Train Adventures
It was a rainy day. I had to go to the city on some important business but to get there, I had to take a bus and two trains. Down in the subway lair, it was dark and dirty. Rats were scattering across the tracks, and it was very glum. Some people waiting for the train look like vagabonds, and you get the impression they could be criminals ready to kill you, which makes waiting for the train to arrive agonizing; you’re constantly anticipating the loud pandemonium, signaling the train’s arrival to get away and hide from these people.
Boarding on the train, I sat down on one of the empty seats. People around were reading books, listening to music or sleeping. After about 10 minutes, a shaking was heard, like coins ricocheting against one another. Walking across the floor was a bum, holding a cup that had some loose change in it and was lamenting over his current condition. “Help me, please, and spare some loose change. I’m poor and hungry.” His appearance was suspicious; he was wearing jeans that looked almost new and his jacket was Kenneth Cole. Big black shades covered most of his face, and a fairly new cap on his head wasn’t helping his cause. Perhaps he had stolen them, but I noticed he was walking with a white stick, evidently blind. How can a blind man steal? He kept walking from car to car, begging. Occasionally, there were a few kind people who gave him some money.
One of the people who gave him money was sitting across from me. He was of dark complexion, and wearing a very prim suit, advocating the fact that he probably worked at a very good job as a lawyer or businessman. Next to him was a briefcase, confirming his high job position. He was wearing circular glasses, the kind that was popular back in the day and was reading War and Peace by Tolstoy, suggesting he had a high taste in literature. He had a golden chain around his neck with a picture of a little baby girl on it, possibly his daughter. I was a bit surprised that he didn’t have his phone on him, as most business people do. He frequently kept on looking at the man next to him with detestation and an air of disdain.
The man next to him was old, possibly in his late 60’s. He was a sight to see. He had on white pants that came just a bit below his knees. The quality of the material looked horrible and it looked as if it hadn’t been washed in a long time. His red Converse sneakers were falling apart and needed a face lift. He kept on shaking his leg in front of him like a lunatic. His pants apparently were a couple sizes too big on him; he kept on standing up (while the train was moving) and, looking at his reflection in the window, lifting his pants and running his hand through his sloppy, gray hair. Then he sat down again, took his cheap jacket, folded it and sat down on it. Then he got up and fixed it and sat down on it again, moving it around from place to place. He started to massage his legs and as soon as he was done, started flicking his ears. A loud, flicking noise pervaded across the train car and the few people that were there, 10 or 11, turned to stare at him. The train stopped at Forest Hills, and as the doors opened to allow people in, the man stepped outside, leaving his stuff on the train, looked around and came back in just as the doors closed. Then came the epitome of the act, when he, standing on one leg, was stretching and exercising, hopping on that one foot. As he was stretching, I noticed that his two last fingers on his left hand had been cut off, possibly from an accident when he was a kid and were now wrapped in a white sash. The business man had got up in a huff, looking like he had enough of the insanity of the man and left. As he did, a woman came and sat across from the crazy man.
She was middle aged with short, red hair and had a care worn face that might have been pretty long ago, but life had hardened it. She had bright blue eyes that had a hint of sorrow in them, and had a vague shade of red, possibly from crying. She was wearing a pair of plain jeans, white tennis sneakers and a raincoat. She was a stay at home mom, with many kids, her husband having a good steady job, but rarely at home. The woman looked as if she could use a year off and retreat to some islands and not have to worry about paying the house mortgage, or where her kids will end up in college. She kept on biting her nails, one of her many idiosyncrasies. Just as she was about to fall asleep, the crazy man began talking to himself. He had apparently remembered something funny and was laughing to himself, saying “Oh, and do you remember that time. . .” The woman looked as though she wanted to get up and punch him in the face but she knew that that wouldn’t have helped anything, so she got up and moved to the farthest corner of the train.
The last person who caught my eye as odd was a boy, no more than 17, who was leaning on the train doors. He was wearing tight skinny jeans that were pitch black and had many holes in them. He had a short sleeved Metallica T-shirt on, considering outside it was very cold. His shoes had different colored laces, which weren’t tied, and the flap of the shoe was sticking up. He was wearing black eyeliner, his hair was put in a Mohawk and both his arms were tattooed whole. His ears had big gauges in them and were pierced in many different places. His facial expression portrayed the “I don’t care about anyone, I’m the best and coolest” look. He basically looked like a toned up metal rock star. He got off one stop before mine.
Visiting the train is a great way to check out the great variety of individuals society has to offer. I got off at my stop and proceeded to walk out of the subway, leaving behind many great stories to be discovered under those diverse faces, each portraying a mystery of their own.