Train Ride Thoughts
by Regina Roberts

Regina Roberts, a twenty-year-old Bronx native, is enrolled in her fourth year at Hunter College.
"Train Ride Thoughts" is one of her first works of fiction and she hopes to create many more.

             It was blistering hot outside as I walked down the block.  The heat from the concrete rose up like steam and the beads of sweat from my forehead ran down my face.  I walked slowly up the stairs, slightly handicapped from the heat, to the tokenbooth.  To my luck, there was no line.  “Can I get a 30-day unlimited” I asked while I handed him the money.  He took the money, slipped my metrocard in the slot, and swiftly punched the numbers into the computer.  My card came right back out and he shoved it through the change slot.  “Have a nice day” he said with this weird look on his face, one of those “I know something you don’t know” looks.

            I took my metrocard, swiped it through the turnstile, and waited a split second for the green letters of the word GO to appear on the small screen of the turnstile, then I pushed my way through it.  I was walking up the stairs when I suddenly tripped over a Bible.  It was pretty weird-- the Bible just lying there on the stairs.  When I looked up there was a priest at the top of the stairs.  I figured I’d better give it back to him despite the fact that he probably had tons of them at home.  I heard the train rumbling across the tracks upstairs so I began to run up the stairs--I almost tripped again--but by the time I got to the top of the stairs there was no priest in sight.  I looked up and down the platform while breathing heavily and there was no priest.  The doors of the train car were opening so I decided to get on while I still had a chance.  I figured, “wherever that priest went he didn’t want his Bible back anyhow.”

                        This is the downtown number 4 train.  Stand clear of the closing doors.

             I hopped on the train, looked around for a while, and then I took a seat.  I sat in the middle under the big window.  It’s best to sit somewhere in the middle because if you take one of the seats on the ends then you have people either standing up against the doors leaning all over you or you have people bending over you while trying to see the subway map that is on the wall right behind you.  No matter how many times they say excuse me--If they even say excuse me--it’s still annoying.  I thought, “at least I won’t have to be on the train for too long.”  That’s why I always take the train it’s almost always a short and fast ride.  Short and fast.

            The train was pretty empty at the time but I knew it wouldn’t stay that way.  I wished I had a book or something to occupy my time since I couldn’t break the rule, but oh well!  As I looked to my right, sitting there on the other end of the train car, was a monk.  His head was bald and he wore an orange cloak-type garb that had as many tucks and folds as his face.  His skin was a golden color and he had these plain leather thong flip-flop sandals on his feet.  I didn’t want to stare too long so I looked away.  The whole time I looked at him he never once looked in my direction.  His head stayed in a fixed position and his face remained expressionless as if he was in deep thought.  The train stopped.

                        Please let the passengers off before entering the train.

            Of course, no one listened to the conductor’s message.  Everyone still pushed, shoved, and tried to squeeze themselves into the train while people were trying to get off.  The train was getting crowded.  First a young lady entered the train.  She wore a black pinstripe suit which looked a bit dreary next to her pale skin, low pumps, and some expensive looking jewelry.  Then a Jewish man got on the train.  He had a huge black hat on his head, he had glasses on, his shirt was a spotless white, his pants and shoes were also black, there were also some white strings hanging from both sides of his waist, and he had a long white beard.  The doors were about to close when a pair of dark hands interrupted the closing.  The doors re-opened for just enough time for the owner of the hands to scuttle into the train.  He fell back a little as the train took off.  His black and red Nike sneakers screeched on the train floor, his white T-shirt wrinkled with the puff of air that accompanied his movement, and his dreadlocks graced his back.  Dred sat one seat away from Pinstripe suit who was sitting across from Jewish guy.  I was sitting about four seats down from Jewish guy.  None of them dared break the rule.  I watched them look all over without making eye contact with each other.  It’s a funny thing about the train, everyone’s so close together and far apart while heading to the same and different place at the same time and all the while they never make eye contact.  It’s an unwritten rule I tell you.  Never make eye contact and if you do, look away quickly.

            I saw Pinstripe suit looking at one of those train advertisements.  I had taken a peek at it when I had gotten on the train.  It could’ve been the only thing she was reading because the other advertisements that were directly across and above her seat were ripped and vandalized.  It read:

Subway Tip-Keep your jewelry in a safe place

            Suddenly the sliding train car door opened.  It was a homeless man hopping from car to car asking for help.  His dingy skin once had a pale complexion, his hair was sandy blond his clothes were tattered.  He spoke:

Ladies and gentleman I’m sorry for interrupting you especially those of you who are reading or trying to take a nap, but I am homeless and I need something to eat.  Can you spare any change?

He passed by me and I made no addition to his change cup.  Then he passed Pinstripe suit--nothing, Jewish guy--nothing, and Dred--I heard the clank of coins falling on others.  Just before the homeless guy was about to go to the next car I caught him glance at the subway sign:

Stay on the safe side:  Stand back from the edge of the platform until the train comes to a complete stop and doors open.  We’re serious about safety--your safety.

                 59th St. transfer here for the downtown local number 6 train and the N or R.

            The doors opened and a guy carrying a laptop walked in.  His hair was short and black, his eyes were slanted, and his skin was a creamy beige.  Behind him trailed a very dark complexioned woman wearing a green billowy dress that was wrapped around her body a couple of times.  It had golden trimmings all over it and her head was adorned with a huge headwrap of the same material.  Then through another door entered a short stocky woman wearing jeans,  a T-shirt, and boots.  Her clothes were spotted with different dots of paint color.  None of them broke the rule.  The last four passengers to get on were two ladies and their daughters.  I could tell that they didn’t know each other, but since the empty seats were not so numerous anymore they ended up sitting next to each other.  The mothers were on opposite sides of their daughters who were sitting right next to each other.  I was getting a little bored myself since there really wasn’t anything to do on the train.  I glanced to my left and I began to read one of those advertisements.  It read:

                        Know how many days are left on your unlimited ride metrocard?

            The conductor opened the door of his little booth as they sometimes do and lounged in its doorway for a minute.  No one else saw him but me since no one looks up at other people.  He was strange.  He had a long white beard, a sandy blond mustache, brown dreadlocks, slanted blue-eyes, and a brown-skin complexion like mine.  He looked at me.  We looked at each other.  His eyes were a relief and I saw in them some vague clarification of my complex confusion.  I had a sense that I was trying to do something right but all the answers to my questions wouldn’t be in my grasp for a very long time.  He smirked at me before he went back into his booth.  It wasn’t a bad smirk.  It was one of those smirkish kind of smiles your unemotional father gives you when you bring home a good report card or hit your first homer. 

            I got up since I was getting off at the next stop.  I was holding onto the pole while standing in front of the doors when I heard little hands slapping together then a sing-songy little tune.

                        Down down baby

                        Down down the rollercoaster

                        Sweet sweet baby I’ll never let you go.

It was the two little girls who were with their mothers!  “They broke it,” I thought.  I heard their  little tune keep going and I saw one’s little dark hand outstretched until it met up with the other’s little light hand and made a loud clapping noise that was right on time with the beat.

            The train was pulling into the station.  I only saw a vague image of myself reflected in the glass now.  To my right there was a sign that held my attention just before I got off the train:

                        If you get this turnstile message: swipe card again at this turnstile.    

                        Please do not move to another turnstile!  Keep swiping until you see GO.

This is Union Square ladies and gentleman.  Stand clear of the moving platform as trains enter and leave the station.

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