Jim The Subway Man

This morning, waiting for the light to change on the corner of 96 & Third, a man asked about my pocketbook:

“Is that deer?”

I felt woozy from my first cup of coffee and the cool, but still unseasonably warm December temperature felt good.

His engagement nudged me in a good way.

I was also unsure if he would condemn my bag as harmful to animals. I risked it.

"No," I answered, "I believe it is cow. A friend of mine made it." I debated adding that how the animal hide was sourced was responsible. 

I became animated along with him as we started to discuss hunting.

“My husband has been hunting since he was a kid. His dad taught him. He isn’t out to hurt the animals and is really responsible with the gun.”

As he came clearer into focus I saw a patchwork of clothing: bandana, long ponytail streaked with gray and held into place with more than one band: shaped like an old caterpillar. In the pocket of his flannel was a vaper. He smoked from one of those ridiculous metal cigarettes.  It was long and I could imagine him inhaling it on the job.

“Where I come from every one hunts. It's what you do.”

He was from Michigan and came here to work on the Second Avenue subway construction-which is taking forever maybe because they contract people like him from all over for work.
He specialized in ceramic/ concrete glazing.

I imagined him 700 feet underground delicately painting the surface of concrete with water resistant glazes. Ones that only certain people with specialized glaze-schooling from Michigan could do.

“I bought my husband a compound bow for his birthday a few years ago.” We continued to discuss hunting and he stated that it was unusually to meet hunters in the city.

Was I trying to impress him?

His yellow construction helmet was clipped to his jacket. It was covered with mud and stickers from all over.

Together we walked up the hill towards the subway.

I wondered what I looked like to him.

My bright pink lipstick and tortoise shell glasses. I had a ponytail, too.

A head shorter than him.

I sized him up to be in his late 40’s. He sounded like he was from Michigan and I thought it was interesting that he was plopped here to do this work on the subway.

“They send me all over the country to do this work, I’m headed to the Empire Building now."

He forgot State and I refused to correct him.

I imagined him in the woods with his bow poised to bag an eight pointer.

We walked down to the subway platform together. I pointed to the south end of the platform and said, “I’m going that way now. What’s your name?”

“Jim.”

“I’m Liz. Nice to meet you.”

I extended my hand and we shook.