The Train

Train Ride

It was awful.  He climbed on the train, and by the mere disheveled appearance, we knew at once not to make eye contact.  Later, as he ambled through the car, the smell of him parted the other passengers much as one imagined Moses parting the Red Sea.  Even those who wanted to appear non-judgmental or unafraid were forced to move aside as they imagined the bugs struggling to escape to new victims, and even further away from the stench even the brave couldn’t fathom. 

My eyes started to water as he passed and only later did the smell register as something acrid between bacterial rot and smoldering fungus.  I imagined both, as I caught a glimpse of him removing and then replacing his ragged tennis shoes.  The color of his feet was not expected, nor was the inability to tell the soles from the tops or delineate one toe from another.  They appeared wedded together with the slime of dead flesh and the species of critter that lived off it.  I imagined or maybe I saw my traveling companion stifling an unexpected urge to vomit.  If she had let loose, I’m sure the entire train would have joined in and we’d have become known as the cattle car that drowned in its own puke.  Only the survivors would be left to tell our stories and no one would be left to believe them.

When the train neared the next station, we had long since crowded around the doorway, some of us holding our breaths, others gasping and gagging.  I turned to look over my shoulder and was surprised to find our itinerant stranger had risen to join the masses exiting, as if he too, needed to escape.  His approaching nearness caused an avalanche of pushing and shoving in anticipation of the doors opening. 

It was our luck that the train came to an abrupt halt several hundred feet from our destination.  The announcer came on to tell us, as though anyone could care, that there was a medical emergency ahead of us and we would be forced to wait a few moments until they cleared the station.  Someone uttered beneath their breath that we would soon have a medical emergency ourselves.  Someone else cried out that we’d more likely have mass casualties.

The announcer’s garbled delay did nothing to dispel the gathering masses about the door.  You would have thought they were pumping fresh oxygen to a boatload of beached porpoises with the way our mouths opened and closed in anticipation of fresh air.  It was useless.  Our only respite was that our odorous friend went and sat back down.  I imagined he was tired or saving his energy so he wouldn’t sweat.  God knew his body odors needed no fluids to resuscitate them.  As well, they were probably anaerobic.  We certainly were.

Someone started to scream.  Our train had begun to go backwards, further from our destination.  Some people groaned.  I would have also, except I realized I would have to take in a deep breath if I did.  I preferred to suffer in silence.  My companion grabbed my hand and pulled it up to her face.  I thought she was going to bite me to stifle a scream, but instead she simply sniffed my fingers.  I smiled.  I had washed them with simple hand soap and would have perfumed them also, if only I had known what was coming.  If I’d known what was coming, I would have walked or stayed home.  She seemed relieved for the slightest scent my fingers provided.

Usually, even a horrible stench will lessen over time as one gets used to it, or better yet, as one’s nose hairs get singed or the olfactory nerves become edematous.  But, it wasn’t happening today.  This smell seemed to be creeping up the walls and seeping into the fabric of our clothes.  I kept visualizing burning these clothes and mentioned it to my friend.  She laughed.  Unfortunately, her laughing caused her to have to breathe.  Then she looked at me through reddened tearful eyes with all the resentment I deserved.  This caused me to laugh.  Turnabout is fair play.  I almost gagged.  I could see the smile on her face and realized she would have laughed, but thought better of it, as she glanced over my shoulder.  Even in our state of duress, we didn’t want to appear rude.

I looked over to this mother and child sitting next to the door.  The mother had to keep reminding the child not to stare at the homeless guy.  Her child was at the age of “why” and she was amazingly not running out of answers.  The kid didn’t seem to be fazed by the smell.  He didn’t grab his nose or emulate any of the other less seemly gestures of the other inhabitants of our car.  He almost made me feel guilty, but not quite.  That was when I noticed his mom kept washing his face with one of those disposable wipes.  Evidently it was enough to keep both of them from passing out.  I was jealous.  She saw me staring at her disposable wipe and offered it to my friend and me.  Not wanting to waste it, we just dabbed the tip of our noses with it and handed it back.  It’s amazing how far a simple kind gesture can go.  The towel began to make the rounds.  When it finally reached the poor woman sitting next to the homeless guy, she, of course, handed it to him.  He smiled at her, deferred, and asked her to pass it to the needier inhabitants onboard.  Now we were humbled.  I assumed that was the lesson as now the train began to move forward.