The Man On The Train

Tap, tap, tap...

The tapping was constant and annoying. Somehow it rose above all the chatter and clanking and rustling of the usual noise of the morning commuter train. She sat a bit straighter in her usual seat. A window seat with her briefcase placed on the empty seat next to her, looking at no one, speaking to no one. She always sat at the same seat on the same train 5 days a week to work and back,

She purposely avoided eye contact and left her purse and briefcase on the seat next to her. This discouraged anyone from sitting there as their first choice.

She just wanted to be left alone.

The tapping was getting closer and therefore more annoying but she did not look up in case that would engage someone in a conversation.

She was pretty by some standards and not so much by others. It was her hair that always drew people's attention to her. It was so blonde that it was yellow. An intense yellow immediately caught the eye and held it. She hated it but no amount of hair dye kept the color at bay. Within two weeks of coloring it the original color would begin to return. After a year of coloring it and frying her hair, she gave up. She kept it shoulder-length and parted in the middle. Simple. Plus it took attention away from her larger and prominent nose that she refused to correct. One of her front teeth overlapped the tooth next to it which she also refused to correct.

She liked the gap in her smile. No matter how many times her mother told her to fix it, the more she decided that she liked it. She considered her stubbornness to be her best quality.

Tap, tap, tap...

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize this seat was taken..." she heard someone say. Most of the time, the train was partially full, so she rarely had anyone sit right next to her, unless they were some pervert who wanted to chat or another woman who didn't.

She glanced over and saw a tall man with brown hair, slightly overweight, and wearing sunglasses, bent over the seat and touching her briefcase. Who wears sunglasses at 7:00 in the morning?

Then she saw his white can and the source of the annoying tapping.

As he stood there, someone bumped him and kept walking by without saying a word. It didn't seem to bother him. He took it in stride. As he began to turn around and walk away, she spoke up.

"No, it's OK. It's just my stuff. Sorry..." she said as she grabbed her purse and briefcase and put them on the floor in front of her. She felt like such an asshole but wasn't sure why.

"Oh, thanks so much!" he said and navigated his way and sat down. "I was afraid there weren't any seats available or that I wouldn't be able to find one if there was," he said. He turned towards her and stuck his hand out in her direction.

She took it and shook it. He gave her a firm handshake. His hand was soft.

"My name is Mike. It's nice to meet you.....?"

"Fiona," she said. "My name is Fiona."

He smiled. "Fiona? A beautiful name. It means "white" or "fair." So tell me, are you blonde?"

His question caught her off-guard. She reminded herself that he was blind and couldn't see her.

"Why, yes I am," she said.

"I don't think I am," he said and chuckled. "At least the last time I saw myself, my hair was brown? Is it still?"

She felt herself warming up to him. "Yes, it's still brown," she said.

She heard the whistle as the train got ready to depart the station. She turned around and sat back in her seat. She fired up her Kindle and prepared for her 30 minutes of reading. This was the only time she could sit quietly and read and on the ride back. Once she stepped off the train and walked the 3 blocks to the office, the day of constant meetings, phone calls, emails, and dealing with her employees would start. If she left by 6:30, she could catch the second to the last train home. That one was crowded but not as crowded as the 7:00 one. That was everyone's last-ditch effort to get home at a decent hour. She found that people were much quieter on the ride home. The morning train had people that had some degree of hope for a good day. The evening train was filled with people who were tired and had probably had their hopes and dreams crushed for at least the day, if not the week or month.

She felt awkward after a few minutes of reading as he just sat there and stared straight ahead. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to not be able to see. She wondered if he used braille to read or not. She wanted to ask him but thought it would be rude.

Instead, she cleared her throat and asked him where he was going for the day.

He smiled and turned towards her. “Oh, I’m just going to visit my mother. I go see her every week. She’s in assisted living but gets so lonely, but aren’t we all?” he said and chuckled.

She thought about what he said for a moment. It was probably true. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt truly connected to someone.

“Do you like John Grisham, the writer? Have you ever read anything by him?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes, I love his books!”

“Because I’m reading one of his books right now. Would you like me to read it to you out loud?”

He said that he would. For the next half hour, she read to him as they sat on the train and ignored the rest of the world.