After we made our decision to go with Plan B, we head off to buy our metro tickets. Tucked away in a remote corner of a lower level in Union Station we find the ticket machine and insert a $ 20 bill. The machine spews out $ 17 in Sacagawea coins. It sounds like we are hitting the jackpot. Tink, tink, tink, tink… I turn around and see a panhandler heading directly for us.
“Do you have any change you can spare?” he asks. Of course we do. He saw us winning the metro lottery. We can’t lie. Nick gives him a few of our glorious Sacagawea coins.
We jump on the first of the two trains we have to take to get to the LBC. Nick and I, with 2 suitcases, a duffle bag, a backpack, and a giant purse, hold up our post in the train. I take off my rings, look at Nick, and hold them up for him to see. Without saying anything, I slide them into the pocket of my jeans. Nick follows suit. Yes, it’s true, in less than one year of marriage we have mastered the fine art of telepathic communication and spousal sign language. It didn’t matter, though, since the train was relatively unoccupied and we only had a few stops before transferring at 7th street/Metro Center. Nonetheless, I knew this would save us from being stabbed for our bling during the second half of our metro trip.
Leaving the first train unscathed gave me a false sense of hope. I think maybe Plan B isn’t so bad after all. As we make our way to the final train, someone stops Nick and asks for money. It’s the same man as before. No joke. Same guy. He knows Nick has a pocket full of change. So, Nick, with his bleeding heart, gives the man a few more Sacagaweas. Not satisfied with the nearly $ 5 Nick has already given him that night, he asks for more.
Our Last Two Sacagaweas
Without forfeiting more money, we proceed to find the train that will take us to our hotel in Long Beach… the hotel that holds the pillows that will rest our heads after a long, long day of traveling. We couldn’t wait.
As we journey through the metro station I notice that there are less and less people around. It’s quiet. You can hear a pin drop. Or a Sacagawea coin. I start to get nervous. We see the train across the tracks and calculate our next steps. As we wind our way to the train we pass by a police man… or a security guard. He confirms to Nick that the train we are headed towards is, in fact, the train to Long Beach and then, I am sure, silently chuckles to himself and calls us complete idiots.
I see the inside of the train before Nick does. “Here it is, Nick,” I say. Then I question is this really it? It’s packed. This can’t be it. The doors close before we get there. Yes, I think to myself, maybe that is a sign that we should just go back and catch the bus. The doors open.
We enter the train. It’s packed. Everyone is staring at us. And at our luggage. They are thinking we’re stupid. And we are. I am scared immediately. A man gets out of his seat and offers it to me. Wow, that was nice I think and then I thank him profusely so that we have an ally should gun fire or a hostage situation break out during our train ride. And then I spot a tattoo on his hand between his thumb and his index finger. Hmm… a gang tattoo… or a prison tattoo… or both? While I sit, Nick stands beside me for at least half of the ride. Did I mention that we have 2 suitcases, a duffle bag, a backpack, and a giant purse? And we are both dressed, head to toe, in blue.
It’s hard to articulate why this train ride was so scary. I am sure stereotyping plays a large part in this. Statistics do too, however. Compton is ranked 3rd in California for crime including murder, rape, robbery, aggravated assault, burglary, and motor vehicle theft (only to be outdone by Richmond and Oakland). Compton is ranked 17th in the United States... out of 365 cities... Honestly, the stats really speak for themselves. Not to mention, I was sitting there feeling like I was in Boyz N the Hood. Or Friday. Not so much Friday, though, since that’s a comedy and this train ride wasn’t so funny. A drama? Sure. A suspense/thriller/horror movie? Ok. But surely, this was not a comedy. And this train ride was long. 18 stops. I counted down every one of them. All Compton-esque. At one point, I want to cry. At another point, I want to get off of the train. Even in South Central L.A., I was ready to walk out at the next stop.
After a while, my gang-banger friend and his homies leave the train and Nick is able to sit down. And, after a while, more people start to exit the train than are getting on. As the train starts to empty (which doesn't really happen until maybe 2 stops before ours), I begin to feel safe. My heart slows down. I am able to breathe. I feel like we will make it. And we do.
We get off in downtown LBC and walk a couple of blocks to the hotel. As I am checking in at the front desk, I turn around to let out a sigh of relief to Nick. Only Nick isn’t smiling. On the contrary, he looks frightened. His face is as pale as a ghost's. I have never seen that look on Nick’s face before. Not even on our metro ride through Compton. Something is seriously wrong.
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