Train 2 [Part 2]

Suddenly, a rush forward

onto the train, both frantic

and calculated, a simple

routine for veterans such

as these straphangers.

Once through the door,

the rush declines, as we

slowly head for our seats.

Those already seated clear

space for us, shifting bags

and jackets and cups of

steamy hot coffee from

a trendy, expensive chain.

We all settle in with a sigh

of relief, as the lights above

us flicker and cut for a brief

moment. They come back on

revealing a complete lack

of surprise, on our part.

It’s an older train, made

of metal and fake wood panels

and genuine imitation  leather

colored maroon and navy blue.

The older wheel assemblies below

us rock and creak and jar us with

every irregularity on the track,

but we do not squirm or flinch

or give it a second thought.

Wordlessly the conductor

passes through, punching the

tickets of the single ride crowd

and simply waving to me and

my travel pack of friends.

She doesn’t bother to check

our tickets anymore. We’re the

monthly pass crowd, carrying

tickets that say “We’ll be there”.

Day after day, we line up, same

time and place, to get on the same

train and car making the same

journey to the same stops. We

know it by heart, by mind, by

soul. It’s become a part of us.

Forest Hills to Hicksville.

Kew Gardens to Westbury.

Jamaica to anywhere at all.

No matter your stop, you were

one of us. There’s a silent, shared

understanding, an unspoken

sense of honor or respect. We

come from different social circles

and different times, but this is our

binding ritual. The ride feels longer

than it really is, but before you know

it, your stop arrives, and you’re forced

to head out into the big world,out of

that sheltered little train car where

you feel safe and happy and warm.

~ by Just Another Writer on Thursday, March 26, 2009.