically and adjusted her camel trench coat.
“I’m a little bit crazy, you know.”
I was vodka tipsy and feeling weary from the evening that had not gone quite right.
“We’re all a little bit crazy.” I said.
He started rambling, and as the train rocked and swayed, I zoned out for a bit. Until his voice got louder, addressing the whole train.
“Happy holidays, everybody. A good Thanksgiving with a big plump turkey. And stuffing. And cranberries. And shrimp salad. And potato salad. And corn on the cob.”
The same woman smiled again and shifted in her seat. Maybe she was amused about the corn on the cob. I was.
“And one more thing!” He said, even louder and more animated. “Apple cider!”
No one was paying attention to him. Well, not no one. The smiling lady and I were.
“Apple cider doesn’t have all those preservatives. It’s more natural than apple juice, right?” He looked toward me for affirmation. I nodded. “I mean, right? Apple juice is from concentrate; like that you buy in the grocery store. But apple cider comes right from the apples.”
The next stop was announced.
“Drop in center! Next stop!” he announced to the train. “Drop in center. Open twenty-four hours. Drop in center! Next stop!” He stood up, sipped his coffee, and when the doors opened, he stepped out onto the platform. I followed; it was my stop, too.
“I’m a little bit crazy,” he told an MTA cop at the 86th Street station. “But I got me some free coffee.”
We are all a little crazy. And I am happy that he got himself a free coffee.
Thanks for a sweet story!
That sounds like several men I’ve dated. SCARY!
nicely captured.
The fact that he was briefly able to connect with another human, made him a little less crazy.
So you’re one of those nice people in NY? Nice to know. Very nice. (I’m kidding – I DO know that there ARE nice people in NY)
omg, this blog is like a giant love fest of UES yuppies. wow, you slummed it and took public transportation! you even talked to someone who wasn’t in your income bracket! perhaps he even had a differt skin tone! the horror!
what’s with angry anonymous? too much free time?
thanks for another story fish, its nice to have someone that updates on saturdays. helps fill out my procrastination.
Never underestimate the power of coffee.
Especially free coffee.
that story made me a little bit teary. sometimes, as a young woman, i get a bit scared when i ride the t (here in boston), but mostly i find that people just appreciate a smile and affirmation. nice story, fish.
In some small way I think we are all just seeking a little affirmation. Made it a point to give away my cup of coffee yesterday.
We’re all a little crazy, and it’s the ones who deny it that you’ve got to be especially careful of!
I once came upon a homeless man holding a cup out. Without even thinking, I dug inside my trousers, took out a quarter, and dropped it in his cup as I walked by. He yells after me: “you idiot…I have coffee in here.”
Damitol!