Flat on My Back

"Let me tell you something," the man said. His voice was smooth but tense, with a hint of contempt. He sounded as if he was about to kill me, albeit in a very casual manner. He could have, too, quite easily. He was an enormous, powerfully built black guy, and he was glaring down at me, his nose perhaps a foot away from mine.

This was not an easy thing to accomplish, mind you, given that he had to bend way over to get that close. And he had to bend way over because I was lying flat on my back on the Broadway-Lafayette subway platform.

"Let me tell you something," he repeated. I'd been there for a few seconds trying to get my bearings before his face appeared above me. I was still unsure as to exactly what had happened. "Next time you walk into someone like that, you should say, 'Excuse me.'"

My first thought was, How could I say 'Excuse me' when I didn't even know I had run into someone? What's more, everything had happened so quickly that I didn't even have time to utter an "excuse me" before I found myself staring at the ceiling.

Saying "excuse me" was always my immediate, reflexive instinct, regardless of the circumstances. As Morgan can attest, I have said "excuse me" to bicycles, iron gates, fences, park benches and dogs. There's a wooden post in a restaurant we frequent to which I've said "excuse me" well over a dozen times now. In this case, however, I wasn't given much of a chance.

I'd been working my way to the end of the subway platform, where I usually wait. Although it's empty down there most of the time, tonight there was someone in my spot. I began working my way back up the platform, only to find people all along the way. Dammit. I'd been so focused on the way down that I hadn't paid any attention to how crowded things were.

That's what I'd been doing?slowly working my way back toward the front of the platform?when I suddenly found myself stumbling backward, then falling backward, then sliding backward. Fortunately, the tiled platform, though slick, generated enough friction to stop me before I tumbled off the edge, onto the tracks.

Then a few seconds later the large man was chastising me for apparently running into him?though to be honest, he didn't seem much worse for the wear. I was trying to figure out if I'd merely bounced off him or been shoved. I honestly had no recollection of a collision.

"Look," I said, pulling my bag closer and reaching inside for the cane. "I don't see so hot? I have this cane here, and I obviously should've been using it." I'd learned over the years that it's simply much better to accept full blame in such circumstances and be done with it. The visual aid usually helps my case.

"Yes," his voice unchanged, still smooth and contemptuous, "you should be using it."

He was right, of course, as had been all those others who'd been telling me the same thing for too long. But sometimes?especially on subway platforms?the cane can be much more dangerous than helpful.

"Excuse me," I said grimly, in a final admission of defeat, as I pushed myself up into a sitting position.

"Here's my hand," he said, "I'll help you up."

I began to reach for it?another reflex?then stopped. "No," I told him. "I'm fine." Then, almost as an afterthought, I added, "Excuse me," again.

He turned away, walked a few steps and snatched up my hat, which had rolled over to the edge of the platform. I hadn't even noticed that I'd lost it. He returned and held it out to me. This time I accepted.

"Thank you," I said.

"Next time," he counseled, "use your cane instead of assuming that people know what's going on with you." Then he stomped away.

He was right about that too, I thought, but I was in no mood at that point to listen. I rolled over and raised myself up on one knee. As I replaced my hat, I noticed that everyone down around that end of the platform was staring at me. I couldn't tell what was in their eyes.

I stood, brushed myself off and slowly limped toward the back of the platform again, where I leaned against a post, head down, felt the slow burn begin to grow and waited for the next goddamn train.

All the way home in the crowded car, I leaned against one of the doors, and seethed. Thing is, though, I'm still not sure why, or whom, exactly, I was seething at.