Renaissance Man Rides Daily

Sunlight sprung across the window where my head had been leaning which burned my eyelids before I could open them. The hum of the engine had forced me to waken. My hair was matted and sweat poured down the side of my face as I moved my head from the pane that held it. I looked around at the seats which were a print pattern of black and green. The material was worn and ripped. The floor was dark and as I moved my feet, I could tell it was sticky in places. I looked again at the window which also needed a cleaning. I used to ride a train like this every day. I traced my figure in the caked-on dirt and drew the outline of a peace dove. When finished a smile crossed my face as I remembered how I was called somewhat of an artist by friends and coworkers in my younger years. I used to work a 9-5 job and rush home so I could paint or draw. I shook my head as I thought of the dream that I was going to be somebody.

“Where is this train going anyways?” I thought to myself. I looked at the other passengers. There was a man in the seat directly across from me reading the The Boston Globe, he didn’t move as I peered in closer to catch the date of the paper, October 1, 1979. There was a woman next to him holding rosary beads. She turned to him, and her gaze then went directly at me but did not seem to see me.

“You know Pope John Paul is coming to Boston today!” she blurted out. As though I was supposed to be excited that the Pope was in town.

“What the hell do I care about the Pope?” I snarled back.

She made no acknowledgement, just went back to counting her beads.

I tried to ask the man with the paper, “Hey where is this train going?”

He looked up but not at me. He then put his glasses on and returned to his paper and continued reading.

“Hey man I asked you a question?” I started to get up. Just then the conductor came through the aisle.

“Tickets Please!” He held his hand out to the rosary bead woman and the newspaper man as they obliged. I checked my coat pockets and my pants nothing, not a piece of paper. It didn’t matter as he moved beyond me. He walked onto the other passengers which consisted of two young teenage girls who were looking at a magazine and older teenage boy who had one of those new Walkman radios over his ears. My son had one, I know I bought it for him.

I yelled out again, “Hey where the hell is this train going? Can anyone tell me?”

Nothing not even a look. Am I invisible? Am I dreaming? I sat back down. I thought of my son, my wife, the way my life used to be. Used to be before my love for drinking became more important than all of it. More important than the job, the art, the wife, the kid. I hit my head back on the window.

“Now I am on this damn train, and no one is listening to me!”

I turned and looked back outside to the world beyond. I could see rows of houses and back yards. Pumpkins and Halloween decorations covered front lawns. We rode over crossings where cars waited for us to pass. I just watched as parts of life I could not reach or be part of went by.

I started to close my eyes again when I saw a crowd start to gather further down the track. There were people waving their hands. They were yelling, screaming actually for the train to stop. I slid open the window and looked forward. There was a man on the tracks. Oh God there was a man on the tracks! I scrambled to shut the window and started screaming.

“Listen stop this train, Stop it! Listen for Christ sakes! Can you hear me?”

No one looked up. Newspaper man kept reading. Rosary bead lady kept praying. Teenage girls were giggling. The boy was zoned out and singing.

I ran up to the front of the train and my foot got stuck on the floor causing me to fall. I grabbed the seat in front of me to pull myself up and continued moving towards the front of the car. When I reached the door, I banged on the window for the conductor who was still collecting tickets. I slammed my fists as hard as I could on the glass.

“Hey stop this train! There is a man on the tracks!”

The conductor moved in the opposite direction just to take more tickets. The streaks on the glass from my hands just squeaked as I pulled them away.

I ran back to my seat and slid open the window. There were more people waving screaming to stop. I could see the man on the tracks more clearly. He had an overcoat similar to mine. His back was to the train he seemed to be yelling. I tried to scream, “Get him off the tracks! They won’t stop the train!”

I watched as the crowd did not move towards him. Instead, they kept yelling.

My eyes closed. I let the tears flow. I cannot even save this man! I held my face in my hands as I wept for the life I had. The life where I was heard and seen. Just then there was a collision and I fell backwards. Everything went dark.

I heard people around me. I felt the ground underneath me. I opened my eyes and my vision started to clear. My hair was matted and stuck to the dirt. I saw the faces, the newspaper man, the rosary bead woman, the teenagers, and the conductor all looking down at me as I was facing up. The conductor spoke, “Are you alright man? Why were you standing on those tracks? Thank God this kid over here grabbed you and pulled you off as he pointed to boy with Walkman. We have an ambulance coming. You can get some help.”

I glanced over these people and realized they were not on train as I watched it roll on by. The whistle blew as I looked up at the windows and there was a peace dove carefully sketched in one of the panes.

This is a fictional story based on real event. When I was 13 years old, I took the train with my best friend and her mother to see the Pope who was coming to Boston that day. We waited at a train stop where a homeless man started yelling at the crowd. Everyone ignored him until he stepped onto the tracks and continued to yell as the train started to roll in. At the very last moment a man jumped on the tracks and pulled him to safety. The incident resonated with me as a lesson to acknowledge those who feel unseen.

Thank you for reading.