The Man With My Name

Logan leaned his head against the plastic cover of a poster that advertised peach flavored yogurt. His eyes were shut while the subway car jolted him as he tried sleeping. Though the car was fairly full, no one sat next to him; which allowed him to sleep in peace.

The car came to a stop, squeaking to a halt. A messy intercom voice warbled information about the stop they arrived at and the next destination. Logan didn’t have to get up yet. He peeked at the subway surfers onboard and watched almost all of them get off. He felt relieved, expanding his space of privacy.

An elderly man in a beige windbreaker jacket who hunched over just as if he needed a cane climbed onto the subway. Logan watched the man pace across the car, walking left foot first and then dragging his right foot to meet where his left foot was, traveling as fast as his left foot could take a stride. Logan shut his eyes, choosing not to bother himself with the old man’s slow gait, and fell back asleep.

Logan felt the noisy fabric of a windbreaker jacket rub against his arm. He looked to his right and saw the old man had chosen to sit directly next to him. Logan looked to his left, as if to make sure he understood that the car was practically empty. This old man chose to sit right beside him despite dozens of open seats. Logan slightly leaned to his left away from him, and wondered if he should get up and move. He simply wanted to sleep and certainly didn’t want to be bothered; and here this old man sat in the exact seat next to him, ruining his privacy.

The old man looked to his left and smiled, like a proud grandfather excited to see his baby grandchild. Logan was annoyed. He chose to respond politely but kept it curt, smiling as quick as could and dropped the expression in a second, where he shut his eyes instantly. Perhaps, Logan thought to himself, he could get over the old man’s presence and drift away regardless. Just as he began to nod off, the old man’s rusty voice breathed into his right ear.

“Where’re you from?” the old man asked casually.

Logan opened his eyes as if he was just asked to do chores, using all his will not to roll his eyes in aggravation. He glanced right and saw the old man awaiting his reply.

Again, Logan chose to keep his answer polite yet curt. “Brooklyn,” and leaned against the peach yogurt ad in an attempt to end the potential conversation and just get some sleep.

“Saint Paul,” the old man answered his own question. “Minnesota.” Logan didn’t acknowledge it. He gave the smallest nod to let to old man know he heard him but didn’t have anything else to say. “I’m Logan,” said the old man.

Logan opened his eyes and looked at him. “Your name is Logan?”

“What’s yours?” the old man asked hopefully.

“I'm Logan, too.”

The old man smiled like he heard the best joke. “That’s wonderful.”

“Yeah,” Logan couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Who’re you named after?” the old man inquired.

Logan liked the question, mostly because he was proud of the answer. “Wolverine,” he said with a smirk and raised eyebrows.

“Who?” the old man shook his head, slightly embarrassed he didn’t know.

“You know, Wolverine, like the super hero.” Logan then clenched both his fists and made a metal sound with his mouth. “Snikt! Snikt! Like, the X-Men?”

The old man lifted each of his pointer fingers and gently shook them, remembering now. “Yes, yes! Okay. The one in the movies.”

“Yeah. Hugh Jackman.”

“Hugh Jack… that’s right. Wolverine?”

“His real name is Logan.”

The old man paused. “Your parents named you after a super hero?” he said impressed.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool.”

“Hmm.” The old man leaned coyly into Logan. “Me too.”

“Your folks named you after a super hero?” Logan asked a little surprised.

“My father.”

Logan was let down but realized the sentimentality of his answer. “That’s cool.”

“He was a coal miner,” the old man began. “He mined for four years before a mine collapsed on him.”

Logan was taken back. “Sorry to hear that.”

The old man continued. “He and my mother met in high school, fell in love, and married after graduation. He worked all kinds of odd jobs to provide for us. He’d come home exhausted, worked like a dog; and I didn’t know, so I’d run up and try to get him to play with me. And he did, every time. No matter how tired he was he spent time with me. Even though I only knew him for a little more than five years, we spent all five of those years together.” The old man smiled fondly. “He told me when I was little that he wanted me to never forget who I was and to remember that we had a good name. I thought later on that perhaps he gave me his name to make sure he worked hard.”

Logan smiled. “He sounded like a good man.”

“He was. He absolutely was.”

Logan looked down for a moment. “I didn’t know my dad. Mom said he left when he found out she was pregnant with me.” The old man faced Logan and listened to him intently. “I think it was my uncle, my mom’s brother, that gave her the idea to name me after Wolverine. She liked the idea he could heal and acted tough.” Logan looked straight ahead. “I don’t really feel like a super hero.”

The old man looked at Logan and patted Logan’s right knee with his left hand. “We’ve got a good name, Logan. Don’t forget it. And don’t waste it.”

The muffled intercom announced the next stop on the subway. The old man looked up at the speaker and placed his hands on his legs to boost himself up. He shuffled around to face Logan and stuck out his soft, aged hands. They shook.

“Nice to meet you, Logan,” the old man said playfully.

“You, too, Logan.” Logan smiled. “Thanks for sitting by me.”

The old man placed his left foot out and dragged his right foot with him, slowly exiting the car.

The subway jolted as it picked up speed. Logan sat in his seat wide awake.