See Something, Say Something: That Time Someone Took Out a Gun on the Train

Monday through Friday, I always wake up just before 6 in the morning so I can catch the 6:28 R train from Bay Ridge toward the city. A few stops in, at 59th street, I transfer to the N train, which runs express through Brooklyn into the city so that I arrive in Flatiron area a few minutes after 7 to go the gym.

I tend to see the same people on the train every morning, as it is less crowded and there aren’t as many people heading in at that hour. This past Friday morning, I transferred trains as I always do, from the R to the N, squeezing myself into a seat between two men at the very end of the train car.

The guy to my right shifted a little to make some room, where as the guy to my left, who had his legs spread out quite wide, didn’t budge. “That’s so annoying,” I thought to myself, wiggling around and shuffling my feet so as to give him a small hint that he should move over.

He didn’t. Instead he sat there, stiff as a ruler, his arms stretched out and placed palms down on his knees. I found his body language somewhat weird; he just appeared very rigid, even in his face. He had on these black motorcycle-style Northface gloves, tan-colored khaki pants that were surprisingly clean, a black fleece, a black winter hat that was snug on his head, and a set black Dre beats. He sat there looking dead ahead with this very steady face on.

I felt his arms tightening, and I looked down at his hands to see that he was clenching and unclenching his hands into fists on his knees. It was a bit bizarre, I thought, and I found myself growing a little nervous. I didn’t look up at him, but I also didn’t get up and move.

The train neared Canal Street, the first stop in the city on the N train. The man got up very slowly and maintained a stiffness to his movements. He stood in place, the train stopped, “This is Canal Street” the announcement said. The doors started to open, and he started to lift his jacket up a little, and right there in his back pocket, right in front of my face, was a  silver gun.

My heart stopped beating. It took a second for my mind to process what the shape was. But I saw as he closed his grip around the handle and continued to pull it out slowly, slowly, slowly, looking around the train car as he did it. His movements almost seemed methodological, like he knew what the fuck he was doing.

At first, I was the only one who saw the gun. As we were at the very end of the train car, there were only about three or four people to the right side of this guy. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe. As he continued to pull out the gun, I thought to myself, “Holy fuck he is going to start shooting. Holy fuck.” The gun was just in front of my face, not pointed at me, but facing down toward the ground, the barrel still somewhat in the pocket of his pants. He continued to look around. If I move, if I scream, I thought, then I’m dead.

Then the guy across from me, a squat older man with white hair, saw the gun, and he sat upright, suddenly very alert. The color drained from his face. I found myself starting to say, slightly above a whisper, “What the fuck…What the fuck…What the fuck,” and I kept trying to tap the guy next to me – thought I didn’t take my eyes off the gun – who was asleep with his headphones in. I thought I was hitting him hard enough, but I guess he couldn’t really feel it through his Northface bubble coat.

The man just stood there, gun in his hand, before he slowly walking off the train, staring straight ahead and the gun still in his hand.  I watched as he walked up the subway steps toward Canal street.

My eyes started tearing up slightly, and then I basically drove my fist into the arm of the guy next to me, jolting him awake. “Did you not see that?” I asked. He pulled out his ear bud from his left ear. “Did you not fucking see that?” He looked dumbfounded and let out a small and confused “no”.

“That guy just had a fucking gun in his hand!”

“I didn’t see it,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and putting his ear buds back in like I was speaking another language.

The guy across from shook his head and looked at me. He saw it.

I rode the train to my stop, unable to move for a few seconds, and got off. I reported the incident to the MTA woman, who said, “Well, what would you like me to do about it?”

I was visibly shaken, and then suddenly I became angry. “What do I want you to do about it? What do you mean what do I want you to do about it? I don’t understand. I just told you I saw someone get off the train with a gun in his hand.”

She looked at me, “Yes, and I understand, and it’s good you said something, but either you want me to call 911 for you or you call 911 yourself so you can file a police report. Is that what you want to do, file a police report?”

I walked away, annoyed at her and still really disoriented, trying to process everything. I called 911 as I walked to the gym. The police would meet me there so I could file a police report.

As I got to the gym basement, I saw my friend Bryan, a trainer there, and I started talking. I looked down at my hands. They were shaking. “You’ll never believe what the fuck just happened – the scariest fucking thing just happened,” I said. Then, I let out two really big sobs, and he instantly came over and hugged me. “I’ve never been so close to a fucking gun before like that.”

Bryan sat with me and kept my mind busy. We watched a YouTube video until the police arrived. I explained everything that happened: what the guy was wearing, what he looked like, what time it happened – every detail I could recall, then the police asked about the gun.

“Was the handle silver, or was there some black in it?” one cop asked.

“Silver.” Then, my mind suddenly went blank. The harder I thought, the more I struggled to remember. “I think. Yes, no..it was silver.”

The cop cracked a bit of a joke. “You should be used to this, you’re from Brooklyn!”

A few minutes later they were gone, and I was left sitting there with Bryan.

“Can we work out? I need to work out,” I said, and so we did.

I kept checking the news that day, and even this morning, to see whether there was any mention of anything happening by Canal Street. I felt so uneasy the whole day. Half the time when I take the train to the gym that early I have my earphones in, am listening to music, and am either half asleep or am distracted and talking to my friend in Australia whenever my phone grabs some service.

Never when I get on the train, never when I sit down next to someone, never do I ever think that person might be carrying a gun. It just doesn’t cross my mind. Never do I ever feel like I need to be on my guard or be aware of what is going on, and it’s scary.  It’s scary that we have the constitutional right to bear arms and own a gun and carry a gun, but that is a topic I don’t want to get into.

All I know is that thankfully nothing happened. I’ve no idea why nothing happened or what was going through that man’s head, but I do count myself very, very lucky that nothing happened.

Category: New York, New York City

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