Five Minute Best Friend

Making friends on public transit

James was my best friend in the whole world for five minutes last Saturday night. We met on the Port Washington Branch of the LIRR when the conductor came around for tickets. I forgot I even had one until the conductor said, “Excuse me,” and I managed to fish it out of my pocket. James didn’t have one at all and asked for a ticket to Jamaica. His first problem was the Port Washington Branch doesn’t stop at Jamaica a fact that the conductor informed him of as the train pulled into my stop at Flushing Main Street. I offered that he could take the Q44 bus into Jamaica station. So started our friendship.

We exited the train together. Me feeling happy from the three pints of Guinness still working their magic and James a neurotic mess sporting a purple polo shirt with a popped collar and gesturing with a formerly lit stogy. Here’s where he told me his second problem. He didn’t have a Metrocard, credit card, or any money at all. There was a woman in his life that cleaned him out. He was trying to get back to somewhere only he knew where.

Passing an all night convenience he told me how thirsty he was. I offered I could buy him a water, he really needed it. I lead the way inside the store which is surprisingly full for this late at night and take the first Poland Spring bottle I see. James counters, “I need something with sugar. I just need sugar, man.” Then pulls out a Dr. Pepper.

“Sure” I say and turn to the counter where James has also picked up a pack of Reese’s peanut butters cups.

Holding up both hands he shows the Sikh cleric and tells him, “I need the sugar.”

“Four fifty” is the Sikh’s reply. I slide a five dollar bill over the counter.

Outside again and out friendship is deeply affirmed. James tells me how much he appreciates this and how he will definitely pay me back. In fact I have to come to his place in Jamaica when he’s feeling better. We’ll hang out and have a blast. He gestures with the stogy and tells me how his brother just became a grandfather.

“Mazol tov!” I exclaim even though I’m not any kind Jewish. I tell him how great it sounds as we near the bus stop in front of St. George’s church. The Q44 is already there doors open ready to accept James. He tells me his phone number and I tell him I will remember it and text him. I tell him this is his bus and he had better get on. James gives me a hug and steps in board.

I continue down Main Street, turn at Northern, and walk the rest of the way home.