“If you see something…”

The young Arab man was sweating. It was a sweaty train, but it mattered to Josh that he was sweating. What was he so nervous about?

Josh got on the 1 train at 66th Street heading downtown to 14th Street. The Arab got on at 59th Street heading, well, Josh could only imagine where. If the farthest part of Josh’s mind was right then he wasn’t getting off anywhere, but then then what was he waiting for? The crowd at 42nd Street? The man put his hands in his pocket. Shit.

It stopped at 50th Street. A few people got on, some got off. The man stayed, Josh wasn’t surprised. It was Josh who was sweating now, he felt
his
moist hand
slipping off the
bar where
he held onto
the train.he felt his moist hand slipping off the bar where he held onto the train. One more stop, he thought, pondering what could be the last moments of his existence. The train rocked gently back and forth. The man’s face was stone cold, hands still in his pockets. There’s a button in there or something. Josh wondered how he could get from one side of the train to the other and get the button away from the man before he pushed it. It didn’t seem likely.

42nd Street. As predicted, the train filled up. Pulling away, Josh could barely see the man anymore, which made it that much more nerve-wracking. Instead, he saw himself on the cover of The Post, with twelve other passengers, all victims of the 1 Train Massacre. No, no, what’s today’s date? January the fourteenth. The 1/14 bombing. Fuck. “He died in the 1/14 bombings”. “My son, my friend, some guy I was dating died in the 1/14 bombing.”

34th Street. He hadn’t done it yet. Why not? What if he has to wait for others to set their’s off. “Four trains exploded on the 1/14 attacks.” He was tensed up against the train’s wall now, almost bracing for something. He looked at a few other passengers hazily, and they looked back at him. He wanted to tell someone, he wanted scream it. He looked at the conductor’s door. I could just go and knock and then whisper, he wouldn’t notice that anything was up. But the risk was too great, by the time Josh got to the door, the man would’ve pushed the button.

28th Street. There’ s something going on here. I mean, he’s not just trying to kill a few people or he would’ve done it by now; this is something much bigger. He cringed, I don’t want to be just another person, another number, another name on some memorial wall. There was an awful feeling in his stomach as even his newspaper headline faded away. Live a nobody and die a nobody. Really? But what did I do wrong? The man wiped some sweat from his forehead. This is it.

23rd Street. Why have I spent this whole time just standing here? I have to do something! Maybe I should text someone. The police. They’ll never be able to get here in time. My mother. Just to say “I love you”. You’re underground, she’ll never get it. You’ve wasted too much time. Wasted. I should have spent this young life doing something that would make my existence known, and my lack-of-it mourned. So I can get on the damn cover of The Post.

18th Street. The man, Josh was sure, had a look of determination in his eyes. It was time. So here we are. We die together and I don’t know anything about you. Where you’re from, your parents, what you do (did). Did you always want to kill people when you grew up? We could’ve passed each-other in the street and neither of us would’ve realized that we were going to die on the same day. Really, whatever it is you’re looking for, I hope you get it. And maybe I’ll see you on the other side and we can be friends. Maybe.

14th Street.