An Old Man, a Train, Some Cheese
Just as the last car was disappearing into the tunnel, a nattily dressed old man came bounding down the stairs.
"Was that the F?" he asked as he stopped next to me, barely out of breath, I noticed, for the way he'd been moving down those stairs.
"Yeah," I told him. The F's the only train that stops there. "But don't worry about it?it was too packed to get on anyway."
"Aww," he said, "but I was only going to Jay St." Then he gave me a sly little grin. "That's where all the good people are."
I guess I must've looked a little confused, which I was, having no idea what to make of this comment.
"Oh, I'm just joshin' ya," he said. "You like New York?"
"Pardon?"
"You like it here? In New York?"
That's what I thought he said. He was a slim little man with a neatly trimmed white mustache, wearing a beige cap and suit. He didn't look like he belonged much in this neighborhood. At least not at this point in time. Maybe 50 years ago, but not now.
"Yeah, I must say I do," I admitted. "I've lived a lot of different places, but once I got here, I stayed. There was no place left to go." I had no idea why I was talking to a stranger. I don't talk much to anybody, even people I know, yet here I was, yapping it up. Something about his manner convinced me that he was neither going to hit me up for money nor follow me back to my apartment to slit my throat and dirty a few dishes.
"Yup, New York's got it all, everything's here. It's all right here. Whatever you need. You ever live in Minnesota?" he asked, abruptly.
"Yessir, yes I have."
"Michigan?" he pressed further.
"Yup. Long time ago, so I don't remember it much. Upper Michigan, actually." I wasn't sure if he was listing all the places he'd been, or just trying to figure out my accent.
"Chicago?"
Jesus Christ?he was doing pretty damn good so far, whatever he was getting at. I wondered briefly if this was the kid who was pretending to be me a few years back. If so, he'd either aged very badly or was wearing a mighty clever disguise.
"Yeah, I was there for quite a while, too, there in Chicago," I said. "On the South Side."
"Kentucky?"
Well, that's where his streak ended. "Nope. Never lived in Kentucky. Never even been to Kentucky."
"Ohhh, you should go to Kentucky. Louisville?especially Louisville. I met a lotta nice girls in Louisville. But that was during the war. Can't say what it's like now. Wisconsin?"
I was still trying to figure out which war he might've been talking about, so it took a second for this last question to register. "Uhh, yeah," I said after everything finally clicked. "Spent most of my childhood there. Just got back from visiting there yesterday, 'smatter of fact." What was this all about? What was he after? I was beginning to get a little paranoid, but still I kept talking to him. I don't know why I do things like that.
"No good, huh, I bet? No jobs."
"No, actually, from what I'm told, the economy's doing pretty well out there."
"Don't like cheese, then?"
"No, I like cheese just fine. Have a refrigerator full of cheese at home." Oh God, I hope that doesn't come off sounding like an invitation. The more I looked at him, the more I realized that he bore a rather striking resemblance to Harold Gould, the character actor, perhaps best known for his performances in The Sting and The Satan Bug. It wasn't him, though. At least I don't think it was.
"Ooohh, they make good cheese there. Make a real good Swiss there nowadays, I hear."
"Uh-huh. I guess." No, this wasn't Harold Gould. Harold Gould would never discuss cheese on a subway platform. At least I don't think he would. Certainly not this enthusiastically. But to be honest, I've never met Harold Gould. Knew a kid named Ed Gould once, though.
"You know what my favorite cheese is?" he continued, then answered before I had a chance to guess. "New York sharp cheddar. Mmmm, that's some good cheese, yessir."
"Uh-huh."
"You like McDonald's?"
This was way beyond me now. "Well, I guess I?"
"Don't like it, huh? Too much fat?"
"Well, no, that's not what?"
"Yeah, too much fat, too much cholesterol. That's it. But you know what they're using now? At McDonald's? Good New York sharp cheddar cheese. Not that store-bought stuff they used to use. Good cheese. And a better blend of meat, too."
"Really?" Oh, there's no getting out of this anymore.
"Yeah. Still got all the fat, though. Say, what do you do?"
"I guess I?"
"Computers, I bet. It's computers, isn't it?"
"Well, sort of?I?"
"Yeah, I knew it. That's the way to go these days. Especially for the young people, is the computers. Everything's a computer nowadays."
"I, um?"
"How old are you, by the way? I bet you're 25. You're 25, right?"
Oh, now he's gonna start getting weird on me. This is the way it always starts.
"No, uh, nosir, add about 10 years onto that, and you'd be about there."
"Really? Well, you look very good for someone that old."
"Well, thank you, I, uh?"
"Stay away from the fatty foods, I know. Bad for you. All that cholesterol. I can't do it, though. Love 'em too much. Guess how old I am."
"Pardon?"
"Oh, I don't know...66?" It seemed like a fair enough guess. He stepped back, though, and shot me a look from the corner of his eye. I knew I'd just made a bad mistake. Why do people ask me things like that?
"No. Try again. And this time, make it a good guess."
"Oh, hell. How 'bout 54?" I knew that one was way too low, but I thought I'd at least try to make him feel better. It's the least I could do.
He rocked back on his heels, shot me the same look from the corner of his eye and leaned in close, just as the next train was pulling into the station.
"I'm 81!" he shouted over the squeal of metal on metal, then danced away on his heels and gave me a little Charles Atlas pose.
I had to admit, he looked pretty fucking good for 81.
"Well, I'll be," I said, and stuck out my hand. He gave me a peculiar backwards left-handed handshake, slapped me firmly on the shoulder, shouted, "Well, it was nice talkin' to ya!" then ran down the platform before the doors opened, to board a different car. Which is just as well, I suppose. I think we'd covered just about everything. I got on the half-empty train and took a seat, feeling a touch better about things. Subway platforms are such odd places.