Borrowed Time, by Michael Davis – Straight No Chaser #120

June 5, 2009 Michael Davis 15 Comments

I should be dead.

I really believe that. I’m convinced I’m living on borrowed time. Because of the many people in my life who have died from violence and the unbelievable close call I had with death when I was 25. I cannot believe I’m still alive sometime.

For a very long time after that incident I was obsessed with death and the fact that I felt I was (am) living on borrowed time. So obsessed was I that I have NEVER told anyone about the near death, no should be dead experience, I had aboard a Queens bound ‘F’ train April 29th at 4.a.m in the morning- my birthday by the way.

For years I would suffer horrible anxiety attacks reliving that event and until today I’ve only spoke about it but once to my mother.

On the eve of my 25th birthday, I went to a trendy club in Manhattan with my then girlfriend. The goal was to be partying at midnight to celebrate my birthday. At the time I was living in a part of Queens, which was only 30 minutes from Manhattan by subway train. I grew up living in Rockaway Queens, which on a good day a subway ride was two and a half hours from Manhattan. A half hour to and from Manhattan was a cakewalk. I had a car but it made NO sense what so ever to drive into Manhattan PRAY for a parking space and hope to God you read the street signs right. So my girlfriend and I took the ‘F’ train from Parsons Blvd in Jamaica Queens to Lexington Ave in Manhattan.

We have dinner, we go to a club, she gets drunk, and (I didn’t drink at the time. I didn’t start drinking until I moved to L.A. Now THAT’S a story, but for another time) we leave the club we get into a fight.

It was a BIG fight. It ended with her taking a cab back to Queens and my stubborn ass getting back on the F train pissed as shit. Because of the events that followed, I have forgotten what the fight was about. I still have no idea.

So I’m sitting on the F train at 4 a.m. in the morning. The train stops at the West 4th St. & Washington Square Park and in walks trouble. The most horrifying event in a life filled with horrifying events was about to happen to me. I’ve had some bad things happen to me but this was the grand daddy of them all.

Three black guys (yes it’s important to say what color they are) got on the train and they were hoods. I mean HOODS. The moment these guys got on the train I knew there would be trouble.

There is no smoking and drinking of alcohol on New York City subway trains. These guys were smoking, drunk and still drinking and as loud as you can get.

There were 3 people on the train beside me, A Latino man, a white girl around my age and another black guy around 40. The three thugs sit right next to the white girl and without a moment’s hesitation start touching her in all the wrong places.

When she started crying I looked over at her and realized I recognized her. She had just come from the same club as me. In fact, I was so bummed about the fight with my girlfriend I had not noticed that she came into the subway with me, stood next to me on the platform and sat across from me. She was not trying to flirt, she just did not want to ride home by herself and I was so pissed that she didn’t feel she could bring up the fact that we were at the same club.

When I looked at her my heart sank and I said to the guy who was tying to put his hand up her dress; “ Yo, my man I think I saw a cop on the train.”

The way he looked at me I knew at that moment I was a dead man. All three of them got up and walked to the door. I thought it was over, then I saw the guy I spoke to go behind his back, under his jacket and produce a gun. He kept the gun at his side. It took me a split second to realize that he and his boys were waiting by the door for the next stop and at that next stop I was going to be shot. I tried my best to think he had just took the gun out to scare me, then he spoke; “You seen a cop motherfucker? Or maybe you just don’t want us fucking with the white girl? You ain’t seen shit but you about to.”

From the corner of my eye I could see the train was coming out of the darkness of the tunnel and into the light of the station. The guy with the gun walks over to me as the train begins to stop he put the gun to my forehead and said; “You should have minded your motherfucking business!” He was so close to me, I smelled the alcohol on his breath.

The train stopped and he pulled the trigger.

Nothing, the gun jammed or misfired or God took pity on my stupid, stupid ass.

“Yo, money, 5-0.” One of the thugs said alerting my would be killer to the presence of police. They then all ran off the train.

And there I sat. Frozen. And although the white girl and the Latino man came over to console me I was alone in my terror.

I’ll spare you the details of my descent into the place I never want to go again. I will say this; I went straight from the subway to my mother’s house and did not leave until a week later.

It’s a horrible thing to know you are going to die.

Everyone on Air France Flight 447 knew they were going to die. For some reason my heart just sank when I heard the news about that flight. 228 people died on that flight and 228 people knew they were going to die. For some reason I could not stop thinking about the people on that plane and their families and I racked my brain for the reason, why?

Then it hit me. I knew why this tragedy hit me harder than most and why I reacted the way I have. Like those people on Flight 447 I knew I was going to die. Only by the grace of God am I still alive.

Somehow I felt that was the right reason but not the only reason. The other reason I soon realized is this, I spend a lot of time thinking about stupid, stupid shit. Stupid shit like when some in the GOP calls the first Latino nominated to the highest court in the land a ‘racist.’

That stuff just burns me up. I admit it.

I’m bad with that kind of stuff but nowhere near as bad as most.

The amount of time the media, fueled by the public no doubt, spends on silly stupid shit is just beyond me. Hey, I LOVE silly stupid shit. I watch Cheaters like a mad man. But that is not news. That show is not important.

The story of Flight 447 and all the 228 souls will soon go away to everyone but the families of the dead.

The headlines that persist will still feature John and Kate plus 8, Madonna’s search for yet another baby and all sort of stupid shit. I know I’m spiting into the wind and this particular rant will not result in one less ratings point for TMZ as they cover the pimple on the lip of Miley Cyrus but I had to say something about the 228 people who faced that horrible realization of their impending deaths.

That’s important. That deserves my attention and that’s what’s I’m giving it.