I Blow Five Dollars on the Morning Train to New York

I sat on the morning train and defrosted.‭ ‬The warm train was a welcome respite from the bitter chill.‭ ‬Then my nose starts leaking and all went‭ ‬to hell.

I searched my bag for tissues and came up with nothing but electronic‭ ‬toys:‭ ‬Ipod,‭ ‬portable laptop,‭ ‬cell phone and,‭ ‬drats,‭ a ‬Nook‭! ‬At least a paperback served a purpose or two in an emergency:‭ ‬fly swatter,‭ ‬crooked table leg‭ ‬adjuster, all-purpose tissue dispenser.

I would always start my emergency all-purpose tissue dispensing paperback by tearing and blowing with the title page,‭ ‬and then work my way to acknowledgments and the dreaded introduction.‭ ‬After that it would be on to the back of the book with‭ the ‬advertisements and about the author pages. Sorry,‭ ‬Kurt Vonnegut.‭ ‬Though I think he would have done the same.

I would always scan the author’s page thoroughly before tearing and blowing.‭ ‬Because,‭ ‬if you’re like me,‭ ‬you’ll be looking for flaws.‭ (‬Unpublished writers like me are a shallow and envious bunch‭)‬.‭ ‬He lives where‭? ‬Tampa,‭ ‬Florida‭? ‬I wouldn’t walk my dog in Tampa Florida‭! y‬ou say to yourself,‭ ‬feeling superior as he lists the names of his wife and children respectively as:‭ ‬Mildred,‭ ‬Joyce,‭ ‬Gladys,‭ ‬George and Harry.‭ ‬Is he serious‭? y‬ou say.‭ ‬They sound like the seniors choir at your local church‭! ‬I don’t know that I even care to read his damn book now‭! ‬May as well save all‭ ‬395‭ ‬pages for a nose-blowing emergency‭!

But those days of carrying books are gone.‭ ‬No room in the bag.‭ ‬So I continue my search by going through my pockets and come up with nothing but a five dollar bill.‭ ‬I look at the bill.‭ ‬It’s a‭ ‬1988.‭ ‬Soft and pliable.‭ ‬It’s been through a lot.‭ ‬Drug money,‭ ‬coffee money,‭ ‬hooker money‭ (‬boy,‭ ‬those were the days.‭ ‬Bet you don’t find many five dollar hookers these days‭)‬.‭

I thought about getting up and going to the dreaded train lavatory,‭ ‬but my seatmate was sleeping and I was crammed into the corner seat.

I looked at the bill and Abe Lincoln looked up at me.‭ ‘‬Don’t you dare,‭’ ‬he seemed to be saying.‭ ‘‬I’m your most revered president and will see that you burn in hell if you get anywhere near my face with that leaky honker of yours‭!’

I think about it.‭ ‬Civil War president.‭ ‬Emancipation Proclamation.‭ ‬Gettysburg Address.‭ ‬Great thinker and‭ ‬poet.‭ ‬But I said‭ ‘‬fuck it‭’ ‬and blow anyway.‭ ‬Causing such a commotion that my seatmate woke up as I dabbed at my upper lip with the fiver.‭ “‬That’s disgusting‭!” ‬she said.‭ “‬It’s like spitting in the face of democracy itself‭! ‬Maybe you’d like to wipe your ass with the Declaration of Independence while you’re at it‭!”

“What’s all the fuss here‭?” ‬the conductor said.‭

“This guy just blew his nose in Abe Lincoln’s face‭!” said my seatmate.

“He did what‭!” ‬said the gentleman in the seat in front of mine.‭ “‬You ought to be stripped of your citizenship and sent to a labor camp in Russia‭! ‬Let’s see you blow your nose on Stalin and see what happens‭!”

The conductor then gave me an ear piercing with his ticket punch and asked me to leave the train.

‭“‬But it’s still moving‭!” ‬I said.‭

“Then I hope you’re wearing a good pair of shoes!”

So, as I lay here in my hospital bed, recovering from wounds suffered after my tumble from the train, I once again find myself in a leaky situation. I scan the room and find not a single box of tissues. But I do notice a paperback on my roommates night stand: Gandhi An Autobiography: The Story of My Experiments With Truth.

“Ah, yes!” I say.

“Don’t you be thinking about blowing your nose on my beloved Mahatma!” says my roommate. “Or you’ll be blowing your nose on several of my very smelly bed pans!”

So I sniff in my dilemma, close my eyes and doze off with visions of Stephen King paperbacks dancing in my head, and all seems right with the world.