Diana's Writing Blog

When Beth boarded the train that morning, not even she suspected that anything was wrong. She walked on with the morning rush and fought her way to a pole. All of the seats were already taken. The train lurched into motion and she looked at her watch: 8:17. She was three minutes early. It didn’t matter. She would still trudge across the street and into the mall. She’d sign in at the sheet in the back room, then start her day of work at the Boutique. The only difference was that the day would be three minutes longer. She fixed her eyes on a poster above the seats as the train rolled down the tracks. It was an advertisement for a car, with a happy family sailing down a sunny, open road. The gum stuck over the driver’s face gave Beth an inexplicable sense of satisfaction.

She’d been up since six am. Her mother had called, not realizing–or maybe just not caring about–the time difference. Billie was getting married. Again. Beth would have to find a card at lunch and put it in the mailbox near the train platform before she went home.
Beth had already known that her sister was getting re-married. The invitation had come a week before. Its edges and letters had been made of gilded gold. There had been a handwritten note from Billie saying that she hoped Beth could grow up and set aside any hard feelings for one day. Beth had put it through the shredder in the break room when she got to work. The invitation had made shimmering gold confetti.

“Come if you can behave yourself,” her mother had said on the phone that morning. Beth had imagined putting the phone through the shredder and watching it turn her mother’s voice into little blue strips of confetti.

Beth was jarred from her thoughts as the train reached the stop before hers. It felt as if a weight had suddenly settled in her stomach. Beth, staring as the people filed off and on, tried to remember if she’d eaten anything questionable for breakfast. Cereal, toast, juice. Nothing had looked spoiled or poisoned.

The doors to the train slid shut and Beth gripped the pole with both hands as they began to move. Her heart was fluttering like a trapped moth, beating against window glass. Beth fought to keep her breath steady. The pole was slick under her sweating hands, giving off that humid, wet steel smell. She tightened her grip on the pole until her knuckles were white to keep from losing her grip and falling backward into the crowd. Beth suddenly felt like she was eight again. Stuck on the top of the monkey bars, too scared to move, and waiting for her mother to come rescue her.

The train reached her stop. Beth’s heart felt as if a fist had closed around it. She looked around, certain that someone would notice that something was very wrong with her. No one so much as gave her a second look as the crowd flowed around her. I’m supposed to do that too, she realized. This was her stop. Beth forced her hands to release the pole and she tottered toward the open doors. But she couldn’t make it. Her legs felt weak and unsteady, as if the train were still moving beneath her. She couldn’t make them walk the impossible distance to the platform. Instead, Beth collapsed into the nearest empty seat. She sat, gasping, and watched as the doors slid shut and the train began to move again.

She scooted into the window seat and stared back at the platform. Her thoughts raced to match her heart: I missed my stop. What’s wrong with me? I’ll be late to work. Why did I do that? What happened? What was I thinking? I’ll have to listen to another of Jean’s late lectures. What did I eat last night? Am I dying? I’m sick, I must be. Something I’m coming down with. I don’t feel sick. But I am. It’s the only explanation. Am I running a fever? No. It could be a tumor. No, that’s dumb I don’t even have a headache. All right, calm down. If I’m not sick, then what’s wrong?

ENOUGH! Get a hold of yourself! You can still fix this. The next stop is only six blocks from the mall. You’ll get off there and you’ll walk back. You won’t even be late. Everything will be fine as long as you CALM DOWN. The stop is coming up. You’re going to stand up, walk off the train, and go to work. Everything will be fine. You’ll forget this ever happened.
Suddenly, Beth’s hands were gripping the headrest in front of her. Her stomach and back muscles tightened again.

One summer when she was a little girl, Beth ate so much crushed ice that her lips turned blue. A few minutes later her heart was beating out of rhythm, flopping like a fish dragged from the water. When Beth told her mother that she was having a heart attack, her mother had only laughed. It was just heart palpitations from the shock of going from too hot to too cold.
Beth wasn’t having heart palpitations as she stared at the train’s open doors, but it was close. Her heart was beating so fast that she was sure at any moment it would derail like a speeding train and start that horrible, rhythm-less floundering. She ducked her head and stared at the floor until she felt the train begin to move again.

She looked up in time to see the platform disappear around a corner. Beth pried her hands off of the headrest. What is happening to me? She took some deep breaths and looked around. She was surrounded by zombies once more. They sat in the seats or hung from the poles, all with the same vacant stare. No one looked her way. No one noticed that something was wrong with her.
There was a man sitting next to Beth. He was older than her, probably mid-forties, and dressed in a neatly pressed business suit. He was reading the paper. He was not having a sudden case of crazy on The El.

Beth thought about asking him for help. She imagined tugging on the sleeve of his jacket like a lost child. He would look up from the business page. She would explain that she couldn’t seem to get out of the train and could she please use his cell phone to call…who? 911? The police? An ambulance? What would she tell them? She wasn’t hurt. Was there a special emergency number for crazy people? Beth imagined a little white ambulance pulling up to the base of the platform. Doctors would rush out, carrying a straightjacket and bundle her away to a nice padded room.
Beth was so distracted by this line of thought that she didn’t see the man get up and leave. She realized as she looked around that they’d stopped and let people off without so much as a twitch from her. Had she missed the only stop that didn’t scare the daylights out of her? Had whatever it was that had happened finally passed? Beth watched as the train approached another platform. She watched as the doors slid open. She watched the people push their way on and off. There was a slight twinge in her stomach, but she didn’t hyperventilate.

She could look out the window. She could watch people get on and off. As long as Beth herself didn’t have any intention of getting off the train, she was fine. Well, that’s just great, she thought bitterly. It isn’t as if I ever need to get off the train. No, said another part of her, this is good. Now you know what’s causing this. It’ll pass. You’ll wait it out. Until then, you’ll just sit here a while and relax. Somewhere deep down Beth wasn’t quite convinced. Some part of her kept saying, What if you can’t get off? What if you never get off? Beth told herself that that was silly. After all, you can’t live on The El. Sooner or later she’d get hungry or have to pee. Then she’d have to get off.

Beth looked out the window and tried to relax. This, she told herself, is your problem. You just need to relax for a while. Unfortunately, that was the one thing that Beth had never been any good at. There was always something that she was supposed to be doing, some job or obligation that needed to come before relaxing. The train ride was one of the few times that Beth actually felt safe from that pressure. On the train she had no obligations. No one expected her to do anything but sit quietly. She could sit and look out the window as the city went whipping by. It was like being on a safari. She could sit and look at all the wildlife, but it couldn’t get at her. As long as they kept moving, no animals could get at them. But the train did stop and Beth was expected to get off and go out into the jungle alone.

Not today, she thought. Today, I get to stay for a while. Still that string of nagging thoughts kept running through the back of her mind: You’re late to work. They’ll fire you. You’ll lose your apartment. If you could just get up, you could still make it to work. You can still fix this. Beth tried to distract herself. She counted the number of people with cell phones, the number of people with red hair, the number of people with briefcases.

As the morning dragged on, fewer and fewer people got on at the stops. Beth moved from the counting game to making up headlines about herself: “Unidentified Woman Found Asleep on The El.” “Police Question Woman Found Living on The El.” “Unidentified Body Found Stabbed on The El.” “Woman Eaten by Rats on The El.” She gave up after that one.

It was nearly noon by that time. The beginning of the lunchtime rush crowd was just trickling on. Beth’s stomach growled a protest as she watched one woman open her purse and pull out a stick of celery. There was a resounding crunch as the woman bit into it. Beth stared longingly at it. There now, don’t you want some food? All you have to do is get up. You’ll just get up and get off. You’ll get yourself a nice sandwich somewhere. But she couldn’t make herself move. She wanted to get off the train! But every time the doors opened onto another platform, her hands glued themselves to the headrest in front of her and her heart did back flips. Beth started to panic again as it got later and later. People got on, some with food or coffee, and they got back off. But she couldn’t get up, no matter how hard she tried. “Woman Found Eating Rats on The El.”

By late afternoon the rush had died down again. Despite not having eaten, Beth found herself getting drowsy like she always did around three o’clock. Except today, there was no one to hound her. No one forcing her to forever prowl the aisles of the little store, searching for shoppers that lingered at the little islands of clothes. Today, Beth let her head droop down until it bobbed against her chest.

She was still aware of her surroundings: the flicker of late afternoon light as it found gaps in the buildings, the ever present drone of the train as it rushed along the rails, and the sudden jarring stops that broke the otherwise soothing sway of the train. But somehow it all blended together to soothe her into a semi-conscious state. She drifted like that, eyes half open, with memories playing out on the blue canvas of her lap.

Billie’s taunts had finally gotten to her that day. Beth had watched her sister hook her knees over one of the bars and pull herself through the gap. Then she was sitting on top of the monkey bars, bare feet dangling in the air.

“It’s easy,” Billie had called. “I’ll help you.”

And so Beth climbed up and wrapped both hands over the first of the bars. Beth wasn’t brave enough to swing out and hook her legs over the next bar and Billie knew it. Billie fastened a hand around each of Beth’s arms and pulled. Beth helped all that she could, bracing her pink jelly sandals on the metal poles on either side.

Somehow, Beth made it up there. Then she, too, was sitting high in the air. Billie beamed at her. “See? It’s not so scary.”

Beth was shaking, but she nodded agreement and flashed Billie a brave smile.

“Now comes the hard part,” Billie had said. She put both hands on the bar in front of her and let her butt slide off of the bar she was sitting in. Then she swung across to the ladder on the other side. “You can do it.” Billie had urged.

But Beth had frozen. Just like every other time she’d tried to do something important. Faced with the mile long drop to the sand below, Beth had clutched the metal bar in front of her and screamed for Billie to run home and get their mother.

But neither Billie or her mother had come. Beth had waited, sure that her mother would eventually get worried and come for her. Her conviction began to waver as evening set in. Most of the kids had gone home, shooting Beth uneasy glances as they ran off down the streets.
Finally, when only a group of boys was left at the far end of the park, Beth gave in to despair. She closed her eyes and let herself slip from the bar she was sitting on. But she didn’t swing across as Billie had. Instead, her hands lost their grip on the bar. She landed hard on her ankle, then fell back onto her butt. It took a full minute for her mind to register what had happened. Then she burst into tears.

When Beth had finally limped through the front door, her mother had informed her that if her ankle was really broken she wouldn’t be able to walk on it and sent her upstairs to get cleaned up.

“It was to toughen you up,” her mother had told her years later. “You needed to learn to do things for yourself.”

“I was seven.” Beth replied.

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,” her mother said. “It was always something with you. Imagine if I’d come running every time you started crying.”

But you never came, Beth thought.

Beth jumped as someone flopped down beside her.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“Good,” she replied. Then she blinked. Good? No, it was not going “good.” Why did she always say that? Was it ingrained somewhere in her subconscious?

She imagined someday lying on a slab in the morgue. God help anyone who walked in and said, “how’s it going” because her lifeless corpse would probably still mutter “good.”

Beth sighed and looked back out the window. It was getting late, almost five. Soon it would get dark. She’d never ridden The El past the evening rush. She shuddered to think what kind of people got on at midnight. She had to get off before then.

Okay, she told herself, you’ve had all day. You missed work. It’s time to get off now. Beth knew it was true. She took a deep breath and made a solemn vow that she was going to get off at the next stop. She watched as the platform approached and made a conscious effort to keep her hands away from the headrest. Then the doors were open. Okay, we can do this. The man next to her got up and walked off. Follow the nice man now.

Beth’s stomach and back tightened into knots. Her hands had somehow found the headrest anyway. She tried to force her legs to stand. She got halfway up, but her legs were shaking so badly that she knew they’d never hold her. Beth sank back down as train began to move again. What’s wrong with you?! Pull yourself together! screamed a voice in her head. It was a voice that had echoed throughout her whole childhood. Hot tears of frustration were welling up behind Beth’s eyes. She swiped at them. Okay. It’s okay. We’ll get off at the next one.

But the next stop came and Beth still couldn’t make herself get off of the train. You just need a good reason to get off of the train, she told herself. At the next stop, you’ll get off and go to a movie. How’s that sound? It didn’t work. Beth tried every bribe she could think of. At one stop she had herself half convinced that if she got off the train she’d buy a car. But each time the train came to a stop, it was like trying to coax a five-year old into the doctor’s office to get a shot. No matter what she promised, some part of her just would not let go.

It was well past six by that time. The evening rush was dying down. It would keep getting later and later until she found herself alone on the train with some psycho. “Woman Missing! Last Seen Riding The El.” “Mutilated Body Found on the Train Tracks.”

The train stopped again. That’s not going to happen because we’re getting off. Right now! Now, haul your worthless carcass off of the freaking train! Come on! Now! The doors slid shut. Beth was torn between screaming in frustration and breaking down and sobbing right there in public.

“Hey, gimme your purse.”

He said it so casually, as if asking what time it was. Beth looked over at the man sitting next to her.

“Oh, I got a knife,” he said just as casually and patted his pocket.

Beth handed him the purse and watched as he opened it and rifled through. He wore a tattered old jacket that might’ve been brown at one point, but had faded to a dingy tan. A strange choice for late July. His hair was hidden under a baseball cap that said “Happy’s Garage” over a smiling tire.

Well, she’d been mugged. It wasn’t the first time. Usually, it happened at the underground stations downtown. This was the first time the mugger had stuck around. She felt oddly calm about the whole thing. Here was a man, tearing through the contents of her purse. Supposedly he even had a knife.

He could stab me, she realized. No one would stop him. She swept the car with her eyes. Everyone was zombified, eyes fixed blankly on the windows and bodies swaying with the motion of the train. Those nearest her were staring away so pointedly that that Beth knew they must’ve overheard.

“Hey, I know you,” said the man beside her. “You’re that undie girl from the mall.”

She looked at him.

“Yeah,” he continued, “I see you everyday in that girlie wear store next to the food court. They got some pretty panties in there. Lotta pretty women going in and out, too.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Here, you want this back?” He set the purse on Beth’s lap. “I took the cash. Why don’t you got any credit cards or cell phone? You’re almost as bad off as I am.”

She shrugged.

“Hey,” he said. “You weren’t there today. How come?”

Beth shrugged again.

“You sick? You look a little sick.”

“I don’t feel very well,” she admitted. “But that could be from the mugging.”

He scoffed. “Trust me, forty bucks and a–what is this, a card for a free breakfast sandwich?–is nothin’ to get sick about. And I’m not gonna stab you, if that’s what you think. Not me.”

“Okay,” Beth said. She hadn’t really thought he would. Now that she looked at him, she could remember seeing him in the food courts. He’d circle the tables, the way the saleswomen roamed the aisles at the Boutique: hunting for prey. In his case, it was abandoned food or bags. He seemed the lesser of the two evils.

“So, where were you today?”

“Here,” Beth said.

“Which here? In Chicago? On the train? In this seat?”

Beth laughed softly. “All of the above.”

“You just rode the train all day?”

She nodded and looked out the window as they reached a platform. “Since this morning.”

“Why?” he demanded. “This train only goes to the same dozen or so stops. Where the hell you goin’ that you need all day to get there?”

“Nowhere,” Beth replied. She watched most of the people seated around them rise and stride off of the train. She was surprised more didn’t stay to see if she got knifed. “I guess I just didn’t feel like getting off.”

“So, you just sat here? All day?”

“I can’t get off,” Beth said.

“Why? Somebody after you?”

Beth thought for a moment. “Yes,” she said, finally.

“Who?” he demanded. “Angry boyfriend? Cops?”

“Mother, sister, boss–life,” Beth replied. “They can’t get me here.”

He laughed. “You’re a little bit crazy, you know that?”

“It’s come to my attention,” Beth said.

“Why they after you?”

Beth sighed heavily. “I wish I knew.”

“Well, take it from me, Lady. Your life could be worse.”

Beth groaned. She hated it when people said that. “I don’t know. I think maybe human beings are just built to be miserable. No matter how well off we are or how bad off, we’re still the same amount of miserable.”

“That’s messed up, Lady. You’re trying to tell me that you, with your house and family and money, are the same amount of miserable as me?”

“Like I said, none of that stuff really makes any difference. There’s always something to make you miserable.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s there to make you miserable? Cause I gotta tell ya up front, it’s not gonna trump mine, Lady. I got no money. I got no job. I got no safe place to sleep at night.”

“Here,” Beth said. She fished her keys out of her pocket. “You’ve got my money. Take my apartment. It’ll be safe for you. You could have my job, too. I’ll bet you’d be good at it. I have to warn you, though, you’ll still be miserable.”

He looked from her to the keys that dangled gingerly from between his fingers. “Yeah, you’re crazy all right.” He opened her purse and dropped her keys in. “What’s up with you and your mom?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“I told you about me,” he said.

Beth sighed. “Fine? You wanna know about my mother? Everyday, for as long as I can remember, she’s found some way prove to me that I’m not good enough. Not smart enough, no pretty enough, whatever. It’s always something.”

“So? You’re, what, thirty? Leave.”

Beth laughed dryly. “I’m twenty-four, thanks. And I did leave. I moved far away, but she still finds some way to get to me. Like my sister’s wedding. Oh, she loves that. Billie’s just as screwed up as she is, marrying all these guys and then harping on them until they can’t take it anymore. And Mom harps on me because I’m not like Billie. And every time she wants me to come so she can rub my face in how ‘well’ Billie turned out. I hate her for it. And I hate myself because I know I’m going to go. I know somehow she got to me like she got to Billie, and she’s just going to control me until I die. So don’t assume you’ve got the market cornered on misery, because–believe me–there’s plenty to go around.”

He was quiet for a long time. Finally, he said, “Yeah…call it a tie.” He pulled her money out of his pocket. “Here, you want this back?”

Beth shook her head. “Keep it.”

He watched as the train approached a platform. “You really gonna go? To the wedding, I mean.”

Beth shrugged. “Yeah, probably.”

“Why? Why don’t change your phone number or move to Alaska? Something.”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you get a job?”

“Hey!” he exclaimed, startling the people around them. “That’s different. That’s not something I got much control over, is it? But you? You could change things if you really wanted to. You hate your job? Quit. You hate your family? Stop showing up. At least I’m trying to work my way back up! You? You’re just sittin’ here, feeling sorry for yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” Beth said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” They were approaching another platform. She watched the people around her jostle in preparation.

He was right, she realized. The only reason she couldn’t get off the train was because she didn’t want to. Maybe it was time to stop playing the victim, waiting for someone to rescue her, and actually do something to help herself.

“You know what, you’re right,” Beth said. I can do this.

They lurched up to the platform and, with quavering legs, Beth stood. This is it, she thought. She knew if she could just make it out the doors, somehow, it’d be different.

“This your stop?” the mugger asked, letting her scoot by.

“I think so,” Beth replied. “Thanks,” she added.

The man shrugged. “I do what I can.”

End