DECEMBER 22, 2010
6:45 PM
My life is a routine. In fact, every day is a routine for me. But I live a very safe life. Nothing strange or questionable ever happens, and when I wake up every morning I know exactly what to expect. I hit the alarm clock twice, and turn in my covers a couple times before I finally step out of bed. Every morning I wake up tired, and it is always dark outside. I can't remember the last time I woke up to the sun resting upon my eyelids, felt the feeling of a new day, or birds singing outside my window.
I am envious of people who get to watch the sun rise, or follow no set routine each day. They live life however they please like they aren't accountable for anything. They live like they are free. No agenda, no responsibilities, no worries.
I secretly wish I could live that way too.
Instead, I wake up each morning knowing exactly what to expect. The same people will talk to me everyday. I leave at a certain time, and I come home at a certain time. I will have my camera with my wherever I go, and the train ride will always be a lonely one. The worst part of my day is the end of the day. I will come home to my empty apartment, set my keys on the coffee table and make myself dinner. I will eat very quickly, take a long shower, take some sleeping pills and than retire to bed. And than finally, I sleep. My life is a routine, and this is my life. It's been that way for the past five years, and I never expect it to ever be any different. But that all changed when I met Ben. A spark lit up inside of my that had lay dormant for so many years. He came from out of nowhere and decided to step into my life. The strangest things is, he changed me in ways I never even expected.
I remember the first time I met Ben, before the accident. It was an unusually quiet morning on the train, even for my early morning ride. It was not yet sunrise and you could still see the stars in the sky. There was only a few people sitting around me, and I was in my typical spot in the corner reading a novel. Anyone could mistake me for a bookworm with those silly glasses I always used to wear. Ben liked them. I did too at the time, until now. I was only supposed to use them for reading of course, but every once in a while I would wear them just for fun. I thought they gave me a chic, yet witty identity, also known as the mystic, ‘librarian look.’ But now I simply use them as a bookmark to mark the pages a read, I can’t stand wearing them anymore unless I am reading.
I have always made an effort to always engage myself in reading some sort of book at least weekly. Especially the classics. It makes my long train ride bearable. But honestly I have always hated reading, but I will be the first to admit that it is a great away to escape for a while. I used to be convinced by those self proclaimed scientists who invented theories that reading makes you smarter. I don’t know whether or not to believe them, so I have been testing this theory out on myself. No improvement thus far.
I would never normally never spend this much time talking about books, but Ben loved them so much. In fact, he was a English major at the nearby University. He was still working on getting his masters in English, mostly emphasizing on editorial and creative writing. He always had a book in one hand, and a pen in the other. Ben always carried around this antique notebook that seemed almost seemed vintage because of the elaborate decorating and the way the paper frayed at the edges. The binding is falling apart, and the antique decorations are fading away. Ben is the only thing keeping it together. It is messy, yet heartfelt. Just like him.
The day I met Ben there were only about four other people in my cart. A well aged man looking out the window at glimmered lights that passed by faster than sound. He looked like a grandpa you’d read about in a heartfelt story. The elderly man clutched onto the edges of his coat with the tips of his fingers. He shook every so often. I don’t know why, it wasn’t cold. But I didn’t want to assume he was shaking just because he was old an frail. I thought that would be rude.
To my left the was a woman staring at the light at the ceiling. The light flicked every so often and gave a creepy aura to the train. I suppose this was the woman’s only amusement in her tired consciousness. It wasn’t soon before I realized how impolite it was to study the strangers with my eyes, so I turned my attention back towards my book.
The train came it’s next stop to pick up the next set of passengers. There normally isn’t too many individuals who will board the train this early in the morning, and they are always the same people. But today, it was different. I saw a face I had never seen before. It was a man, probably in his middle twenties. His refreshed disposition and radiant eyes definitely made him stand out in the crowd of sleepy faces. He didn’t look the one bit tired or exhausted.
In all my of early morning train rides I had never seen an individual who looked so awake. I found this painfully strange, so I couldn’t help but look at him in awe. He just seemed so interesting, and he had a little skip in his step as his he walked. Sadly, he wasn’t very entertaining when compared to the other passengers. I expected him to perform a little dance or a song to his neighboring passengers. But instead he simply took a seat in the empty bench across from me and pulled out a little notebook and pen. It wasn’t long before he began writing in what appeared to be an old, worn journal. A thoughtful expression formed on is face as he wrote. I found this strange, but somewhat alluring. All the other passenger’s simply read, looked out the window, or slept. I found his unconformity interesting, almost mysterious in a way.
He was the kind of man that wasn’t too plain or overly attractive. somewhere right in the middle. I suppose this word that could be used to describe him is handsome. Beautiful men or too overpowering, vain and egocentric, and plain men are too boring, predictable and dull. So this man appeared just right to me, although he seemed a little strange.
My attention turned back towards my book and I pretend to read. Every so often I would peer at him behind the edges of my book but than quickly turn my eyes back to what I was reading. I wasn’t thinking about my story at all, I was thinking about him. I couldn’t take my attention was from his face, especially his pretty eyes. They aren’t blue, grey, or green. They are just brown. I suppose most people would find brown eyes rather ordinary, but I didn’t. His eyes sparkled in a way that the sky never could.
I kept turning my attention back to him, and he kept on writing. I don’t know if he even knew that I was there, but I most certainly noticed that he was there. His thin face is shaped like a heart, especially around his jaw line and chin. He turns it slightly to the side when he when he is writing. His nose isn’t too long, or too short, but well fit for his face. What about his lips? They are skinny and pout a bit. His eyebrows give his face a serious expression, but you can’t take him seriously because of his eyes. His shaggy hair is light brown and a little messy. I assumed that he simply forgot to comb through his hair this morning.
As the minutes passed I fell into the routine of looking at him, and than looking at my book. I wished that he would talk to me or at least say something. I have been riding this train for months, and no one has ever spoken a word to me. Not ever a simple ‘good morning,’ has ever uttered from their lips. This fact should make me feel sad, but I am not one to normally feel that way. I don’t believe in feeling sad, it’s a waste of time and it doesn’t make anything better. Or at least, that’s what I believe.
My motionless hands turned the next page in my book. My eyes looked at the words in front of me, but did not bother to absorb them.
“You’re reading Ayn Rand,” said a voice from the background. I felt puzzled, and put the book down and looked around me. I didn’t know where the voice was coming from, but it was somewhere nearby. My eyes glanced at the woman to my right and than to the man sitting across me. He was already looking at me. He smiled and laughed.
“I am sorry if I startled you,” He said in amusement. I clutched onto my book, and eyed the cover of it. I sat there in silence for a moment and wondered what would be the appropriate thing to say. But before I could say anything the man spoke before I had the chance.
“Um, I just noticed your book, especially the author, Ayn Rand… I, um,“ The man than looked away from me and looked at the floor, and continued to speak, “ I just read a couple of her books in high school, and also… now,”
“Oh, you’re read Ayn Rand?” I questioned, “I like her work,”
“You do? That’s good, I just don’t know a lot of people that just read her work in their free time. It’s nice to meet someone who does,” He said with a smile. His gaze met mine again, but it wasn’t long before he looked at my book.
“Can I see that?” He asked. I was startled at first, but than I calmly looked down at my book.
“Oh sure,” I muttered as I reached it out towards him. He took it from my hands and studied the cover. For a few moments he flipped through the pages, and than he looked up at me.
“Fountainhead is one of my favorites,” He stated, “Is it your first time reading it?”
“Yes,” I answered. He smiled at me, and than handed the book back to me. I took the book from him and sat it on my lap.
“You’ll really enjoy it,” He said. It seemed like the conversation was starting to die, and I was desperately searching for something more to say to fuel the fire.
“So where are you heading?” I ask out of pure curiosity, “I’ve never seen you on this train before. It’s always the same people every day, or at least around this time of day.”
He shifted around in his seat before her start speaking, “I am actually going to my first day of work, so I‘ve never taken this route before.”
“Oh, that’s exciting,” I commented, “I’m going to work too.”
“Well I don’t think work will ever be exciting for me, especially this early in the morning,” He said with a smirk. He tossed his head to the side and gave me a funny look.
“Where do’ya work?” I asked casually trying to hide my embarrassment.
“I intern as an editor, except… I actually get paid. I guess some people would call it just secretary work during this stage of the job training. I actually go to university right now.”
“What I coincidence. I just graduated, what’s you major?”
“English and business. I‘m working on getting my masters.”
“ Well you’re a real trooper.”
“What were your majors?”
“Well I started out in biology, but I switched over to photography.”
“Photography must have been a fun major.”
“It actually was, but hard work. Luckily I found a job soon after.”
“Do you just work at a studio now?”
“Yes, but I also do freelance work on the side.”
“I always liked photography, but I don’t have enough patience to work a camera. What kind of work do you do?”
“Mostly portraits, but I prefer landscapes and nature, especially animals. People are fun, but there is only so much you can do with them.”
“My father is actually a photographer, he prefers animals to people too. I suppose their more exciting in a certain light.
“Yes. But animals take a lot more patience. It’s in my blood to love them though, hence my failed biology major. I wanted to be a vet, but it takes a million years to become one. And than I wanted to be a zoologist. I couldn’t make up my mind, and I loved photography, so I became a photographer.”
“It’s so hard to decide what you want to do in life, especially when it comes to majors. I wanted to just be a writer, but that’s always something I can do in my free time. Plus it’s not very practical I suppose if I actually want to make any money.”
“Smart thinking. How are you liking your editing job so far?”
“It’s not too bad.”
“That’s good, by the way, I didn’t get your name.”
The man shook his head in embarrassment, “Sorry, how impolite of me. My name’s Ben,” He stated as he extended his hand out to mine to shake. I took his hand and shook back gently.
“My name’s Jess,” I said plainly, “Well it’s really Jessica, but just call me Jess for short ‘k?”
“Sure, nice to me you, Jess,” He said with a smile. I felt the train come to it’s first stop, and the destination was stated on the intercom. It wasn’t my stop yet, so I sat quietly in my seat.
“Is the train ride always this long?” Ben asked out of curiosity. His head turned to the said as he looked at the doors of the train, and studied the people leaving. Their shuffled noises were alarmingly loud as they prepared to leave the train.
“Yes, it always is,” I answered, “ That’s why I always bring a book with me.” I patted my book and perched my eyes up at him.
“Maybe I could just do some writing than,” Ben stated casually, almost speaking to himself, “I do a lot of writing,” He mentioned quietly, “gives me something to do I suppose.”
“Well, you are a writer,” I said, almost a little too sarcastically with a laugh. Ben laughed along with me thankfully.
“So do you ride the train every morning Jess?” He asked, trying to change the subject.
“Yes, every single morning,” I said plainly with a sigh.
“Good, now I’ll have a friend,” Ben replied happily, “I’m new in this area, I used to live on the east side. But I moved closer for my job. It’ll be nice to meet new people.”
“Well, welcome to the south side,” I said with a smile. I ached at the fact that my stop was the next one. I didn’t want to leave just yet, I still wanted to spend time with Ben. Or maybe it just felt good having someone actually talk to me during the train ride. It filled the loneliness of the early morning.
The train came to a halt, it was my stop. I gathered up my belongings and stood up. Ben gave me a puzzled look, “This is your stop?” He asked sadly.
“Yes it is,” I answered frankly, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow than?”
“Yea,” Ben said with a nod.
“Well good luck at your first day of work. See you around Ben.” I prepared to leave but Ben’s words stopped me.
“Thanks for talking to me by the way. Nice meeting you,” He stated with a faint smile, “Bye. Have a good day.”
“Goodbye Ben,” I say as I exit the train. The doors shut firmly behind me, and I hear the train cry as it makes its way to the next destination. I stop and look at all the cars rush by me as they race through the reality around me.
That wasn’t the last time I would ever see Ben.