Sitting, waiting for the commuter train, crossing legs and uncrossing them, a loud tick from the station clock every 60 seconds when the minute hand advanced, trash on the floor, smoke in the air. The train into town was late; the C&NW cares little for off-hour schedules.
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It was raining, and there were puddles of water near the door and below a broken window; dribbles seeped down the discolored wall. I sat on an ancient wooden bench whose built-in armrests meant you couldn’t lie down. My rucksack was on the seat segment next to me; beyond it, a pimply youth with greasy, badly cut hair gnawed on a franchise hamburger. Behind us, two middle-aged women discussed their husbands’ jobs and their children’s schooling; a half-dozen other people, working-class people, were scattered around the ugly little room. I was trying to read my book but was anxious about the train; I hate to be late. I kept pulling out of my printed alternate world to see whether anybody else knew anything about where the train could be.
“No, hey, really! What is this? A funeral? C’mon, let’s talk! Hey you, where you goin?” to an older man with thinning white hair who sat, unsure where to look, patently embarrassed. “You going to work? Whaddya work, the night shift? Hey, tell me about yourself. I want to know, I really do!” His quarry mumbled a few monosyllables, then held the Sun-Times up to cover his face.
“No, no, really. I just thought we should all talk, not pretend we don’t exist.” His eyes swept the room, searching for support. I held my book in front of my face. Don’t let him single me out, don’t let him talk to me. Just leave me alone. He seized on an old woman in a polyester pantsuit and a blued hairdo in tight, shiny bubbles who sat taking in the scene open-mouthed. “Hi, what’s your name? Where you heading tonight?” She shrank back in dismay.
Outside, the rumble of the overdue train shook the building as its headlight cut through the rain. “It’s here,” said a young guy in a cheap business suit. He said it more loudly than he needed to, clearing his throat. “It’s here.”
