Justino Rodriguez

Neither, I’ll be going up over or through…

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The haze that settled in a week before my qualifying exams has yet to lift. While on my way to visit friends in willy-b (a part of the city I don’t visit often), I slipped while waiting for the G train on the yellow safety line that is supposed to serve as protection and warning. As you know there are different species of these subway lines, each with their particular geneology tracing back to whatever crook happened to finagle a municipal contract in that moment. My companion in that painful fall was the large iron bumpy kind, caked in a glossy yellow enamel. They also happen to be the least hospitable to your back if landed on directly. The impact was absorbed mostly in my lower back followed by a second impact on my elbow, head and hand.

No breath for a while after that one. Just stars and a wish my counsciousness could escape the unbearable feeling of having every sense overtaxed by the pain that would surely follow. The kicker is nobody helped me up. Fucking platform full of twenty and thirtysomething hipsters and not one of them lent a hand. I laid on the ground for 10 minutes doing my best to remember to breathe before the next train arrived. When the doors opened this older west Indian woman picked me up off the floor and sat me in the seat next to her. The haze has changed in consistency. Feeling better in some ways. Pain can clarify some things and obsure others. One plus is that moving a bit slower forces me to be a bit more mindful and contemplative.