Going Down Slow

A man fainted in front of me on the crowded subway this morning. It had a swooning sense of the surreal, one of those moments where time seems to slow, as he almost floated downward, his legs appearing to gently buckle under him, still holding the stainless steel pole at the center of the car. He didn’t lose consciousness for more than a few seconds and was standing again almost faster than we could call the train’s conductor over the intercom. We tried to help: someone stood so that he could sit, someone offered a bottle of water, but he waved us off saying he had the flu and a cold. We continued to talk to him, trying to make sure he was alright—did he have medicine, could we help in any way—but ten seconds later, we arrived at 14th Street/Union Square and he was rushing off the train. Those of us in that section of the car exchanged worried glances before resuming the requisite reading, staring-into-space, or iPod characteristic of a packed train.

It was an odd experience, to say the least…hope he’s okay.