It was a Monday, a Monday like any other in early spring. Longer days and the air slowly loosening its frosty bite of the city. Optimistic buds dotted tree branches along Park Avenue. Here and there, the dark uniforms of winter were sprinkled with bursts of bright blue scarves and magenta light wool coats. Even the wind seemed unsure of itself — vacillating between icy gusts and cool caresses. It was a day caught between two seasons — summer in the light and winter in the shade.
Walking to Grand Central to catch her train, Morgan noticed a woman in a yellow dress and at least four-inch-high platform sandals. Tourists often wear clothing not suited to the weather in New York so the sundress and sandals were not surprising.
“You’re going to fall!” a raspy, male voice bellowed.
My thoughts exactly, Morgan thought and turned to give an approving nod to a like-minded stranger. No one acknowledged her. Many wore headphones, and the rest were text-walking. Morgan checked her phone: 6:38 p.m. As long as she got to the platform by 6:53, she would catch her train. Suddenly, she caught up to the woman in platforms. They both stopped as the crosswalk began to blink “Don’t Walk.”
“You, hey you! Empire State Building! You’re too tall!” The raspy voice sounded closer.
Wait a minute. I’m tall. Is he talking to me? Morgan threw side-eyes to the right and to the left of her.
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2
The woman in platforms crossed the street. Morgan noticed a man pointing a finger at her and calling her a “too-tall girl.” The heckler was now just a few people behind his target.
Phew. Not talking to me. Morgan felt relieved. But still…
She crossed the street and started following them, past 40th Street and past Grand Central. Clearly the stranger was in danger, and Morgan was the only one who cared. Though the heckler didn’t say anything threatening yet, you never know when these crazy people get unhinged. People are so apathetic. Morgan shook her head in disapproval and asked for the umpteenth time why there weren’t more people in the world like her.
Morgan noticed that the heckler was dressed in a clean plaid shirt tucked into dark jeans. Grey hair neatly combed to one side.
He was only feet away from the young woman. As she stepped off the sidewalk to cross the street, she stumbled.
Morgan bit her lip, expecting the woman to fall. The raspy-voiced man stretched out a hand towards the floundering woman.
6:46 p.m. Morgan hesitated. She was walking away from Grand Central, and if she missed her train, the next one wasn’t for another hour. Then she would be eating late and watching Sister Wives late and going to sleep late. Morgan Mecker was a disciplined woman who stuck to a strict schedule. Schedules and not storytelling are what separated humans from the animals. But since only she seemed to care about this poor, tall tourist, she had to ignore her schedule, just for tonight. That thought alone made her face twitch.
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3
By this time the woman had gained a full block. Morgan set off on a light jog to catch up. Finally, she sprinted across the street and caught up to the woman in platforms. The heckler stayed back at the light.
This was it. Morgan’s chance.
Wheezing from her sprint, she said, “Excuse me…,” while trying in vain to smooth her frizzy mop of hair and suppress the face tick.
The platformed one pulled out a headphone, filling the air with the dull, percussive throb and blaring synthesizers of EDM music. Morgan felt the creepy guy getting closer.
“Where… you… walking? I… walk… you… feel… safe.”
Morgan wiped her forehead and scratched her damp head.
“I don’t feel unsafe.” The young woman stuffed the headphone back into her ear and walked off briskly.
Morgan stood in surprise until someone appeared in front of her.
“What are you doing?” Fierce blue eyes looking through Morgan.
“Nothing. I…”
“Mind your own business, lady.”
“Well, but, you…”
“What?”
“Insulting that poor woman…”
He brought his face to Morgan’s ear.
“Listen.” He looked around and pulled a card out of his pocket. It said: “Heckler for Hire.” That woman there,” he pointed behind him, “pays good money for me to walk behind her and insult her.”
Morgan’s mouth dropped open.
“I never get too close,” he continued. “That music in her ears is so loud she probably can’t even hear me.” He softened his voice and said more quietly, almost sheepishly: “It’s a good way to make some extra money, see.”
Can’t be serious. Morgan muttered under her breath. She stepped around him and continued her pursuit, looking around for cameras filming this possible new reality show.
“Where are you going, lady!?” Morgan began running again. Though she was no longer sure why.
Did she really pay him to shout insults at her? Do people do such things? Morgan remembered an article she read recently about all the ridiculous things people will pay other people to do. Some people pay strangers to cuddle them. Morgan shuddered at the thought.
“Hey! Leave her alone!” The man shook his fist in the air.
Morgan checked her phone and panicked. 6:52 p.m. She turned and ran back to Grand Central.
“Mind your own business next time!” The man shouted as she ducked into the terminal entrance. Maybe she could still make her train and watch Sister Wives on time. She just needed to reach the platform.
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Maria Odessky Rosen‘s poems, short stories, and essays have appeared in newspapers and magazines, including the Beyond Words Anthology. She has received writing awards, including the L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future Contest and the 24-Hour Writing Contest, along with a competitive mentorship in the Gordon Square Review.