|Criminal Fortuity| I pulled something in yoga today. I didn't feel it when it was happening, but as I was walking from the subway to meet my mentee for coffee, suddenly the left side of my pelvis started to spasm and with each passing step my left leg became less and less functional. This is important to the arc of the story. So post-mentee-coffee-at-Starbucks (where I also purchased a salad and Naked to take home for dinner), I slowly walked to the L train at 1st Ave. I get to the intersection of 1st and 14th and, had I not been gimpy, I would have raced across the street before the light changed. This is important because once I made it across the street to the subway entrance, a crowd of people issued forth, indicating that I had just missed the train. Down in the station, a man rushed past me, leaving his suitcase right by the stairs and then heading straight up, toward the exit. I and everyone behind me looked at the man, looked at the luggage and kept walking. I'm sure we all thought, "Now I've seen something. I should say something. Eh." A little bit later, on the platform, the same abandoned suitcase landed near me. The misnomered abandoner in tow. He asked me if this was the way to 14th street. We were on 14th street. I said, "We're on 14th street." He repeated his question. I repeated my answer. After a lot of back and forth and sifting through what was decent but still decently broken English, I managed to get that he needed to get to the A train at 8th Avenue. He was on the wrong platform. When I told this to him, he did not look like he wasn't about to break down. After a lot more questioning, it became only somewhat clear that he actually needed to get to Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn, and was considering taking the L to Atlantic Avenue. For those of you who don't venture beyond Greenpoint/Williamsburg/Clinton Hill/Park Slope/Cobble Hill/Brooklyn Heights/etc. (i.e., western Brooklyn), Atlantic Avenue extends well into the east. More questioning. He needed to get toBedfordand Atlantic. The L was not going to get him there. The A from 8th Avenue would, but just then the L train began to bear down on us. I had two options. Send him to the other side of the platform, requiring him to exit the station and pay again (something I later realized he probably could not have done) with instructions he most likely wouldn't really get, or tell him to come with me because the G would place him only 12 or so blocks from his destination. I told him to go with me. From the L to the G to where we parted ways on the street, we talked. I discovered that just this morning he had been in prison. That at 2am in fact he was released from Attica and instructed to make his way to Brooklyn. That he was going to a shelter at Atlantic and Bedford. That when we were on the train, he had only just over an hour to get to the shelter before he'd lose the bed that had been reserved for him and probably have to sleep on the street. That he was in prison for 26 months. That approximately 30 months ago he'd come from Puerto Rico to visit friends here in NYC who, unbeknownst to him, were tooling around the city in a stolen vehicle. That his friend who stole the vehicle but who had no record only received 2 months jail time. But that because of his own 2 felonies back in PR, he'd gotten 26 months. So a vacation 3 years ago turned into a mandatory stay of 8 years, once you add on the now 60 months that he must remain in the state, where he has no friends or family, before he can leave/return to PR. On the street, where we parted ways, I told him how far he had to go and how he'd recognize Atlantic Avenue. I gave him my salad and my smoothie. We shook hands and I wished him goodluck. He had 50 minutes to walk the less than fifteen blocks and was moving at a hustle. I have no doubt that he made it on time. I'm angry that he was given instructions he could barely understand to get him through a city he doesn't really know via a transit system that is difficult for native English speakers to navigate. And if I hadn't just missed the L train -- if I'd raced across the street to -- if my left leg hadn't spasmed and slowed me down -- if I hadn't pulled something in yoga today, I don't know that he would have asked someone who happened to be going in the same general way and had the time to spare to get him where he needed to go in order to arrive on time. And, seriously, on the walk from where we parted ways on the street to my apartment door, my leg started to get better and better, such that by the time I got home, it was practically back to full functionality.
I went to an Ivy League undergrad.
I go to a top NYC law school.
I date men (well...).
I live in Bed-Stuy.
I don't need more to say,
just more room to say it.
Etc.