Irritation, Embarrassment, and Then a Little Grace.
It’s been awhile since I’ve fallen on the train. In fact, entire years have passed, to the point I can’t remember a previous fall, but I’m sure there were some.
This morning, when the driver of the D whipped us around a tight curve in Brooklyn, I lost my balance despite a grip on the pole and flat boots on my feet. I toppled onto not one but three seated passengers, and my knees hit the ground. I was so pissed with that driver that I wished he were in earshot so I could let him know. I briefly calculated where the conductor car was going to be on the platform, wondering if I could succinctly, effectively relay a message during my transfer.
But the anger passed. Instead, I found myself issuing apologies and thank-yous. The three women who cushioned my fall were concerned instead of perturbed. The man standing next to me immediately helped me recover to my feet. Quiet quickly returned to our morning ride, and inside I thankfully smiled at the no-fuss character of New Yorkers.