“On the Train”
Aug 14, 2019I’m sitting on the train. My seat is facing backward. The seat is made of blue cloth. It matches the blue carpet. My shoes sit empty. I took them off to dry my wet socks. London was grey and raining. I was prepared for all of my body but my feet. It feels nice to rest my tired feet on the blue carpet.
I don’t see where we’re going. I see where we’re coming from. People emerge from my blindspot and zoom past, headed into a future that is my past. They stand on platforms drinking their coffees and reading the daily paper. They look at the sky and wonder if they will beat the rain. They look at their phones and watches and wonder if they will be late.
A family sits a few rows in front of me. They speak a mixture of English and a European language I don’t understand. A toddler stands on the blue cloth seat and rolls his lips while pressing his hands on the window. Mom and dad ignore his squeaking and squawking. This is cute to them. They are on holiday and can relax for a few moments while the toddler and his older brother and older sister all speak gibberish at each other. The toddler shakes his head and yells at the trees passing by. It hurts my ears. No one cares. They all think his blonde curls are cute enough to get away with murder.
I don’t see my future. But I see the toddler’s future. I see him growing up and getting lost in the rain. He has lost his curls and gained his dad’s balding head. He has no shoes. His socks are wet from the rain. He shakes his head and squeaks and squawks at people walking past him on the street. His family stopped thinking he was cute years ago. Strangers on the street don’t think he’s very cute. Too much standing on seats and slamming his head into glass windows. Too much blood smeared on his face. He was staring right at his future but he couldn’t see it. All I could see was my past. If only we swapped seats it all would have turned out okay.