A Train Station

I waited seventy minutes in the cruel winter for a bus I was sure would never come. The bus had no doubt decided it important to insult me personally, and was either going to take as long as possible to arrive at my stop or it would neglect me entirely. I had finished work at five and quickly escaped out into the cold of another long and pointless Canadian winter. I knew that my commute in the morning took me over an hour and I was eager to get home as soon as possible. There was nothing waiting for me at home, but it wasn’t work. It was home. It’s strange, the allure one’s home has. No matter where I am or what I’m doing I almost always long to be at home. Yet, when I’m there, the oppressive boredom of familiarity and comfort sometimes violently pushes me out. Maybe I can never be happy. But, as I sauntered out into the frozen parking lot of the suburban mall, I was sure I would be happier at home. It had to be better than this blowing snow and frozen misery.

‘Why,’ I wondered, ‘do I still live here? Why does anyone live here? We don’t have to. I’m sure the majority of the world could populate the more temperate areas of the world. It may take some organization, and there would no doubt be dissent, but these difficulties are entirely surmountable. If we can project ourselves into space we can easily organize a massive repopulation of the Earth. Let the dissenters live where they will. If they feel they need the extreme climate to feel alive, then let them. I don’t care.’

I had finally crossed the parking lot and I shuffled into the small bus shelter to wait for the impending arrival of the bus. I hadn’t bothered to inquire when it would arrive, but I was sure it would eventually. The bus ran on a somewhat reliable circuit, and at worst the wait shouldn’t have been more than twenty minutes. On the street in front of me two cars had collided into one another and the men responsible were attempting to discern exactly who was to blame. It didn’t seem like either were willing to admit their fault, or to even concede that it was just an accident that should be attributed to the malicious weather and the resultant road conditions. I watched on with mild interest as I distributed my weight to one foot and then to another in an attempt to keep the blood flowing through my body evenly.

The time passed agonizingly slowly. I became aware that I had been waiting well over a half hour and that the bus was yet unseen. Some foolish young girls beside me got up to walk back to the mall. I glanced over as they passed and saw that they were wearing the most inappropriate of shoes for the conditions and the top of one of the girl’s barefoot was a bright red colour. The cold pain in my feet didn’t seem so bad anymore.

Eventually the bus climbed the hill and came into sight. I felt a strange mix of relief and anger. I wanted to scream and yell at the driver for having made me wait so long, but I knew it was not entirely his fault, nor was it of any real purpose to do so. I got on the bus without incident and hobbled back to an empty seat. I had finally begun to travel towards my destination, but there still remained a seemingly unconquerable distance ahead.

The city where I lived had one of the worst transit systems conceivable. The spine of the structure was a train system that travelled on set tracks above ground. They occasionally dipped underground to avoid a major intersection, but for the most part they travelled on roads of their own. These trains were the most reliable part of the transit system, but they didn’t provide nearly enough coverage over the urban sprawl of the city I reluctantly call home. Stretching out from the back bone like weak ribs were the countless bus routes that attempted to provide access to and from all of the communities of the city. The busses were almost universally loathed by all transit users in the city.

On this particular day, which was hardly different in this respect to nearly every day, I got off my late bus at the suburban train station. I walked towards the giant building which housed the train platform and began to climb the stairs. I ascended the stairs and walked on the pedestrian bridge that ran over the high speed road below. I had just about reached the doors to the station when I saw man slip. He was dressed in a large jacket, a toque, a scarf, and all the other necessary outer wear for a Canadian winter, but these would not help on the slippery surface. He opened the door with one hand, and in the other he carried a tray with two coffees lodged in the cardboard slots. He stepped through the doorway and must have placed his foot down on some hidden ice, because he slid forward and in an instant the coffees he carried flew forward out of his grip. They careened into the wall and crashed down on the ground. The coffee steamed up and quickly began to freeze. The man swore loudly and looked forlornly at his ruined drinks. I wondered who the second drink was for, and who would be more disappointed that the second drink was lost.

I provided proof of my previous transit payment and I entered the restricted fare zone. The actual train platform was outdoors with an ineffectual roof. As such, there was a large crowd gathered just inside the building attached to the platform. The crowd was able to see any oncoming trains, and when one arrived they would all push themselves out the doors onto the platform and then force themselves into the train. I joined the crowd, but I attempted to position myself in a corner. I had a habit of protecting myself with walls as best as possible. I really enjoyed being in a corner because I could only be approached from the front, not from the flanks or back. I didn’t have a fear of violent confrontation or anything, I just felt safer when isolated.

I was leaned against the wall gazing out towards the direction the train may come from without any real interest. The crowd was loud, but their voices were mostly unintelligible. I couldn’t hear anything in particular except for a strange sound I didn’t expect. It started relatively softly and grew until I could hear nothing else. I searched the crowd for the source of the sound initially without success. I remained vigilant in my search until my eyes finally fell upon a young girl sitting across the chamber from me. She was perched atop the heating vent and was obviously crying fiercely. Her coat was unzipped and half removed and her cell phone was in pieces on the wet floor in front of her. She sobbed loudly and constantly rubbed tears off her face only for fresh ones to appear. The crowd pretended not to notice, but would consistently steal a glance in her direction. The crowd was not worried. They were only sadistically interested. I stared across the room at her ands searched her face for a clue that would reveal the cause of her pain. I couldn’t find a single hint in her melancholy.

The crowd suddenly began to surge towards the doors. I glanced to my left and saw that my train had started to pull up to the platform. I looked back to the girl. She hadn’t moved, nor did she seem at all interested in the prospect of such exertion. I looked back in the direction of the train. It had arrived and the crowd had almost completely transcended the bottle neck they’d created in the door and were now cramming themselves into the train. I pushed myself off the wall, glanced once more at the sorrowful girl, and walked towards the train.

I squeezed myself into the train and felt the stifling presence of countless other people. The train pulled away and I attempted to look out the window and into the station as it passed away, but I was unable to see the girl. The train careened towards the centre of the frozen metropolis and I watched the frigid city pass by. I sat strangely still and I considered the cold world I inhabited.

The Debut of The Decoys

My band, The Decoys, had a debut of sorts last night. Here's a small clip from the performance.