“Damn, look how fuckin’ narrow the platform is here,” Caleb noted, hands on hips, looking back and forth at the span that, if he lay down, would nearly force his feet to hang over the edge.
Phoenix stepped over to the start of the yellow warning strip, almost at the mouth of the tunnel, his plastic foot unable to feel the nubby raised grommets. His cane wobbled on the uneven surface.
“I was listening to music, a song from Orchid’s playlist.”
“Orchid this, Orchid that. Fuck Orchid.”
Phoenix didn’t pay heed to his brother’s muttering. “I didn’t see him until I heard the train coming. All I knew was this guy was going to jump. I wasn’t even thinking. I just grabbed him. To save him. But—”
Caleb cupped his elbow. “It’s okay,” he said, voice low. Phoenix looked at his brother. Uncontrollable tremors came from within him. All moisture evaporated from his mouth, leaving it as dry as the dusty space between the tracks.
“But thenhepulled back. AndIfell over the edge.”
Phoenix stared at the rusty rails and dirt-brown floor littered with cellophane and crumpled napkins. “I fell right onto the tracks. I couldn’t catch myself. I could hear the train coming. I couldn’t move fast enough.”
“Christ.”
“I knew I needed help, but I couldn’t move.”
“Of course.”
“I heard screaming or something, so I figured someone knew I was there.”
“They said the train guys were lightning fast. They called 911 and got tourniquets on you right away. Saved your life.”
Caleb dropped his brother’s arm and turned to face the track. He appeared lost in thought, probably formed from hours spent with the police on eyewitness testimony and watching videos from the few functioning cameras at the entrance of the station.
“You know fifty people died on the subway tracks this year?” Phoenix said. “I don’t know how many were accidents.”
“What the hell is wrong with this world?”
“Yeah,” Phoenix said, straightening. “You know what? I’m one of the lucky ones.”
Caleb eyed him, lost for words.
“We should go. You wanna go to my place? See what contraptions Mom’s had installed?” Phoenix said.
When theyarrived, Caleb removed his brother's belongings as Phoenix hobbled towards his neighbor, Mrs. V.
“Oh, hi Phoenix.” Her smile ebbed as her gaze traveled down the length of Phoenix’s cane.
“I’ve been away for a while. How’ve you been? How’s Elton?” he asked about her dog.
She forced her attention up to Phoenix’s face. “Sorry to hear about . . . Do you need—”
Well crap, even his normally loquacious neighbor couldn’t find words. Phoenix shook his head, trying to erase her consternation, and in the act, feeling the confidence he’d built erode.
Caleb pushed the wheelchair past the two of them. “Eleventh floor, right?”
The diversion refocused their attention. “It’s nice having you back,” she finally said.
“Thank you.” Phoenix followed his brother’s broad shoulders.
Once they reached his hallway, grief simmered in his chest. He limped down the hall whose shortcomings seemed oddly as glaring as his own. He noted spots where paint had flaked from the corners of the wall, a scuff along the baseboard and the dated print of Central Park in watercolor. He flashed to how he must look, with his uneven gait, clinical cane, fumbling for keys, an echo of his former self. The essence was there, like watercolors that captured the main features and colors, just not the details.
Opening his door, he saw his mother’s handiwork. Throw rugs no longer graced the floors. The furniture seemed sparser, pushed apart with a chair-width between tables and sofas. He caned by the living area and towards his bedroom, passing the square table for casual meals that normally had four chairs around it, now with just three.
Caleb followed him into his master bedroom, pushing the wheelchair and bags. A scent of paint hung in the air.Ah, that’s why. The bathroom and closet doors had been widened. Here was the start of the rest of his life. If he made it to old age, two-thirds of his years would be hampered by his injuries.
