Riding Metro North. With Law & Order.

~ Live & Learn

train-subway-motion-rails

Tuesday evening. Downtown Manhattan. I’m hailing a cab. Rich food swims in Chardonnay. Wind bursts chill the bones: Winter.

I flip on Waze with an eye out for a cab – 16 minutes to Grand Central.  The 8:36 train departs in 18 minutes.  Unlikely, but possible.

“Be great if I can catch the 8:36.” This is NYC Cabbie code – a much larger tip in it for you if you giddyap.  It’s the American Way: Proper incentives = desired behavior.  I buckle my seatbelt, grip the armrest and hope for the best.

“8:36?”

“Yes.”

He bolts through traffic – Rabbit with lock on the Carrot. Think bumper car or go cart sans contact, with the same weaving, bobbing, braking and jarring.

We arrive at the station at 8:36.  I run to the gate, hopeful for a train delay.  I watch the fading red tail lights down the tunnel, wheezing, trying to catch my breath. Damn!  Next train, 30 minutes.

I walk to the next gate, board the train, find a seat, and get comfortable. Chardonnay burns off. Fatigue rolls in, eyes are burning on four hours of sleep. I pop in my ear buds, turn on soft ambient music, lean my head against the window, and close my eyes. Just 10 minutes, please, just 10. 

The smartphone buzzes in my pocket, a text message. Let it go. Just let it go.

It’s Eric (Son, 22) home for Thanksgiving and having dinner with his Mom in the city.

“Dad, what gate? What train car are you in?”

A few minutes later I see them peering through the train car window, Eric beaming and flipping a thumbs up.  He smiles, we trade fist-bumps and they join me on the 3-seater – we roll North.  One wrong turn by my cabbie, one red light too many and here we are.  Not a bad trade, a 30 minute train delay, for a train ride north with family, wrapped in the soft holiday glow. Coincidence?

We exit the train. It’s 10 pm.

We cross the parking lot preparing to make the 1/4 mile walk home.

And there it is again.

Metal on metal, the crunch of car hitting car.

The driver, backing out of his parking spot, side swipes a parked car.  He stops at impact, and pauses, for seconds.

At this moment, Eric grabs his smartphone and starts tapping out the license plate number, whispering the six digits to himself, willing himself to be certain, to be precise.

The car then straightens up, backs out and races out of the parking lot, leaving a large hickey on the door panel of the car.

Eric calls 911, explains what happens, provides the plate number, and the description of car. He does not pause. He does not say: I don’t want to be hanging around a dark parking lot in the cold waiting for the cops to show up. He does not say I don’t want to get involved. He does NOT Pause.

The police arrive 10 minutes later, take our statement and ID.

We’re walking up the street within distance of lights on our front porch.

Eric looks over and says:

“Law and Order, Dad. Law and Order.”

100,000 course corrections and here it is.

My Son.

I turn away, heavy eyes watering, can’t show him too much.

 

Inspiration for post:

It was Roosevelt who said, in any moment of decision, the best thing you can do is the right thing, the next best thing is the wrong thing, and the worst thing you can do is nothing.

Notes:

43 thoughts on “Riding Metro North. With Law & Order.”

  14. David: If you don’t get onto writing a book I may have to come over there and sit on you till you get started. You write so well about real topics, we need to have more of it.
    And of course, Happy Thanksgiving to you and the family,

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    1. John, I am so grateful for your kindness – and this so appropriate coming to me on Thanksgiving Day – gratitude overwhelms me. And this coming from an author of what, 11 published books?…means so much to me. Some day John, some day.

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  21. So very glad you used my image for your story as I’m not sure I’d have found your blog. I enjoyed riding along with you in that cab and on that train, and of course learning about your son and his goodness.

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