On a moving train, next stop: life

By Lisa A. Eramo

"Excuse me," I say, thrusting myself into the crowded rush hour train. Two teenage boys take one small step out of the way, rocking to the beat of their walkmans. My bag catches on their coats and they throw me a dirty look. My gaze moves past them and scans the row of seats on either side of the cabin. I spot one ten feet away and head for it.

As I go to sit down, I see why no one wanted this particular seat. Ink stains dot the middle and edges of the seat like rain spots on a newspaper. I grab the nearest pole as the train lunges into the next station. "Ruggles Street. Doors open up on the left" blares out over the intercom. The train comes to a halting stop. Doors click open and swallow those who enter. Five more people pile in and scramble to find something to hold onto. Doors slide shut and the train resumes its groan and hush like a snake woken from slumber.

From beyond the din of conversation, I hear someone say, "Jesus is the savoir of mankind." It is an old man wearing jeans cut off at his knee and a sweatshirt that says "Harvard University." He shoves his bible into the face of a businessman who continues to talk on his cell phone, ignoring the longhaired evangelist. I notice that the woman across from me is watching them as intently as I am watching her. Probably in her fifties, her book lays open on her lap, the crazy Jesus fan more interesting than Stephen King. Her hair is pulled up into a bun and her tortoise shell glasses are falling onto the tip of her nose. Her right stocking is falling down toward her ankle.

My gaze shifts to doors again. Open then close. I read a poster on the wall about free health care. Open then close. Two more stops have gone by. Leaned up against one of the doors, two teenagers kiss passionately, the black boy gently bending down to kiss the forehead of the white girl whose arms are wrapped around him. An elderly Asian man closes his eyes, his head bobbing up and down in an attempt to stay awake. A man in a black suite offers his seat to a pregnant woman and she takes it.

"I fuckin' hate school, dude" explodes from the rear of the train. There is some shoving and loud laughter as three boys get their kicks. They enjoy the attention received from making such a scene. I become aware that most of the passengers on the train are, in fact, students. Surrounded by a generation of middle school kids that curse and yell and talk about subjects I never dreamed of at that age, I am jealous. I am jealous of their books and their bags. I am jealous of their jeans and lunch hours. I am jealous of their schedules and study halls. I close my eyes and pretend that I am carrying a bag full of geography and biology books instead of reports for my department meeting.

The train moves so quickly that the landscape looks like a Dali painting--surreal and nonsensical. The vibration in my legs reminds me that I am alive and moving toward my next destination.