Feels Stories

The Last Train Home

Do you ever watch other people in the subway? It's so strange to have to ignore someone who's right up there in your face. A can of sardines springs to mind, except passengers aren't joined by a bond of thick oil or brine. Instead, they're stewing in a miasma of sweat, cologne and annoyance. Everybody absorbed in their own little worlds, warm little cocoons. There, whizzing through the bowels of the city at a brisk clip, you'll find people reading books, newspapers. Maybe on a Playstation Portable. Maybe on a smartphone.

Except me. I'll always be looking through the thick glass windows at the flickering blackness just beyond. Sometimes, late at night, I hope I'll get on the same train once more, so I can see it all again.

—

It had been one of those weeks. Actually, it had been one of those months, where the targets piled up like so much dirty laundry. The boss was on my case. Miserable, balding fart with his mortgage and his European sports car, riding us all for another bullshit project for some client across the country. The days and nights lost their meaning. In at work early to beat the crowd. Heading home without ever seeing the light of the sun. Caffeine was my only friend. The last thing on the agenda for the work day was the mad sprint for the last train home because the miserable bastard wouldn't even sign off on the late night taxi claims. It showed up on the work life balance indicators, he'd said.

It had been another mindless day of numbers, presentation slides and text. To be frank, I didn't even know if the version of the meaningless report I was working on was the fifth or the fiftieth, nor could I have told you the difference between the two. The office had already emptied out an hour before, my last coworkers giving me a commiserating pat on the back as they headed off. I cursed as I stuffed my laptop and swept some papers into my bag. I was going to miss the train. The stale warmth of the building gave way to the bitter cold as I hit the streets running.

The station was deserted. Not unthinkable at this time of the night, but eerie all the same. There's something about a hollow space meant for crowds. I'm not talking about muggers or anything like that. There is an air of the forbidden about these empty spaces. That's how that night started out. Expectant. Waiting for something to happen.

Not that I cared at the time. The escalators were out for the night. I was wheezing hard by the time I got to the bottom, that old college fitness long drowned under an ocean of booze, buried under a mountain of fast food. I thought the last train had already left, resigning myself to a long wait for an expensive taxi ride back. I was about to leave when a train pulled up with the familiar scream of metal on metal. Graffiti adorned the grey skin of the train, tribal tattoos for the modern locomotive. The doors hissed, warm air belched from the cabin. I got in.

The train, strangely, was full. Not packed, but it was crowded. I found myself a seat in between a old man in a large brown overcoat and young lady that wearing a dark formal dress, a large flower pinned to her breast, her face a mask of mascara and eyeshadow, inexpertly applied. Across from me sat a pair of army guys in fatigues, their scalps shining pink under their tight buzz cuts. And many more besides. It was a puzzling thing, to have a cabin so full late at night, and with such a motley crew of inhabitants.

With a shudder, the train pulled out from the station.

I settled back contentedly into my seat. The network connection in the tunnels was never dependable. I had to find another way to entertain myself on the ride home.

The noise from the screech of the rails and the rush of air outside seemed muted. Instead, the cabin was filled with a soft susurrus, the hushed tones of a crowd in a theatre, expectant but subdued. The cabin felt colder than it should have been. Was the heating out again? It couldn't be. I was certain that the cabin was warmer than the platform a second ago, yet now, it felt like I was back outside in the howling cold. I tugged my jacket a little tighter. I looked at the hodge podge of strange individuals in the cabin. Everybody seemed out of place. Why would there be a gaggle of high school kids, obviously inebriated, this late at night? Or the waifish girl that was wearing what seemed to be a school uniform. I shifted uncomfortably on the sculpted plastic seat. Not a single mobile phone or any other electronic device in sight, a strange sight in this day and age. I looked up at the row of LED lights that indicated the train's progress along my route. 4 more stops.