By Chris Miskiewicz
So, the G Train. It’s kind of an amazing thing. Growing up I gave it the nickname “the train that doesn’t come,” mainly because it would never come. If there was one thing I could count on it was the fact that even if I was early by an hour the G-Train would find a way to make me late by three. Not for any good reason. It’s just how it is. But if I had to guess, to really think about it, I’d have to believe that it had something to do with being from Brooklyn, and that somehow it was an older brother fucking with me kind of thing. Like putting you in a headlock, or pushing you into the pool, or making you endlessly wait on a dark dank platform. Something like that.
I once walked the tunnel with Big Mike in high school. We went from one station to the other along the access ramp that runs beside the tracks. We had been waiting there for close to an hour and decided to just walk to the next station for the Hell of it. And then a train came while we were in the middle of the tunnel causing us to grasp our backs to the wall, and dig our fingertips deep into cement screaming as it sped inches from our faces with a flashcard show of Korean women, sleeping bums, blonde ladies.
I had done a similar thing on the 7 Line, hanging off the back of the last car for three stations. But, that was a different train line during the middle of a summer day with three friends breaking laws like you should when you can.
Still, I don’t know exactly what the G-Train’s motivations are. Maybe it’s keeping me from gunmen who’re waiting up ahead. And maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s pissed about the shtick I used to say in high school about having to take the cattle car there everyday. The car with the metaphorical chickens who existed as an example to describe how much of a mystery its schedule was to my life.
Sitting here now waiting for its headlight to come around the bend, which will never appear, I found myself wondering about all this. So I wrote it down.
And then I edited it.
And then I read it all again.
And I’m still waiting.