This morning, while riding the downtown 6 train to work, I saw the actual Abraham Lincoln. He walked into the subway car, ducking beneath the doorframe a little awkwardly, like my uncle Sherman, when we finally got him to do the limbo at my cousin Josh’s bar mitzvah.

The first thing I thought was, Wow, Lincoln is tall.

The second thing I thought was, What the hell is Abraham Lincoln doing riding the 6 train?

That’s when I remembered that it was February 12th, Lincoln’s birthday. Obviously, he had made a birthday wish, years ago, to travel to the future, to the year 2013, and address “the people.” This made perfect sense to me, because Abraham Lincoln loved to address “the people.”

The doors closed, and Lincoln cleared his throat.

I got the impression he was going to speak. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. (I was right!) Balancing himself against the rocking of the train, he continued, “Fourscore and—”

“Gettysburg Address!” I interrupted. He gave me a shy smile, and then went on.

“My fellow citizens, when a man—” He had barely gotten the words out when the loudspeaker sounded with an announcement: “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a Brooklyn-bound six train. The next stop is Sixty-eighth Street, Hunter College.”

Lincoln looked around for the voice but couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. “Ahem… thank you,” he said. Then, “Perhaps I might cut to the chase: I have a returned to address this great country once again, because of what I see to be a growing schism in the heart of this great land—”

The announcer interrupted again, “Ladies and gentlemen, when an elderly, pregnant, or disabled person is standing next to you, please offer your seat. You will be standing up for what’s right. Courtesy is contagious.”

Lincoln nodded. “Well, that’s true,” he said quietly, but I could tell he was getting flustered. “If I could just make a few brief remarks without interruption, I won’t hold your time longer than a sparrow in my palm. I—” But the announcer was unstoppable.

“Ladies and gentlemen, soliciting money in the subway is illegal. We ask you not to give. Please help us maintain an orderly subway.”

Lincoln tried to interject, “Oh no, that’s not at all what I was—” But the voice persisted, “…and if someone asks, please call an M.T.A. employee, and have a nice day.”

Lincoln was red in the face. “My opponent,” he said, removing his hat and gripping the top of it, “seems to enjoy embarrassing me. But that’s fine, for I have suffered much harsher wounds. And for this country, I mind not embarrassment.”

The train stopped suddenly, and he went flying into these two attractive ladies. And I think he saw that I sort of laughed for a second, even though I didn’t mean to.

When he landed in the laps of these two attractive ladies, of course the announcer said, “A crowded subway is no defense to unlawful sexual conduct. If you believe that you have been a victim of a crime,” etc. And even though it was clearly an accident, Lincoln was like, “Oh, now, that is an absurd accusation,” and kept assuring the women that he had not fallen on purpose.

At that point, I felt sort of good because I picked up his hat and gave it to him, but I felt bad because no one was listening to him.

I mean, for a second I thought I was the only one who even knew who he was. At one point, this little kid, with a twinkle in his eye, pointed up at him and said, “Mommy, I know that man.” Lincoln straightened up and dusted off his cap, seemingly restored. Then the kid yelled, “Zombie hunter!”

Lincoln looked really sad. He slouched in his seat, and put his hands in his hair.

But that’s when things turned around: the announcer said, “Backpacks and other large containers are subject to random search by the police.” Big mistake.

Lincoln was like, “What? That’s preposterous.” And then he was on fire. I mean on fire. It was awesome—it was like, this is the Lincoln that movie’s about.

Lincoln said some pretty awesome things, one after the other. He talked about thinking as a nation rather than as self-interested individuals. He talked about honoring those who had fought for us to live together in peace and freedom. He kept mentioning the movie “Judge Dredd,” but accidentally calling it Dred Scott.

I’ll admit I got a little lost, but the main thing he kept talking about was “the people,” and that was great, because it made me think of a lot of different people.

By the time we passed Union Square, it was sort of like an all-out party. This barbershop quartet started singing songs and cracking jokes. They were like, “What’s the best nation?”

And Lincoln goes, “America.”

And they go, “Do-nation.”

And Lincoln laughed—like, very, very loud. I honestly think it was the birthday party he had always wanted. And as for me, I got a picture of Lincoln in the center of the barbershop group, with his arms around them, which I’ll post tonight on Facebook, with the caption “Happy birthday to Abe Lincoln, and happy birthday also to my friend Brion Isaacs.”

Illustration by Laurie Rosenwald.