| Script Excerpt
It was hot. It was Friday at 5 p.m. I was at my point. Waiting for a downtown train, waiting for the train to go home to Hoboken--underground, in the cave that ought to be cool like caves are supposed to be instead of hot like subways always are. I was even standing at the end of the platform--which you’re not supposed to do because the end of the platform is where the rats and muggers hang out--but I was standing there because I was in that mood where I hate all the rest of humanity. That mood when I want to scream until my insides fall out.
When I was 18, my best friend and I were taking a lunch break downtown after freshman English class, when all of a sudden, she started screaming. They took her away and I never saw her again. From that time on, I knew if I felt like screaming in public, I better do it inside my head. This particular Friday, I’d had to try really hard to control myself--which means I scarcely talked to anybody at work; and I bought my lunch at a deli where the people behind the counter growled at the customers. Maybe I chose that particular deli not so much because I didn’t want to talk to anybody; but because on that particular day, I strongly identified with people who I knew would throw my sandwich at me and call me Nigger if I said thank you.
I was so afraid I’d yell at somebody; which I almost did everytime anybody asked me why I was in a bad mood. Shit! I hate that question. It wasn’t a mood; it was like holding in an explosion. But, I’d stayed in control all day long. Instead of saying “Why the fuck do you care about my mood?”--which is what I wanted to say--I said, “Oh, you know. New York gets on my nerves sometimes.”
New York really gets on my nerves. Especially when I need to be alone. Even more especially when I’m screaming inside my head on the subway when it’s hot at 5:00 on Friday. However, for all its faults, the New York subway system is a great place to be nuts for a couple of reasons. In the first place, the ambient noise is loud enough to drown out itself and my own thoughts. In the second place, if the deafening noise isn’t enough to soothe my aggressive urges to yell at people, at least I’m probably not going to run into anybody I know and embarrass myself.
I was getting nervous, though, because I’d been having a lot of trouble controlling myself; I’d yelled at somebody on the subway or subway platform every other day for the last few weeks. The worst was on Tuesday--I almost hit that guy. Just imagine finding yourself on a subway car sandwiched between two people--one in front, one in back. The one in front was a woman who was so wilted, she looked like she’d been riding the subway all day. The one in back of me--well, obviously I couldn’t see. But I thought I ought to take a look when something that felt anatomatical pressed my rear end. It was a man; but the body part turned out to be a mailing tube. This guy must have read my mind and thought it was really funny. He grinned and made a kissy face at me. I yelled: DO YOU MIND TELLING ME, WHAT BODY PART OF YOURS IS PRESSING AGAINST ME? I guess the woman in front of me was really surprised, because every sweaty hair on her forhead sprang up. That was funny.
That was Tuesday. This was Friday. This wasn’t funny. There I was, minding my own business which mostly meant not looking at anybody, because if I did--somebody was doomed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone walking toward me. At first, I thought it was a woman; but it was a man. He was so small, all he needed was wings to be a bird. I wished he would fly in another direction because he needed a bath. He was about sixty. There were white hairs in his beard, and long greasy white curls spiraled out of his wool cap, onto the shoulders of his jacket. No wonder he smelled so bad. Even a bird would sweat wearing a wool cap and jacket in August in New York. He was saying something to me. And he kept getting closer and closer. I wanted him to go away. And that’s when she showed up. Susan.
Susan: Can’t you see he’s demented.
Nena: Go away.
Susan: He’s even smaller than you! Even if he wanted to hurt you--which he doesn’t--
Nena: How do you know?
Susan: People are going to think you’re as crazy as he is.
It was the New York subway. Nobody was going to notice if I got mugged by this babbling bizarre little man; and nobody was going to notice if I mugged him. I was bigger than he was; and I wanted hin to know I wasn’t afraid of him.
Nena: Just what exactly is your goddam problem, Mister?
Susan: Nothing you say makes any sense to him; and nothing he says makes any sense to him. Look at him!
Nena: You don’t know anything worth hearing.
I felt inflamed from surges in my belly. I couldn’t see anything and I couldn’t hear anything except Susan. My right hand came out of my pocket. My right arm crooked at the elbow. My hand balled into a fist in front of my face and froze there for a few seconds. I didn’t know why until I felt the stubble of the old man’s cheek against my knuckles. Suddenly, an express train roared past on the uptown track. The old man’s face came into focus with brutal clarity. He didn’t even blink--didn’t even pause between phrases of babble.
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