And the air rushes out and the people rush in.
The insecure girl took up two seats on the train. She was not asleep, nor was she by any means awake. Every now and then, almost like clockwork, her eyes would dart around trying to find where she was, what stop she was nearing, who was looking at her. But then they would invariably close; the world had become too hard for her, for them. And she clutched the stuffed Bugs Bunny doll closer to her chest. With her every breath the doll rose forward, and then back, forward, and then back. Its gray fur turning a dingy black; most likely it hadn’t been washed in years. And there she sat and drifted off into the land of the unconscious, the woman and her stuffed animal.
The yuppies did not notice the animal. They did not look outside. They only looked at each other. Why had she gotten the café latte with skim milk? She always preferred whole. Was she trying to lose some of that weight that had accumulated in college? Oh no. Was she trying to look more attractive to him? That would explain the skim milk, the girlish giggles over every little thing he had said recently and now…oh lord…she tossed her hair back showing off her shoulders. She was coming onto him. Damn. How could he have gotten that drunk at that party and slept with her? How could she have let him? Damn. This was going way too fast.
And the air rushes out and the people rush in.
In a corner sat the arty students. Her with her platform boots, burgundy skirt and paint spattered workshirt; he with his too tight jeans, shirt with some random indie rock band, and badly dyed red hair badly in need of combing. They scoffed at the investment secretary; more people content to work for the system rather than create objects of art and beauty. They rolled their eyes at the yuppies; he with his “Property of Abercrombie and Fitch” t-shirt and her with her designer framed glasses. Who would ever wear a shirt that said “Property of” anything? What did that say about their own self-image they asked themselves? They laughed at the student reading and furtively glancing up every now and then. They did not laugh at the insecure girl. To laugh at her would have been to laugh at themselves and they would not ever look at themselves critically. They couldn’t.
A boy in blue jeans sat nearest the door. His eyes made contact with no one. He fiddled with the backpack at his feet. Strap under, strap over. And again. He overheard the yuppies talking about a dog. He chuckled. The investment secretary swore loudly in her harsh voice. He chuckled. These things made him laugh. He was so tired. He wished he had slept at some point in the last couple days. He was getting so tired. His eyes began to grow heavy; his mother never would have allowed him to become this.
Near the insecure girl sat a man with a large afro. He was steadily combing it. Every stroke lasted approximately three seconds and was straight up without a care to the hair that was being ripped out and gathered in the tines of the brush. He was steady and methodical. The fact that nearly everyone was glancing at him out of the corner of their eyes did not affect him. Long ago, he had decided that what people thought was meaningless. He would do things that pleased him and to hell with everyone else.
The train lurched to a stop throwing the yuppie woman into the arms of the yuppie man. His eyes rolled; she batted her eyelashes. The arty students laughed at them. Afro man combed his hair. The investment secretary let out a short, stifled scream as she momentarily lost her balance.
And the air rushes out and the people rush in.
In one of the few one-seats on the train, a quiet student sits reading “After the Black Death.” He does not understand what, if anything, it has to do with his western civilization class that covers the time period after the book. But he does not worry; he is apathetic to all things educational. He’s been that way for a long time. He now just wants to get out of college as soon as possible and get into the real world, whatever it is. Of course, he really has no idea what he wants. His opinion on that field seems to change with the direction of the wind.
An elderly couple sits directly in the middle of the train. He is almost completely bald except for the few strands of white hair that cascade down the back of his head almost reaching the nape of his neck. He is dressed well, as so many of the elderly seem to be. Perhaps this makes him a younger and more vital member of the community. Maybe it’s way of defying age, putting off a time when he will be forced to wear sweatpants and a cup around his neck to collect the drool. Where’s the dignity in that, he thinks. His wife sits close to his side. Her liver spotted hand clasped to his elbow as if it hasn’t left that position for their 48 years of marriage. She wishes she knew where they were; she finds herself wishing she could remember many things these days. But never fear; Edgar will take care of her. He always has and always will.
Directly across from the aged couple is a mother and her young daughter. The daughter’s head darts wildly around not wanting to miss a moment of what’s going on. She looks to her left. There are two people that remind her of her grandparents. Except hers are darker skinned, she notices. And hers talk more often. Gasp! The old woman looked at her. She smiles quickly and cranes her neck around to her back. She sees the yuppies. They are smiling and laughing. They are happy, she thinks. I am happy. I have a mommy who loves me.
And the air rushes out and the people rush in.
Two college professors talk about everything imaginable. They compare Kant to Nietzsche; Buddhism to Daoism; Democrats to Republicans. They talk about the state of the world in regards to economics, politics, social problems, and leaders. The latest Broadway show to arrive downtown is discussed in great detail. A new office building that is marring the landscape is verbally beaten down. They talk and talk and talk. The world rushes past them.
The world rushes past pre-teen boy, too, but he notices it. This is his first ride on the el train alone. His mother gave him explicit instructions about everything and he won’t make a mistake. But he also won’t miss anything. His eyes are trained on everything that he can see outside the window. Jake’s Pizza. The approaching skyline. The traffic jam below him with the red car that crashed into the green car. All the windows of the apartments going by. He sees beds, bookcases, televisions (some on, some off), plants, curtains, dressers, closets, clothes, and even people! Building by building rolls past him and even with his small eyes, he sees every single detail. It runs in the family. His little head coiffed in a baseball cap darts left to right constantly as if watching a cosmic tennis game.
In another one-seat a bookish mildly overweight woman sits reading the latest Harlequin novel. Her left hand keeps the bent, cracked paperback spine open so her eyes can glance over every word of every sentence. Her right hand is stuffed in her purse silently looking for the candy bar she knows she took with her. The college student wonders if she knows that she’s a stereotype; if she has ever made a dent in society. But has he? Fear and sadness wash over the student as the romance lady finds her candy bar, unwraps it, and takes the first squishy, ultimately unfulfilling bite. The college professors eye her and assess their superiority over her with one glance. She wonders if anyone will ever love her like this. She corrects herself; will anyone ever love me like this again?
And the air rushes out and the people rush in.
And the cab rushes by carrying its lot and as it heads to the setting sun, you see a glimmer of roof reflected. Then, with the precision of a candle snuffer, the refraction is gone and there is nothing. The sun has set.
