Union Square Station, New York, NY
(40.7359796, -73.9893249)
My after work errands sorted with efficiency, I hit the stairs to the subway in the hope of getting home before the darkening sky opens. I've left home without my umbrella and now will need to to be quick and lucky to avoid getting soaked. On the last step I turn an ankle. Tripping awkwardly, I quickly find myself belly to pavement and my groceries and other items scattered across the grimy station floor. Shaking off the fall I begin to frantically scoop my belongings up off the pavement. As I do so I can't help but notice a peculiar foreign item among them. It is the size and shape of a standard promotional flyer, as would advertise a club, bar or website, but the paper and printing are of a distinctive quality.
One side of the card bears a peculiar geometric symbol consisting of a twisting unbroken line with many angles yielding six distinct points and having no discernible beginning or end. The symbol is etched deep into the paper and outlined with a metallic bronze ink. The other end of the card is filled with fine detailed calligraphy whose symbols are completely foreign to me. The item has a strange hypnotic pull to it and I find myself standing among the rush hour crowd idly pondering its origin and meaning. Then a huge crack of thunder echoes down the stairway from street level and the trance is broken. Remembering that I am in a hurry, I toss my found treasure in my front shirt pocket, gather up my bags and make for the turnstile.
At the turnstile my metro-card, the one I had used an hour earlier, does not work. No matter how frantically I swipe it through the reader the response it continually the same. "SEE AGENT". I spin around out of the turnstile area fighting my way through other impatient strap-hangers to the ticket booth. Sliding my busted card through the slot I state my case with as much urgency as I can muster. The clerk does not look up. He slides the card lazily through a reader of his own and taps a few keys on an ancient keyboard, mumbling incoherently as he does so. Not being able to construe whether the mumbling is directed at me I simply stand there tapping my fingers impatiently. When the ticket agent finally looks up from his keyboard however, his expression changes instantly. His eyes perk up and a polite smile forces its way across his tired jowls. "Well my apologies sir" he says crisply, his eyes not quite meeting mine through the thick glass. "We should be able to fix this up for you here and now but I'm afraid it will cost you six dollars" there is an odd nod and wink in his tone and I realize what he's staring at is the card peeking out of my front pocket, the peculiar geometric symbol on display like a badge. I consider protesting the fee, but my sense of urgency overcomes my thrift and I pull a twenty from my wallet and stuff it hastily into the slot.
The attendant then slides me a new card and my change. The card and bills feel oddly heavy and cool to the touch, as opposed to the usual wet heat of over-handled currency. In any event I jam the bills in my pocket and make for the turnstile which, with a reassuring thunk, finally allows me access. Once through I go to tuck the new metro-card into my wallet but end up examining it in detail. It looks like any other metro-card but it feels heavier and the logo across the front seems more detailed, the letters appear to be drawn at an odd perspective with hints of metallic fleck shimmering from the shading.
The rush hour crowd presses me forward and I shake off the odd feeling again and slide the card into my wallet. I take a right turn down a half flight of stairs onto the catwalk the runs above the 6 train platform, as per usual, but after a short time walking I realize something is odd. There is no second set of stairs down onto the platform. In fact as I look over I see another caged in catwalk running parallel to the one I'm on. This passageway is the one I should be on. I see the stairs descending to the platform and the train coming into the station but it is all on the other side of a wire mesh divider. I must have taken the wrong stairs. This hallway and catwalk must lead to another train, perhaps the uptown track. Not wanting to retrace my steps I keep walking forward. Its feels like quite a long way but I soon notice another platform and track to my right and eventually there are stairs leading to them.
As I reach the platform a sense of disorientation nearly overcomes me. Though I had been watching the platform to my right from the catwalk, here the platform ends just behind the stairwell and instead stretches out in front me far enough that I cannot make out the end. I take a few uneasy steps and then collapse onto an empty bench. The station seems deserted though I can here the distant sound of rhythmic drumming laced with the penitent cry of a subterranean saxophone. My head is beginning to swim with confusion. I pull the mystery card out of my front pocket and inspect it, making sure to turn it over gingerly and not focus on it for too long for fear of becoming entranced. There is still nothing I can decipher from the peculiar symbol and accompanying glyphs so I throw it back in my pocket for safe keeping.
I pull out the bills received as change from the attendant. Much like the peculiar metro-card, they looked nearly normal but yet a strange suspicion rise in me that they are not as they appear. There are Messieurs Hamilton and Washington certainly but the images seem to move into my view as if in 3-D and the finely detailed borders twinkle and glisten with light even though the station is dimly lit and the air thick with dust. In a moment of bizarre compulsion I lift the folded bills to my nose and sniff them as if they were fresh cut flowers. My nostrils fill with the heavy scent of incense. The smell of a downtown head shop and uptown's open market makes my head swim. My eye lids grow heavy and I nearly drift away until I'm suddenly stirred from my reverie by the rumble and rush of an incoming train.
My commuter's instinct takes over and I stumble to my feet leaning in against the torrent of air as the train enters the station. The train design is old, like the redbirds of my youth, but without the inches thick build of horrid crimson enamel. Instead the cars have a cool luminous metallic finish. the station is silent save the rhythmic slowing of the wheels. The brakes do not squeak or squeal as the train gently comes to a stop. A man pulls open the car doors by hand and emerges onto the platform. He is tall and sleek with dark skin and blue tinted glasses that seem to glow in the dim station light. He is dressed in a black high collared jacket, smartly buttoned and descending nearly to the floor. He has the peculiar appearance of both a priest and a body guard so it is not strange that when , with a silent open handed gesture, he bids me enter the train I follow his instructions.
Inside it is empty. The lighting is soft and the temperature is cool. I fall into an immaculately upholstered seat and try to acclimate to the strange yet familiar surroundings. The train effortlessly glides back up to speed leaving the station behind. As we depart the distant percussion fades but I can still hear the far away sound of the saxophone. I look around for a sign or direction and find the route marker above the window filled with obscure glyphs that I cannot decipher. I pull the mystery card from my front pocket and hold it up in comparison. The writing both on the train signage and the card appear to be of a similar type. Put the observation yields me little information. I put the card away and try to relax. The air is full of incense, the same fragrance as the bills in my pocket. I breath it in deep and let my eye lids again grow heavy. I give over to the knowledge that wherever the train is taking me there is little I can do to change it's course.
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