drifters

Chapter 1 - grand central station

Running late as always.  What normal college kid picks a 9 am class at the downtown campus?  It's my own fault for registering too late.  9 am doesn't sound that early, but when you have to take the train to Grand Central and then maneuver through the zombie commuter traffic to the subway platform that smells like hot piss, 9 am suddenly seems a tad unrealistic.

My professor doesn't know any of our names and he doesn't try either.  But he does give out the look of pure sinister death when you walk in late and disrupt his lecture.  It was just a typical Thursday morning.  Almost Friday but not yet and even then do I want it to be the weekend of work and catching up on schoolwork that I put off because I was hanging out with friends drinking?

At least it wasn't summer subway hot because then I would definitely throw up.  Maybe it was the tacos at 3 am.  Or maybe it was that last beer that I shouldn't have had.  Just close your eyes for a second and it's just fine.  But for some reason this morning, my train pulled into track 37.  I have to walk across the main concourse to get downstairs and why are there tourists at 8:30 am taking pictures by the clock?  Just take them off the internet and say they are yours!  Ugh, feeling sick again.  Fucking tacos!

Trying to walk past the usual MTA cops and guys in fatigues holding their weapons out without puking when no one else notices a thin, young and ethnically vague guy with dark hair that just appeared in front of me motionless.  I was about to say, "Watch where you're going, asshole" as all New Yorkers say.  But something told me this guy was off.  As hungover and tired and frazzled as I was, I knew not to mess with this guy.

Dead stopped in front of each other and the top of his hoodie unrealistically grew in front of me.  Within one second he was towering over me and a cold sweat was dripping down the back of my neck.  Does no one else see this?  I couldn't take my eyes off of him and I was scared to call out for help or even look around.

His voice was deep and distant yet I could feel the vibrations running through my body.  "Don't bother screaming.  No one can see me except for you.  You better cut the shit bruh and get back over here."

I don't think I have ever been so alarmed, scared and panicked all at the same time.  I mean, I got my ass kicked in elementary school when I called my math teacher "a fat bitch".  But that was because she was telling me that I was dumb for not understanding the tangents and equations.  Whatever, I'm in the accelerated accounting program now.  So fuck her and this weird ghosty thing in front of me.

"I literally have no idea what you want from me, I can guarantee you that!"  I had no idea what to say and I could barely hear myself speak as that squeaked out of me.  I think this could have been the scariest moment of my life.  He arched so high I was actually looking up at the ceiling and I saw the stars in the constellation artwork that everyone talks about but no one notices.

I dared to look to the side of him and see that time did stand still.  The people that were racing around to take pictures weren't moving.  I didn't hear the usual noise of the hundreds of people stomping through Grand Central and people talking loudly into their cell phones with bad connections.  There was no movement or sounds other than me and this ghosty guy.  My back and neck were literally arched since he grew so tall and towered over me.  I was waiting for my own sweat to drop as I'm not sure what else I could have done at that moment.

And then?  He blew through me.  I swiveled around and realized he must not have been talking to me.  There was a little girl trying to get away from him and then they were gone and everything went back to normal in an instant.  Did I hit my head last night when I was drunk?   Did no one see a young girl unattended in the busiest area of midtown?  I felt the right side of my head which felt clammy and took a breath as I tried to get downstairs to the subways.  What a freaking morning.