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By Tanya Greve

I just saw a dead body. I'm from Manhattan. Well, not a dead body, but an arm. I was riding on the Long Island Railroad. My husband wants to date other women. That's what he said. A few months ago he took up photography. He said he was feeling restless and needed a creative outlet. Yesterday, I found this stack of photos on the sofa arm in the living room. There were pictures of squirrels and old people on park benches and then there were three of a woman with really pretty, chocolate eyes looking shy and invaded. He didn't deny anything. My husband Frank has this gift of being brutally honest. So I packed a bag, and headed to Penn Station.

Leaving New York City is a little like coming up for air after your head has been held under water. You take this big breath and get blown away by little things like air, and the sun and the sky. I had to shade my eyes for like the first 20 minutes of Queens. Who knew overcast could be so bright? I picked east because I wanted to go to the water. I wanted to go to the end of the line and be surrounded by water on three sides. I felt that would be good. I figured that I would find a hotel, or a lighthouse run by a lonely old woman who would take me in for the night and make soup.

You want to know about the dead guy. Okay, we were just pulling out of Mineola getting our speed up again when the train suddenly began to brake. But trains take a long time to stop, so we didn't really know anything was wrong at first. But then the engineer came on the intercom. He was like "Jim, Bill, get up here!" and the ticket punchers ran up the aisle to the front of the train. They were banging into elbows and not apologizing or anything. The power was turned off and it got real quiet. I could hear myself breathing. We all just sat there in the dim light for a few minutes until the voice came on again. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are going to be delayed here for a while as we have hit a person."

Time got real heavy. I started counting every second as it passed. Every minute was a minute longer that this man was dead. I figured it was a man. I figured he was dead. I assumed it was a suicide. I looked out the window but I couldn't see anything. I was thinking: five minutes ago that man was alive. I looked around the train. It was the middle of the afternoon but without the lights on inside you couldn't see people's faces. People were like silhouettes, black shadows everywhere that I couldn't really recognize or relate to at all. And I wanted to connect with someone, you know? But everyone started reaching for their cell phones. One man was walking up and down the aisle calling people.

"Beth, hey it's me. Listen, I'm gonna be late getting in. I am stuck on the train because we ran over some guy. Yeah. They shut the power off and we're not moving for a while. Yeah! Oh yeah, he's dead. Any messages? Nothin'? Okay. My wife call? Well, if she does, tell her I am stuck on this train and I have no idea when I'll be home tonight, okay? So, what else is goin' on? How you doin'? Okay, yeah you should get it. I'll check back in with you later."

I hated him. He reminded me of Frank. He's the kind of guy who just calls people. He doesn't care who he's talking to, he just wants to talk.

I heard sirens in the distance. It was weird, hearing sirens knowing who they're coming for. A woman a few rows behind me had managed to crack open a window and announced to the rest of the car -- "I see an arm!" People started lining up to take a look like it was some peep show or something. I felt dirty.

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