Fairy-tale plot exercise
By Susannah Edelbaum
Contributing Writer

Carlyle was asleep and dreaming about boxing when he got the call.

“I’ll have to walk,” Carmen was saying. The clock read 3:14. “The subways are all closed. I’ll be fine.” Carlyle sat up straight in bed when she said that. He knew for a fact she would not be fine. It was never fine for young pretty girls, or older ugly girls, or anyone without a dick and maybe a handgun to walk from one-seventeenth and Broadway to one hundred-second and Park by herself at three in the morning. It was one of the tenets of New York society by which he’d been raised, similar to not staring at homeless people or looking people in the eye on subways or elevators.

“I’ll be right there,” he said forcefully, and hung up.

As he ran down the front stoop of the crumbling converted brownstone he remembered there was some cash in the pockets of the pants he’d grabbed, but of course, there wasn’t a cab in sight. No one around there ever hailed cabs. Carlyle began to run, his untied sneakers pounding out a desperate rhythm against the sidewalk.

He crossed against the light and was nearly hit by a lone milk delivery truck coming down Lexington. He barely noticed. He rounded the corner, which was being guarded by the usual scrofulous bunch: package boys, pimps who could barely make rent, a bookie-turned-coke fiend. Normally they’d give Carlyle some kind of shit about his long hair or plain, clean clothing, but tonight they watched him quietly and shuffled to the side as he raced past. Maybe it was possible even these lowlifes were rendered mute in some kind of involuntary respect for Carlyle’s mission. Whatever it was, he didn’t even glance their way, only pushed himself to move faster as he dodged around them.

He was starting to panic. His thoughts rolled back and forth between images of horrible fates befalling Carmen and the hope of finding a taxi. His mind was turning over bright yellow cabs in his head. If only one were to appear he could jump in and reach her in thirty seconds.

And like that, a cab was pulling alongside of him, slowing to match his pace. Carlyle hadn’t even heard it coming up behind him.

“Get in,” the driver grumbled out at him through the open passenger-side window. Carlyle didn’t think as he leapt into shotgun. The red light ahead of them turned green as they approached and when he gave it a thought later on, Carlyle realized the cab never even hit a yellow. When he could finally see his girlfriend, scurrying along in heels, trying as best she could to stay under streetlamps, he didn’t have to ask the driver to pull over. Carlyle tried to ask him how he knew.

“That’s my business,” he replied. “Now get out of here.” He jerked his head in the direction of Carmen. Carlyle duly got out, without paying a fare. He also didn’t realize until later that the cab had no meter.

He ran the few remaining feet separating him from Carmen and together, with hips touching, their hands entwined, they walked back home.