The Fat Lady Sang

I think I go through life now on the outside looking in—or the inside looking out—whatever? So, when she entered the train with the assistance of a cane this morning, I couldn’t help but notice her considerable heft. The fat lady sat directly across from me, which caused me to internally cringe—and not because she was overweight with no discernible chin, but because I knew now that I had to be on special guard. It was a subway ride game-changer for me. You know: I wouldn’t want to be perceived as staring at her in any way, shape, or form. And then there’s my hobby of taking pictures and videos in the land down under. I wouldn’t want the woman to think I was attempting to photograph her on the sly. I wouldn’t want her to think I was making sport of her.

Now, here’s the real kicker vis-à-vis my fellow passenger. As the train approached her stop—Lincoln Center—she began the not inconsiderable task of gathering up her things and rising from her seat. The latter wasn’t a walk in the park, I detected, as I stared mostly at nothing in particular. When she finally made it to her feet, she tapped me on my knee—my prosthetic one—with her cane. Startled, I wondered if the woman sensed something unusual in the echoes of that tap. She asked: “Are you all right? You look…” I look what? 

“I’m fine,” I answered. “Take a few deep breaths,” the concerned lady added as a parting salvo. “Breathe in and breathe out.” And off she went into the wild gray yonder. Yes, it was that kind of morning. As I watched her pulling her travel bag on wheels to an exit, I realized that despite her girth, she was quite comfortable in her ample skin. The woman—whose hair, by the way, was dyed a light shade of blue—had a New Age-y feel about her.

So, I accepted her advice and took a few deep breaths, which isn’t always a good thing in a cramped subway car in summertime. On the very same trip, I encountered a female panhandler whom I’ve seen on multiple occasions. She’s got a piercingly loud voice and never deviates from her script and its three key selling points: HIV positive, empty refrigerator, and infant daughter. Oh, and that she doesn’t get her check for a couple of weeks, which she also proclaimed a week ago. When I dropped two dollars into her large mayonnaise bottle-sized receptacle, she said, “Thank you, honey.” I prefer these sizable containers for money drops and salute her for utilizing the proper prop.

Another fellow on the train had nothing at all but his hand for the money exchange. His pitch, though, was especially poignant. “Do not be afraid of me” and “Do not judge me.” I wasn’t and didn’t. Lastly, there was this individual whom I’ve previously spied working the subway cars. She’s clearly mentally ill and takes the handout notion to a very literal level. The woman goes from person to person and sticks her hand out each time in their respective faces. Let’s just say that she doesn’t respect people’s spaces, which is bad for business. There are a lot of sorry souls on the streets and in the subways, too, which is why being on the outside looking in—or is it the inside looking out—has its benefits.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)