I rode the Q train with Mary Queen of Scots

The subway was running especially slow that Saturday, and the weather was hellish-- one of those wonderful mini-monsoons that tells you God does indeed exist and he is unleashing his wrath and fury upon New York. If I'd had to wait for the train too long I would have begun to question my quest into Brooklyn for a friend's birthday, but I was lucky. Five minutes hadn't yet passed when the Q train lumbered onto the 14th street platform. It looked like one of those dilapidated cars from Thomas the Tank Engine, one that's there to teach the kids some kind of lesson: not to judge by appearances, not to be afraid of old people.

I walked towards the middle of the car, clearing the way for other passengers, trying not to let the delays and the traffic poison my attitude. I knew that if I got on the subway in Manhattan as Larry David, I would get off in Brooklyn as Ted Kaczynski.

Then, I saw her. She was just sitting there just like everybody else. I had to do a double take. At first I wasn't sure this woman was real. For a long time she didn't move, and her sheer size was otherworldly. I felt as if I'd accidentally stumbled into Narnia and rung the bell. I had awoken this queen from her tranquil slumber and had somehow managed to bring her back with me. She wore an oversized black coat and kept her eyes firmly planted on the floor. She didn't carry herself like a queen, but her face was unmistakable. I recognized the expression I'd seen in so many portraits. There before me sat Mary Queen of Scots, the cousin of Queen Elizabeth I. I looked around at my fellow passengers, but no one else seemed to notice. I desperately wanted to ask, "Did you really do it? Did you kill your husband?" I wanted to thank her for golf. I wondered if she ever went to Chelsea Piers to hit a bucket of balls with the guys. Did she go out to the Hamptons on the weekends? I almost burst, "My parents named me after you!" I thought it would be a strange but effective catalyst for conversation, even though it wasn't true

The train stopped at DeKalb. There would be interrupted service after Prospect Park: a tree had fallen on the tracks. Mary exited the train, and I continued to Atlantic Ave.