Page 25 of The Art of Exiley

“So, where are we going?” I eventually ask. There’s an entire historic order waiting for the answer to this question.

“We need to catch a train,” Michael says, “but the entrance to the train station is a bit… tricky to access.”

Where could we be taking the 6 line to catch a train? We’ve already passed the Grand Central stop.

“When the New York subway system’s first line was built, the Makers designed their own train to be accessible from the City Hall station,” Michael explains. “Unfortunately, in the forties, the station didn’t meet the needs of the new subway cars, so it was abandoned.” He shakes his head ruefully, wearing that dimpled smile. “So inefficient, so wasteful.” He says it like he’s proud of a young child for trying but failing. I roll my eyes and hold back from sniping at him again. He continues, “Luckily, we still have ways to access the station; this approach is the easiest.”

He sticks his hand inside the front of his coat and pulls out a bag ofcheese puffs. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?” He withdraws a bright orange puff from the bag, pops it into his mouth, then tips back his head with a way-too-sensual moan. “Enjoy them while you can.” He holds out the bag for me to take. “There’s no highly processed deliciousness at Genesis,” he says wistfully.

A few minutes later, the bag is empty and I’m trying to lick bright orange powder off my hands. My attempts are mostly unsuccessful. I look at Michael and find him licking his own fingers just as awkwardly. Our eyes meet with a shared moment of panicked embarrassment.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the polite voice of the train announcement drones, “this is the last downtown stop on this train. The next stop on this train will be Brooklyn Bridge / City Hall on the uptown platform.” From my many years riding the subway, I recognize this announcement as standard, but this time it doesn’t stop there. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the voice continues, “not only is it unsafe, it is a violation to ride or walk between cars except in an emergency or when directed by a police officer or a train crew.”

I stand to head to the exit with everyone else, but Michael shakes his head.

“But this is the last stop,” I say.

“Yes, but we’re the next stop,” he replies as the remaining stragglers make their way out.

“Stand clear of the closing doors, please,” drones the announcement. I feel awkward and a little nervous. Won’t a conductor come kick us out? After a moment the train pulls away from the platform and drives through the dark tunnel.

But it doesn’t stay dark for long. Light trickles in from a skylight as we turn into another station. A beautiful station, with intricate tiling.

“Come on,” Michael calls. He’s already at the sliding doors—which have most definitelynotopened considering the train is stillmoving—fiddlingwith his multi-tool. “We only have a moment. And be prepared to jump over the gap.” The doors pop open a crack, and Michael separates them further by pulling them apart with his hands.

“I’m going to hold this open for you,” Michael says, his long arms high enough for me to duck under. “But you need to jump quickly. Okay?”

I nod, not knowing quite what I’m agreeing to considering the train is very much still rambling down the track. The opening is just wide enough to fit his lean frame. He looks back at me, with my hips and other curves, and then he pulls the door a little wider.

No time to blush.

As the car reaches a bend, it pauses, almost imperceptibly.

“Now!” Michael urges. I grip the straps of my backpack and leap over the gap between the track and platform, my heart thumping so hard I worry for my other organs. I hear Michael land right next to me, and I stumble into him. He steadies me as my knees tremble from the shot of adrenaline.

The train car is gone, screeching its way along the tracks. I take a deep breath, clutching Michael for an extra moment. Then I let go and look around to find that we are in what feels like a totally different time.

I’ve never been in a subway station so empty, so quiet. And it’s so perfectly preserved, under New York City all this time, and not even a secret.

“Never got much use,” Michael says. “Now it’s always empty except for the occasional private tour. But doesn’t it have so much character?”

It does.

“We have to catch our next train, so we’ll take the fast route. Or, as I like to think of it, the fun route!” He hops down onto the rails, and I hold in a shocked screech. Touching the tracks is almost as bad of subway etiquette as making eye contact with a stranger.

“Avoid this one.” Michael points at the third rail––duh, dude, I’m no subway amateur––then reaches up to help me climb down to meet him,though I need to fight all my ingrained instincts to even consider such a reckless action. My only associations with people jumping onto subway tracks are very unfortunate—loss of life and, worse, rush-hour delays.

As soon as we pass under the archway of the dark tunnel, he lifts what looks like a manhole cover. I look down the hole and see a… pole? “Don’t overthink it. I’ll catch you at the bottom,” he says, and sits, dangles his legs into the hole, then wraps them around the pole. “Wait about thirty seconds before you follow.” He pushes his way into the hole and gets sucked into the dark, his clothing squealing against the metal. As soon as his head is through, the cover slams shut with a clang that echoes through the dark tunnel.

My heart races at the thought of following him down. But the terror of standing alone on a subway track with no knowledge of when the next train will come to run me over is enough to have me on my butt, shimmying into position as I hold the cover open and wrap my legs around the pole. Thank God I wore pants today.

Oh man. Oh Lord. Oh cheese puffs that I might barf up.

Here I go.

Air rushes around me as I shriek, my fingers burning from gripping the pole instead of loosening them as I should, but I just grip tighter. My eyes are squeezed shut, and my heartbeat is erratic. And then warm arms are catching me, holding me. I’m on solid ground. It’s over. It actually was fun.

I still might barf up cheese puffs.

---