A short trip home

A short trip home

By Andre Parker

Getting onto the Metra train car at 59^th St. on the Chicago to University Park line was not a daily routine for the gaunt faced man. Taking a seat at the far end of the car, he glanced out of the viewing window and took in the late November skies of Chicago. The gloom of the battle ship gray clouds where a familiar scene to most Chicagoans. The man didn’t like this time of year, the sun escaping to the west before six in the afternoon seamed unnatural and bothered him. Making the most of his surroundings he leaned in as comfortably as one could into the orange molded plastic seats that would be his couch of comfort for the next 45 minutes, which is until the train rolled into the Harvey platform at Park ave. and 154^th.

The train jerked slightly as it began its journey down the segmented tracks. The man was lucky enough to have been held up at his lawyer’s office finishing some paperwork; this kept him just long enough to miss the heavy commuter traffic into the suburbs. The train was roughly half full on this late evening journey. From his viewpoint the man could see most of everyone on the train, an elderly woman with an ornate hat that looked 20 years out of fashion, caught his eye. Her appearance was that of a grandmother. She had a face that made him think of summers at grandma’s, with plenty of milk and cookies and hot chocolate with marshmallows. A slight smile creped onto the man’s face, "where was this lady going?" he asked himself. Maybe she had come from her grandson’s apartment in the city? Yes, maybe she had spent the day and much of the afternoon at her lovely grandsons’ whom she adored and whom equally adored her back. The man’s gaze fell to the purse that she held close to her chest. His smile started to fade; he took in the hands that where oddly squeezed tight around the bamboo handles of the small whicker woven handbag. Her knuckles where white as if she where holding on for dear life. Her eyes where darting quickly from left to right, something was not right. Maybe she was lost, not a happy grandmother on the way back from seeing her adoring grandson but instead a senile old lady that had lost her way. She looked frightened; as the man looked closer at her he realized she was jumpy. He thought he had almost heard a whimper from her when one of the patrons got up as the train was slowing for the Chatham station. The man kept watch to see if she would disembark. But she didn’t. She gave a quick glance at the man, which made him quickly look away. He felt as he had gotten caught looking at something he shouldn’t. He again started to look at her when he noticed the young black fellow standing just behind her; he was leaning against one of the stainless steel steady bars in the middle of the isle. His appearance was typical of one of these modern day thugs. Hat on backward, hip-hop music blearing from his mp3 player, and the glazed over look that was the calling card of this ganja smoking class of people. Was this thug what made the old lady so skittish? The man couldn’t remember how long the thug had been standing there. Maybe she had caught him looking into her purse. Maybe he needed some cash, saw the old lady and followed her onto the train. Waiting for his opportunity to follow her when she got off at her stop, and then snatching it away from her. The man began to feel flushed with anger. “You fucking piece of shit!” he thought to himself. What the hell was wrong with today’s society? An old lady can’t even get on the train without getting robbed. He had heard that muggings where down in the city and that regular folks could go to and fro without feeling like they where going to be victims of something. But the man knew better, people where getting raped, killed and robbed everyday. Some guy coming up to you after you walk down the stairs of the platform of the subway asks if you if you “got a light” and when you say no “Blamo!” he shives you in the neck… or whatever they call it. The man had been staring at the young man for some time when the thug had started to notice and a smirk came across his face. The man began to sweat, he felt uncomfortable in his collar now. The thug leaned back from his pole meanwhile keeping direct eye contact with the man. Had the thug been able to read his mind? “Oh, no.” The man whispered to himself. The young thug must have been able to at least read the man’s current thought of fear. The thug stood erect and gave a big smile revealing two rows of perfectly white teeth. He began to walk toward the man. The man’s pulse quickened and he quickly tried to think of something to say to him, something to diffuse the situation. Maybe he would just tell him he mistook him for someone else, “yes” he would say that. The thug was now maybe a few feet from the man and still holding his gaze. A wave of terror came over the man as the thug pushed into him, which was followed by an equally overwhelming wave of relief as the thug pulled open the partition that joined the cars together. As the other door slammed shut the man wanted to cry out in relief. He noticed his face was covered in a sheen of sweat.

The man looked around to see if there was anyone watching. But there was only a man seated two rows opposite and behind the old lady that was intently reading a newspaper. A businessman perhaps, the man thought to himself. He was reading a foreign newspaper, German, yes, definitely German. He must be one of those professional guys, the ones you hear about that loves their money more than anything else. Yes, one of those slick stockbrokers that would talk up anything if it meant that they would make some money off of you. “What a bunch of bastards” the man thought. The old lady should be more afraid of him than some thug. This guy wouldn’t be getting off at the Harvey station but he was probably as big of a crook as any of those characters. He probably lives in one of those big houses off of Harwood rd., drives a BMW and never notices the simple people like me. The world is his oyster and only he can shuck it. Arrogant bastard.

The train slowed as it neared the 107^th St. and Cottage rd. stop. The old lady shifted in her seat and started to rise slowly. She straightened her clothes and began to walk to the door, arriving just as it opened; she turned toward the man for just a moment and flashed a grin, then descended into the now dark cold evening air. The man watched her for a few moments as she turned and was out of sight from the viewing window. He felt sad for some unexplainable reason. The train closed its doors and continued on its journey.

Within a few minutes the train made another stop, this time at Riverdale where a young woman in her twenties sat down exactly where the old lady had been sitting. She was pretty, but she had been crying, her eyes and nose were red and her face was puffy. She held a handkerchief in her hands and she kept slightly shaking her head as if she were saying no to some unseen person. Had she had a fight with her boyfriend? Had she just received some bad news? Maybe both, just the other day the man had heard that the number of unwed mothers was increasing. She had probably just told her boyfriend that she was pregnant and of course he had probably denied that it was his, calling her a whore and that it could be from any of a long list of men’s child. The man also shook his head slightly.

Just as the doors closed and the train started to move again his eyes locked onto a billboard sign stating what the Lotto jackpot for the week was. He smiled and thought of the ticket in his wallet. The businessman closed and reopened the newspaper in a fashion resembling of a duck shaking the water from its feathers. A slick duck, he thought. His thoughts went back to the lottery. “Might as well be me,” his smile faded “or the asshole in the slick suit.” Just my luck, I make a quarter of the money he does and he wins the lotto. Isn’t that always how it goes? Some guy that already is loaded wins the big one… or, he thought of the old lady, some old bat wins it a week before she dies. But who knows, just my luck ill win and not live long enough to enjoy it. Who knows how long any of us will, or can enjoy it. The man thought of the old lady, then the young girl and finally looking at the businessman. One of them will die before the others. His money was on the old lady of course but, why not the businessman? He could be crossing the road on his way to work and “Boom” an unseen car ends it all. Sadly the man looked at the young woman, what if she decided she didn’t want to keep the baby after all? What then? He decided his money would stay on the old lady, the odds where in her favor.

The train pulled out of the station and continued its journey. The man looked at his watch and took a look at the train map that was painted above the viewing window, a few more minutes and ill be home.

The train slowed as the man stood. He pulled his coat collar up and put his gloves back on. As the doors opened he could feel the cool November air on his face before he even stepped off of the train car. He yawned and gave a stretch just as he heard the doors of the train car close behind him, good buy business man, and young lady, he said to himself, as he started to walk down the dark stairway that lead to the main road from the platform. It was much later that he had expected to be coming home. He was smiling as he was again remembering the lotto ticket in his wallet. He had almost gotten to the bottom of the stairs when he heard a voice from behind him say,

“Excuse me.”

The smile slipped from his face as he turned and found himself face to face with the young black man

“Got a light?”

The End