1 Train

By Matthew Curcio

At nineteen, college student Cameron Grayson is caught between the crossroads of money, love, alcohol, and drugs in New York City’s Upper West Side. When his self-made grandfather, Henry Grayson, suddenly dies of unspecified reasons, Cam is shocked to find that some of his grandfather’s personal items have been passed down to him.

Cameron’s father, Chris, gives him strict orders to head uptown to the Bronx in the hopes of sorting things out. Cam doesn’t go alone though. He brings his lifelong friends Evan and Jake as partners in crime on this unexpected adventure. Hoping to learn more about the life of his grandfather, Cam starts to learn more about himself as well and finds overwhelming direction to his own future.

Not realizing what he’s getting himself into, Cam’s life will forever change due to this one trip uptown on New York City’s 1 Train subway line. He finds himself in deep with his friends but more in trouble with his most recent girlfriend, Victoria. Cam eventually comes to terms with the inevitability of human addiction and infidelity. Cam begins his journey uptown without realizing coming back down will cost him not only his money but everything he ever knew.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781532009723

Matthew Curcio

Matthew Curcio currently resides in New York City. I Dream of Saturn is his fourth published work and third published novel.

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Copyright © 2016 Matthew Curcio.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-0973-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-0974-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-0972-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016919779

iUniverse rev. date: 01/26/2017

Contents

Chapter 1 Not Quite Uptown

Chapter 2 How It All Started

Chapter 3 The Variables

Chapter 4 Stephen

Chapter 5 Thinking on the Margins

Chapter 6 The Money Is Real

Chapter 7 Old Money

Chapter 8 Decisions, Decisions

Chapter 9 The City We Know

Chapter 10 Bank Account

Chapter 11 Different Weather

Chapter 12 Actus Reus

Chapter 13 Mens Rea

Chapter 14 Game 1

Chapter 15 Alcohol Talking

Chapter 16 Win or Lose

Chapter 17 Mr. October

Chapter 18 Liquid Assets

Chapter 19 Money Game

Chapter 20 Game 6

Chapter 21 Derek Jeter

Chapter 22 Fair Trial

Chapter 23 Loyalty

To my dad,

For Everything

Chapter 1

Not Quite Uptown

There are two types of people who ride the train: the ones who step toward the tracks as the heavy machine approaches and the others who step back in humbling anticipation. Walking toward the train may seem a gamble, while walking away may suggest defeat. By stepping forward we experience this small victory, and when stepping back we see this aesthetic confidence leave forever. When we win, we want just one more, but when we lose at first, we might not ever stop. The excitement and hesitation go hand in hand. Maybe there is no definite truth of how we are supposed to approach something as strong and powerful as a train. Maybe over time I will find the answer within myself. I just have to make sense of the ordinary because it is anything but simple to me.

I guess you could say I get bothered by certain ideas pretty quickly. I have always been that way. I have always thought that I’m entitled to explanations because of obscure reasons that I can never figure out. Anyway, New York City is where I’m from but not by choice. The real question stands, who isn’t from here? Even if you weren’t born here, chances are your best friend’s cousin’s uncle’s boss works here. There is always a common thread. What is here, for that matter, is everything. I’m serious: everything you need is here in New York. Envision the Big Apple or whatever you like to call it; now envision everyone wanting a bite.

My name is Cameron Grayson, Cam for short. I don’t really know what my ethnicity is, so I’m just proud to be an American. I’m nineteen years old, but somehow I’m an adult by today’s standards. It’s 2003, and my grandfather Henry Grayson passed away this year. I loved my grandfather, the father to my father, who goes by Chris. My grandfather was somewhat of a big shot on Wall Street, and that’s why I trusted him. He was employed by a few different companies during his elaborate career. One of the more notable companies, Goldman Sachs, is where he spent most of his profession, where his time crunching numbers and analyzing stock led to dollar signs. I didn’t know a thing about my grandfather’s job nor did I have the knowledge yet, but my grandfather’s success gave me hope for my own prosperity, and I’m now attempting to follow in his footsteps.

My grandfather lived a life of secrets, but you can’t jump to conclusions and associate this fact with chronic infidelity. I say this because my grandfather never lied to anybody who mattered, a.k.a. our family. He was the most truthful and honest soul I knew, but his success brought me jealously at a comparatively young age.

My father, Chris, works as a painter for public buildings in New York City. He doesn’t get paid much, but all his money goes straight to my mother, brothers, sister, and me. My mother has never worked a full day in her life, and I guess this explains why we live in a cramped three-bedroom apartment in the Morningside Heights section of 110th Street in Harlem. It is a cool area; I won’t lie. It wasn’t the best neighborhood for a long time, but it has definitely gone through some revitalization. The apartment is a steal and highly desired by new families in New York, mostly because it’s rent controlled.

My brothers, Peter and Andrew (Drew for short), share a bedroom that seems to violate NYC housing regulations. Complaining doesn’t exist in this household. Less space builds character. Peter is seventeen, and Drew is just fifteen. Somehow we all (mostly me) find ways to look out for one another. Then of course there is my sister, Chelsea. Chelsea is the princess of the family. She’s only twelve years old, but she earned her own room with her adorable looks and masterful negotiating skills. She was my grandfather’s greatest treasure. My angel of a sister is named after the Chelsea Piers because my grandfather would always take my father there.

My father is by no means business savvy, but he does his best impression of it. My father never took good advice—well, according to my late grandfather, that is. My father dropped out of college when he was my age, and I know for a fact that he regrets it. However, if you ask me, I think everything worked out pretty well for him.

My father met my mother, Leanne, when she was waiting tables at some fancy downtown NYC restaurant. He left a hundred-dollar tip along with his phone number, so she kind of had to let him take her out. Pretty smooth, right? You have to respect his boldness. At the time my father was twenty years old, and the money he used to show his love was straight from my grandfather’s checking account. Do you still think he was smooth? I guess that’s up to my mom.

My grandfather separated from my grandmother when my father was just seven, but my grandfather did his best to keep the family in place. My grandmother Maureen moved out to Long Island and to this day has never remarried. Life was easy but also frustrating for my grandfather, yet he always tried to make everyone else feel comfortable. I respected my grandfather regardless of his past. He was not happy until his family was happy. Us being happy made him happy, even if at times he didn’t show it.

In high school, after class had finished, I would take the subway to my grandfather’s Midtown apartment, and we would mostly talk and just be ourselves. Now, life is not the same; that’s not to say it’s worse, but it has definitely changed. My daily activities consist of school, work, sleep, and getting drunk. My alcohol use has been a problem since my grandfather passed, and it continues to get worse.

I attend City College on 137th Street. The commute is only five or ten minutes, so I can’t complain. My two best friends, Jake and Evan, are full-time students there as well. Jake works with me at a local pizzeria uptown that has a terribly cliché name: Ciro’s. I go to the struggling restaurant more than any nineteen-year-old should have to, but that doesn’t mean I’m not glad to call it my second home after class. I’m studying business with a concentration in finance, and so is Evan. Evan and I may be the closer of the two. We research trends in the market together and have a passion for stocks and Wall Street. We often compete to see who has the perennial knowledge on the latest business transactions. Anyway, in 2003, while business still conquers, the city will not stop talking about the Yankees, mostly about Derek Jeter.

I’m forced to love this city life, but trust me—it’s no chore; it’s easy to adore. I’ve only seen so much of what exists, but I want to see it all, because it’s all I got. It seems to me that even if you were to live five lifetimes, you would still be unable to witness all that New York City has to offer. There are so many sights and even more lights that it’s hard to believe it was built with this vision of luminous energy. It is called the City That Never Sleeps, and I couldn’t agree more. Trains run through the night, and delis stay open until morning. I have always told my brothers that a MetroCard is the most important paper you need. You can fill the card up with cash and use it to swipe through the turnstile. With a MetroCard you can travel from South Ferry, the ferry that travels back and forth between Manhattan and Staten Island, all the way to Van Cortlandt Park–242nd Street in the Bronx.

My grandfather owned a house in Riverdale, an upper-class town and neighborhood in the northern Bronx located right outside the 242nd Street elevated subway platform, across the street from Van Cortlandt Park. Riverdale is a dream town to say the least. In Riverdale you have the best of both worlds—grass and concrete. My grandfather’s house was a mansion with a view of the Hudson River. The house was one of the oldest estates in New York City and priced at $2.5 million. The home was a perfect, friendly reminder that said, You made it. Not everyone was able to own property in New York City to that extent. The home was old money if you will. My grandfather, although rich and successful, was born into wealth as well.

The world seems so conquerable at the vulnerable age of nineteen. I tend to think sometimes that I can support myself. Maybe this isn’t the best mentality, but I guess it’s the only mentality if you’re to have any mentality at all. I have so much to be proud of but also so much I have to let go. Some have let go of school, others of friends, but for me it was baseball. I wasn’t just good at baseball in high school; I was amazing. I was the star player. There wasn’t anything I couldn’t do. I played shortstop just like Derek Jeter, the King of New York. I had the promise of a college player with the bliss of a T-baller. I loved the game, and the game loved me back perfectly. Baseball was my game, my passion, but I let it go. I let it go before I knew the potential it had for me. I lost everything all because of my ego. Ego will get you sooner or later, and my later was sooner than most.

Now my brother Peter is captain of the baseball team and has tons of offers to play Division I baseball all over the top half of the East Coast. Peter isn’t one to brag, though. He is modest about his situation, humble even. I tell him to value every decision he makes as if it’s the biggest one of his life.

My youngest brother, Drew, is almost like a clone of me, come to think of it. He always wants to know what I’m up to. I think Drew is caught at the bottom and needs someone to guide him through his high school years. Oftentimes I find myself knowing what to say but not expressing my thoughts the right way. I see myself in him, and it terrifies me. We might need each other more than we think. Growing up in New York City never was easy, especially in Harlem. There is so much temptation at every corner, and it seems as if there is so much success surrounding every avenue.

Us New Yorkers tend to overlook the things that are in our face every day, influencing us, trying to destroy us. We become used to the seduction, almost as if we walk by just to have a taste. It’s all about being able to conquer our own self-admiration. I truly consider everything that I have been through a learning experience, and I embrace that, but what I experienced in the fall of 2003 changed my life. This is simply a stated fact that anybody can learn from. It’s not a trick; it’s not a trap. It’s a lesson that I almost wish I never learned. Try not to confuse the fall of 2003 with the events that led up to this date. This is the story of an ordinary teenage kid and his travels. This is my unexpected journey on the 1 train. So here goes nothing …

It started out like any other ordinary day. It was a Saturday morning, and it was the most frustrating time of the year, the transition of summer into the upcoming school year. This was a crazy shift for a teenager especially. It was a time when kids would take advantage of the city parks one last moment, when aunts and uncles would come over for one last barbecue on the balcony, when you would take that last day trip to the piers and spend the Whole day downtown until the city knocked you out. It was a time when you would miss the days when your khakis didn’t stick to the bottom of your subway seat.

Anyway, for those who don’t know, the 1 train, or the 1 Broadway–Seventh Avenue Local, is part of the A Division of the rapid transit service. The subway sign is a very bold tomato red. The 1 train operates almost all the time, unless city construction disrupts it. It goes through the 242nd Street Station in Riverdale, Bronx, to the South Ferry in Lower Manhattan.

The day that set everything off was one of the warmest days of that summer, one of those days that almost make you beg for winter, a day that makes you afraid to leave the house just anticipating the sudden rise in temperature. And it was one of those days where, of course, I found myself on the 1 train once again.

Everyone has that thing, that little something that makes life worth it. For me, the 1 train is what keeps the story going. The subway is what made this narrative possible, and without it I wouldn’t have much to tell you. I would be just a regular kid in New York City. You see, the subway changed me. It taught me more about my family, money, and addictions. The things the subway taught me sound pretty universal, and it is. The subway taught me that no matter how famous, rich, tall, or small, we are still all one on that subway. Maybe riding the subway is the only time we’re ever equal, the only time we truly know each other.

I think a lot of people get annoyed by the subway because it’s hot and crowded and takes a long time and so on. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I think that’s what I love about it. With technology and the world changing, the subway is the only thing that keeps us sane even if it seems as if it’s doing the complete opposite. It keeps us patient, as every door closing and opening can teach a lesson. It isn’t just about the streets you’re passing but rather where you actually want to be.

The 1 train gave New York City some common ground even after the attacks on 9/11 when everything seemed so lost. The train has the power to make you think about all that has gone right and even sometimes all that has gone terribly wrong. You might meet someone on the train whom you will remember for the rest of your life. You’ll likely forget most of them, and you might not even remember taking the trip at all. I think the 1 train says a lot about life. Enjoy the trip and enjoy every stop even if the doors don’t always open when you want them to. You will see all different types of things. You need to embrace life. That’s it: embrace it. I think that’s the key. Embrace.

Chapter 2

How It All Started

It was August 29, 2003, the day a lot of things would change for my family. The air conditioner was unfortunately limited in our apartment, and our fans could never seem to do the job. I was destined for the public pool, the movie theater, and, most importantly, the subway.

I was eating breakfast when my father asked me to do a favor. I was always excited when my father asked me for favors; it made me feel as if he could trust me, which was nice. This favor was somewhat different, not a normal errand like running to get groceries or watching my younger brothers. This job involved a trip that my father recommended I not take alone. My grandfather had recently passed away, and my father wanted me to take a trip to my grandfather’s old home. I was more than excited to take my father up on the challenge.

As my father gave me these orders, the subway stops I would need to use ran through my head. Riverdale … Riverdale? Wait, Van Cortlandt Park–242nd Street. Yeah, Dad, no problem; I know exactly where that is, I told him. Deep down I knew I was going to be a little lost, but I mostly knew the whereabouts of my destination.

Apparently my grandfather had made a will that included an inheritance for my father. Also, for reasons that I was oblivious to, I was also included in the will. The news of my inheritance excited me at first; the anticipation was powerful.

Don’t worry; it’s probably just magazines and a coin collection, my dad told me.

This was probably one of the biggest letdowns my dad had hit me with in all my nineteen years. Items handed down from generation to generation usually seemed to gain tremendous value. I was very excited for the opportunity to see what had been left behind.

My journey would show exactly what every man leaves behind, a legacy. My grandfather’s estate was his retirement plan, which proved he was smart, because you can always live off the land. My grandfather wasn’t solely committed to one home, although the Riverdale estate was his biggest asset. He kept multiple properties, one for work and others for comfort.

I wasn’t too familiar with the Riverdale area; I never really went that far uptown. Riverdale was all the way uptown, practically Westchester County. There were of course some occasions when I would make my way up there. One Halloween a couple years back my friends and I got lost and wound up at some diner on 231st Street. We were seventeen and young and stupid. I think we overslept and just took a cab back. We definitely remember that night draining our wallets.

This trip was not to be taken by myself; this was a trip for the crew—my two best friends, Jake and Evan. Jake and Evan have always stuck by me, through thick and thin. I could not ask for better best friends, and I know it. Our three-man crew has worked out thus far. We are only nineteen, but we have been friends since kindergarten. I suppose that signifies something.

Evan is down for any idea; however, I often worry about Evan. It seems to me as if Jake has no plans. Jake’s mind is always in the moment, but I can’t knock him for that. Many people dream of living in the moment. Jake has a large family, and it seems that’s why his parents often fade out of the picture. Jake’s dad and mother are NYC public school teachers. Jake has four brothers—all older—and two sisters. The boys in Jake’s family seem to get wiser as you go further up the line. I suppose you have to get your street smarts from somewhere.

Evan has one