Part One

I was recently reminiscing about my time living in NYC, especially the time I spent on the subway.

My first job in New York was actually in Brooklyn, and since I lived on the upper westside of Manhattan, I had to take three different trains to and from work each day. This was no small feat for someone who moved to the Big Apple from Tennessee. In fact, I had to go through some training before I could manage it on my own.

I got all kinds of advice from friends: always look down, never make eye contact, clutch your bags for dear life, don’t give money to anyone asking, and don’t draw attention to yourself. The more I rode the subway, the more I had to add to this list.

To date, 2.4 million people ride the subways in New York per day. That’s a lot! I mean, that would be like telling every single person in Houston to ride the subway in one day. Imagine! And there I was. One little speck among millions. What could go wrong?

The first day of work. I was on my way to meet with a school principal in Brooklyn about how our youth agency could support his student body. I made sure I was ready–right suit, bag, and even a scarf around my neck for good measure. I headed to the number 1 train to start my journey. Feeling as confident as possible as a newbie in the city, I carefully descended the thick, stained concrete steps of the station. The heat from the underground hit me hard, and the closer I got to the platform, the hotter it got. The heat, mixed with the smells that come with all those people, nauseated me. It was sickening combination of sweat, mechanical smells, urine, dust, and coffee. As I stood there, waiting on my train to arrive, I kept remembering how tough I was, that I had practiced this, that this was a whole new start to my new life. That I was in freaking New York City!

The train zipped in, brakes screeching against the iron tracks. Although the noise was deafening, the breeze that came with its arrival actually felt incredible. You know it’s hot when a moving subway train feels good. The doors opened, and I filed in with everyone else heading to work. There were so many of us packed into the train. I was standing on one end of the car holding on to the shiny silver pole. Feeling pretty proud of myself so far–no eye contact, no emotions, minding my own business. That is all I had to do–get to Lincoln Center, switch to the next train, and not lose my balance as the train lurched back and forth along the way. Easy! As I stood there, holding on for dear life, I quickly glanced around. I noticed a big guy with a backpack making his way to my end of the train from the other end. Why? I thought this was pretty weird since the train was literally packed.

A memory from when I was very young creeps in when I think about that of being really sick with something–maybe strep throat? My fever, and the delirium that came with, was so high that my parents took turns sleeping with me. Apparently, I was doing a lot of sleep walking during this illness. One night, I walked into the den while everyone was watching The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson, and I knelt in front of the giant console and beat the screen as Johnny delivered his monologue. I remember parts of this, and one thing in particular has never left me. I was awakened one night by my dad because I was hitting him in my sleep. I was dreaming that I was locked inside of a clenched fist and needed out. Well, this is what the subway felt like. So many people crammed against each other.

This guy kept pushing his way through the crowd to my end of the train. He looked nice enough. Clean cut, dressed like a student. Mid-twenties. He ended up right next to me. We weren’t facing each other–my left side was facing him. He kept bumping into me, which I did think was strange, but then I dismissed my own instincts, blaming it on my newbie status. He kept doing this until we pulled into the Columbus Circle station. He jumped off, and I waited one more stop for Lincoln Center.

Finally, my stop. I was on a mission to find my next train, the A or C train, to get to my third leg of the trip. I walked onto the platform and readjusted my bag. As I did this, I put my left arm down to walk and suddenly felt a gooey wet mess all over my clothes. It took a minute for it all to click, but it did. This person, the one bumping into me on that jam packed train, had ejaculated all over me. Oh.My.God.

You know, the shame that comes with this kind of assault never leaves. You think you are the problem. Asked for it. Did something wrong. So, you quietly try to handle it. This is what I did.

Now, this was before Apple Pay and debit cards being used for everything. I had a dollar on me. I went to a newsstand and bought a Sprite. I can’t remember why this was what I got. I think it had something to do with club soda to clean my clothes. I still had to go to work! I poured the drink all over my arm and clothes, used the scarf that was tied around my neck to wipe it all off, and then walked to my next train.

A strong work ethic is important to me, so I pulled myself together and focused on getting to my morning meeting on time, which I managed to do. I sat through it with success and then walked back to the old brownstone that housed the youth agency where I was working. The first place I went was the ladies room.

While I was in there, our agency social worker came in. I was a sight standing there scrubbing my blouse, my arm, rinsing my scarf. With a somewhat shaky voice, I explained my morning commute. She was in shock, and then walked straight to a phone. Next thing I know, the police were in the office.

It helped telling the police. They wrote it all down and then let me know that this was not new. They had heard about this type of assault many times. In fact, I learned later that there is name for this: Frotteurism. This is a disorder that is, according to Psychology Today, one of several sexual arousing disorders. And, of course, it found me!

Needless to say, I took a cab home that day, but I did take the subway again the next day. It was with a whole new attitude, and I would later find out that is just what I needed to survive the NYC subway system. That, along with don’t let anyone repeatedly bump up against you on the train, was added to the list.