Following a sub-par Broken Social Scene show at Coney Island, tired and still hung-over from the previous evening's festivities, a friend and I were at the 125th st. subway station waiting to catch the A train home. Having been standing on the platform for a significant period of time and out of conversation topics, I awkwardly gazed across the tracks toward the downtown side of the station when something caught my eye, "wow, that's a really large suitcase" I pointed out feigning interest. Suddenly, a frail woman emerged from the elevator with a second bag of equal proportion, "Oh shit there are two of them!" I exclaimed, actually somewhat intrigued this time. The woman then retreated back to the elevator only to return with a third. My friend and I turned to each other and laughed, inexplicably entertained by the three large bags. Upon returning our attention to the opposite platform we were baffled to see the three suitcases perfectly lined up with no sign of their owner.
"Is this a drug deal? Or maybe they're bombs!" my companion speculated.
"I hope she returns with more" I joked. "How awesome would that be if she has so many that she couldn't fit them all in one trip?"
To our delight this was exactly the case. We watched mesmerized and thoroughly entertained as the woman slowly made trips to and from the elevator with a new bag each time; slowly, methodically, perfectly lining them up along the yellow paint. Final count: 7 large to mid-size suitcases and a few smaller duffel bags. Once these had been nicely placed just outside the elevator, their owner began to move them toward the middle of the platform where the benches were placed; slowly, one-by-one lining them up once again. Grinning in amazement, now alongside other spectators, we watched her process. Finally, she settled on a bench surrounded by her bags and let several trains pass, giving rise to so many questions. Where was she going? How would she get all those suitcases on the train? How the hell did she get them in the subway station to begin with? She must have done this before!
Unfortunately our train arrived shortly thereafter leaving us with only wonder and speculation as we made our way home.
Several months later, that same friend and I, along with others, were on our way to the Apollo for a concert. A pre-show dinner of wine and cheese, followed by a dessert of wine-in-a-water-bottle that was consumed on the train, had left me feeling quite inebriated. As I staggered up the stairs toward the station exit I spotted three suitcases just inside the emergency exit and the same frail woman from before dragging in one more. Shocked, I excitedly turned to my friends and exclaimed, "Its the bag lady!" Not only was I lucky enough to see her again, but this time it was at a different point in her process. Yet, I still had so many questions: what about the bags that she had not yet brought in, were they safe? Was someone watching them? Could this really be a one-man venture? I wanted answers, but we were already running late. I was caught between staying in the station and watching her journey unfold or exiting to be sure I reached the venue in time for Jenny Lewis (and another drink). It was a tough decision, but Jenny (and alcohol) always wins.
It is just one short month later when my friend and I see her again. Due to weekend train schedules and too much alcohol, we had found ourselves at a gathering in Harlem, so we caught the A at 116 st. As I stumble into the car I immediately notice that the entire left corner has been overtaken by a mound of bags. My eyes grow wide with excitement as I realize that this is my third encounter with this woman and her many bags. A huge grin spreads across my face as I giddily make eye-contact with my companion, who, as composed as possible, whispers "just keep going" and leads me to the other side of the car. Speechless, I quickly follow as we search for seats as far away as possible. Upon sitting down we immediately burst out into laughter, once again inexplicably amused by whom we've now grown to refer to as The Suitcase Lady. I want to stay on the train and follow this woman; see where she goes and how she manages. However, it is late and I have to work in the morning. The train glides to a halt at my stop and she and her suitcases are not moving. Defeated, I exit.
Three encounters at three different stages; yet, I still have so many questions. I am intrigued. In fact, she has become a bit of an obsession. As I will be moving back to the west coast soon, I spend my last few days in the city seeking out this woman. I don't know why, but I must know her story, her process, before I leave. I begin to haunt the A line between Harlem and Washington Heights. On a few occasions I even stake out the 125th st. station for as long as I can manage (which if you're familiar with it, or any of New York's subway stations for that matter, you can imagine is not very long). I even consider foregoing a ride to the airport from a friend in hopes that I will run into the Suitcase Lady on my way there, or perhaps out of a strange desire to experience her odyssey myself. Alas, I must accept that some things are not for me to know.
