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Order this writing in the book What Lies on the Other Side the cc&d Jan.-April 2021 magazine issues collection book		get the 424 page Jan.-April 2021 cc&d magazine 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound paperback book:

Out of Nowhere

Colton Green

    It only took two minutes. Heading home on the B train, reading Stahl’s Permanent Midnight after teaching all day, I glanced across at some commotion. Two men that got on at Columbus Circle, one in his forties, the other in his twenties, had been drinking. I could smell it from six feet. I’d briefly locked eyes with the older man in a Dos Equis baseball cap. He was grumbling in my direction when the younger man in a Derek Jeter jersey said, “No Tio, no!” When I say glanced, I’m talking about the one second it takes to judge a situation like that.
    When you ride the subway to and from work, every few months you get a chance to interpret potential violence and decide what to do. The go-to move, not always doable, is to change cars at the next stop. A bus stays above ground, with access to fresh air, natural light, a view of the human grind and of city and sky, which offer a person reflections on their place in the world. However, there’s something about an underground tunnel with too many people in a fast-moving or stuck-waiting metal box that brings out frustration and anxiety, which causes people to lose perspective, lose their ability to see other people and themselves clearly. Aren’t moles blind?
    Nephew stalled things as much as possible, but I felt Uncle nodding, staring me down like disturbed folks do when they believe a warped narrative. Dark emotion clawed at the air.
    As I stood up, Uncle eyed me. “You think I’m stupid, don’t you?”
    He seemed both lost and alert. Lost in drunkenness. Alert to an insult he thought he saw. His breathing thrummed like low notes on a cello. Adrenaline surged to my legs, arms, and hands.
    “No, I’m a high school teacher. I think everybody’s smart.” My heart hammered.
    Our eyes locked again. If he was angry I thought he was stupid, then he was livid I thought he was smart. He jerked away from Nephew. He bared his teeth. There was something worse about me thinking he was stupid but telling him he was smart, than just thinking he was stupid.
    So, as a descendant of warriors I made my plan. I considered verbal intimidation: “Touch me and I’ll kick your Goddamn head in, you dumb son-of-a-bitch!” like I witnessed from a tall, gray-haired, blue-collar guy on the 1 train once, during some kerfuffle at the Lincoln Center stop. But yelling at inebriation is like trying to redirect lava. I decided that if Uncle attacked me I would dodge, grab, and use his momentum to send him to the floor like how Pedro Martinez sent old Don Zimmer’s head to the grass in the 2003 Red Sox-Yankees playoff game at Fenway Park.
    Right then Uncle lunged at me and Nephew failed to stop him but pulled off half his jacket. Out of nowhere, a six-foot six-inch, blue-eyed blond truck stepped in front of me to deliver a message: Not today. He arrived like a peaceful Viking with perfect timing to block me with his body, place his right hand on Uncle’s chest, grip the attacker’s right forearm with a left clamp, and set him back down in his seat. The hospital intern in teal skivvies was a clone of Dolph Lundgren from Rocky IV fame. A large patch of the Swedish flag, with its golden Scandinavian cross on a field of blue, decorated a black book bag over massive shoulders.
    He shook his head and held his palm on Uncle’s heart, protecting, intimidating, and forgiving. The whole subway car had quieted and was now staring at the sudden end of one man’s mirage. The giant public servant had saved the day like He-Man in Masters of the Universe. Apparently Dolph was watching the drama build, and had made his own plan.
    Now, faced with how big a Polar bear really is, Uncle had turned into a silent, shivering Chihuahua. As the train brakes moaned like a violin for 72^nd Street, the subterranean sage let go his hold and took time to help Uncle put his jacket back on, like a father with his six year-old.
    In a light November snow at 70^th Street and Central Park West, I thanked him. He said, “You would’ve done the same for me.” We shook hands and then walked our separate ways.
    When I break up fights at my school, I think of Dolph.

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