The Commute
Alone on a crowded train
You are alone when you board the train, alone as you walk down the aisle searching for a seat, alone as you tip slightly when the crowded train car sways, alone when you jerk open the heavy door to the next car, alone despite the line of impatient people waiting behind you.
Here is a seat at last next to a young woman, perhaps in her thirties, whose eyes you will never know the color of because she stares out the window and never turns towards you.
You will sit beside her for a handful of minutes of your life, but you will never know what her voice sounds like — whether it is deep and rich or soft and gentle — although in that moment you want to speak to her, to anyone. But the words are heavy in your mouth and slip back down your throat.
You wish someone were waiting for you at the apartment, someone into whose face you could smile and tell about your day. But there will only be the mute shadows that dissolve away into the corners of the room when you switch the lights on, and the mewing of the gray cat anxious for his dinner.
It will be good to call a friend after you’ve reached the apartment and taken off your shoes and fed the cat and warmed up leftovers for yourself in the microwave.
