Subway story

[shadowkat]

I entered the subway after work on Wed. Normal commute home. Little earlier than usual - so caught a train the moment I made my way down the stairs, hopped on one of the last three cars. Usually ride towards the front of the train - since it is closer to the entrance of my stop. The car seemed emptier than usual and it had a faint pungent smell which I could not quite identify.
Sour. Stale. Dirty. I glanced around. The woman sitting across from me, in her neat black coat and boots, wore something between a grimace and grin on her perfectly glossed red lips. Her hair piled behind her in a perfectly coiffed black bun. Two men sat in the neat overcoats nearby. The rest of the passengers stood or crowded the seats towards the front of the car - the back oddly empty, outside of a few discarded paper and plastic bags, no one was in those seats. Not just a few seats either - at least twenty bucket orange and yellow seats sat empty, while people stood crowded together to my left sat pressed in seats just down one from me. There were three empty seats in my section. One woman sitting next to me sat towards the very edge of hers, as if she was debating leaving it. I shook my head, uneasy. The smell which at first had been quite strong, was barely noticeable now, and after a few more stops, I could no longer smell it. What was noticeable was how the people acted when they boarded the train - immediately rushing to the front. Or hopping off, or crowding together in my section. Only one, very thin old man, with balding hair, sticking up on end, and a loose brown overcoat sat in the empty seats.
The others, whispering amongst themselves and casting disapproving looks over their shoulders avoided them.

I lifted my head, glancing past the neatly dressed woman who sat to my right,
her face wearing a plastic smile, her eyes staring straight ahead, blankly.
Past the thin man. To the very back of the car. And for a moment, I smelt it - that faint pungent odor, just long enough to identify the stale smell of dried urine. At the end of the train - are six seats facing each other, usually reserved for handicapped. A small handrail and barrier blocks the back of the seat from view - all one can really see are a person's legs. I saw a walker - the metal brackets tilted to one side. A hand loosely holding it. The curve of a leg, a wisp of hair, and the faded black vinly of a down overcoat. She or he was lying on their side on the seats. Holding on to the walker with one hand.
I stared at her/him for a long moment. And as the train came closer to my stop, it occured to me in the 30 minute train ride she/he had not moved and no one on the train including myself bothered to check to see if they were alive or dead. People came on and off. Most avoided the crumpled mass of human flesh, slightly dirty, smelly. So did I - leaving the train and its inhabitants behind as I reached my station. Wondering who he/she was - was she merely sleeping, in her own urine, thankful for a spot, a warm space out of the wet, out of the cold, out of the muck? Past caring. Just wanting to rest, for a moment? Or was she dead? And if so, how long until a conductor or passenger noticed? Was the walker something she found, a gift, or earned?
She never moved - as far as I could tell but then I was only there for 30 minutes, most of the time reading, my mind in someone elses' thoughts, for that's how I see books - losing oneself in another's thoughts. At any rate, I got off, book tucked in one hand, bag in the other, looking briefly in her direction - she lay undisturbed in the faint barely noticeable now - stench of her own urine, walker slightly off-balance, seemingly at rest. Seemed a shame to disturb her.

Comments

[thepackrat741.livejournal.com]

I always check ... sometimes get cussed out for it ... but my nature demands I see if the person is " alright " .