Step back, I tell myself.
Step back. At this moment, survival requires me to flatten myself completely against the bare brick wall behind me. Anything sticking out just a centimeter too far will be amputated cleanly and swiftly by the approaching train.
Step back.
Some moments require lightning-fast decision making, and unfortunately those quick decisions are often poorly thought out. For instance, about three minutes ago, when I ran down the stairs into the subway, jumped the gates, dove down onto the tracks, and sprinted down the tunnel, that was not my brightest moment. The possible consequences of my choice really didn’t occur to my adrenalized mind until just now, when I heard the faint, rhythmic chugging sound from behind me.
Now, here I am, pressed up against a rough wall, with steel and windows, inches from my face, flying by at frightening speeds. It’s kind of funny to think that just a few feet in front of me, there are people sitting and twiddling their thumbs, waiting impatiently for the train to arrive at wherever they’re headed, and here I am experiencing sheer terror as their preferred method of transportation very nearly removes my nose.
Each window that shoots past my face only registers in my eyes for an instant, enough to get a blurred picture of the person on the other side of it, frozen in place, but no more. It’s like very quickly flipping through a photo album, only instead of people with their arms around each other, smiling, trying to pretend this is how they looked before anybody took out a camera, you get people as they really are, sitting and thinking, completely oblivious to your observance. This is one of the only times that they will let their guard down. For the few minutes they spend sitting on this train, these people are not putting on a show for anyone.
Each face tells a story. There’s the plain-looking blonde girl who was just kicked out of her apartment and now has to move back in with her parents, the man in the suit whose golden watch tells him exactly how far he is from his next deadline at the office and tells everyone else exactly how inferior they are to him, the middle-aged woman in the Juicy sweatshirt who just wants to regain her youth, the old man with the headband and the glazed-over eyes who clearly experimented with some illicit substances in his youth, the guy with the greasy hair and the closed eyes, an empty glass bottle dangling from his limp fingers, whose wife kicked him out last Friday, the ruthless businesswoman whose eyes burn with the desire to succeed in a male-dominated field.
They all know exactly where they are going. I, on the other hand, have no idea. As the last car passes by, I let out a big breath and step away from the wall. The paper bag in my left hand is starting to get slippery with the sweat from my palm, but that isn’t important right now. I have to keep going. It’s only a matter of time before they figure out where I went and follow. For all I know, they could be sitting at the next stop down the line, waiting patiently for my arrival
