She stepped into the train and headed right, up the stairs to the mezzanine. Every seat section (two facing a wall and 4 sets of 4 seats facing each other) had a least one person in them, but she wanted to sit here, the quiet part of the car at this time of day. In the back of her mind she considered whether she should try upstairs, then decided there was plenty of room here, and it was pretty calm- no one on a cell phone, no loud raucous laughers, just readers and sleepers.
Where should I sit?
Back left: An engineer type, dark pants, and ill fitting rumpled, white shirt partly un-tucked, over a bulging middle aged belly, black belt, dark tie and dark zippered jacket. Cheap shoes, faux leather, lace up, probably from a discount store, home styled haircut, cheap glasses, small brown bag lunch, peering at me expectantly. PASS
Back right- Young girl, long blonde hair, manicured nails painted pink, short skirt, 4” platforms, tattoos peeking over the top of her blouse and around her ankle. Cell phone in hand, busily texting- fingers sliding right to left. Large leather bag with gold hardware. Sound of phone vibrating “Oh My God!” high pitched childlike voice, loud, too loud. PASS
Center left, middle aged woman in an off the rack suit, blouse buttoned up to her wattle and finished off with a big floppy bow. Sensible shoes and panty hose too pale for her coloring. Reading glasses, kindle, tote bag and apple. Earrings made by a friend, not a designer. She looks up, smiles expectantly, YAWN
Center right: strikingly handsome man, impeccably tailored, shirt starched to sculptural excess, expensive tie, Italian shoes, and nice watch. Hmm- why is he on the train. This train. Commuter train. On his way to somewhere he isn't supposed to be, or a politician. Why today? If I was in a different mood I might try to “engage” him in some banter to spice up my afternoon, my ego, and this story.
Front left- man about 40, lean- almost haggard, muscles straining at his shirt, filthy feet in flip flops, levis torn and crusted with dirt, blonde hair, shaggy around the edges, mustache, reeking of cigarettes and beer, eyes closed, stretched out, bacteria from his feet contaminating that corner of the car . His sweatshirt was flung across the seat next to him, and his backpack and 5 beers were sitting precariously on the fourth seat.
He sensed her coming as she headed up the stairs and then stopped, hovering. The sheer force of her brutal mood, like the resistance encountered on electric doors, was so palpable she was almost invading his space from several feet away
Excuse me she said, moving in the direction of the seat that was occupied by his beer. He was still a little groggy from the first six pack and not in the best of moods. Peering at her legs through squinting eyes, he locked his knees to prevent her passage. In the silence a thudding sound rang out as her thigh collided with his knee as she attempted to step over his legs. She fell unevenly onto the open beer he was still holding as he dozed, causing it to tip over and soak the floor at their feet. She smelled like flowers, he thought, as he roughly shoved her off his hip.
What the fuck he screamed. There are plenty of seats in this car, sit somewhere else. He wasn’t really looking at her, he was really speaking to the other passengers in this area. I was just getting some rest, sit somewhere else lady. Leave me in peace.
She landed hard in the aisle, one arm now in a funny position, probably broken, at least sprained. She didn’t try to get up, just sat there as the minutes ticked by , at his feet whimpering, the wet floor soaking the side of her skirt, her eyes staring up at him beseechingly childlike.
Oh shit, he thought, and struggled to his feet, wiping his hand on his dirty jeans before extending a hand in her direction. She clutched at it with a powerful grip and managed to pull herself off the floor, dropping onto the seat where his feet had been happily resting moments before.
She still held onto his hand. Her blouse had caught on the headrest during her fall and there was a jagged tear near her left breast, exposing a red lacy bra and that soft sweet spot on the side of her body that always caused his heart to race, on those few occasions he had been provided with the opportunity to taste a woman. He forgot about the other passengers and pulled her across the aisle, laying her gently down on the seat next to him. Her eyes never left his face for a moment.
He had no idea what he looked like after all those hours of digging ditches and then the after work booze up that ended a workday in mid-summer. He was exhausted, and really not up to taking this on, but it looked like the fates had something else in mind for him tonight. His left arm was falling asleep- the tingling moving up from his fingertips to his elbow to his shoulder. He glanced over and saw she was now fast asleep, the neckline of her top gapping open even further in this position, giving him a clear view of her nipples, and he felt himself getting flushed. I need to find a head he thought, and tried to untangle himself from her grip, to no avail.
His second plan was to try to scoot her over gently moving her head onto the window and the back of the seat, and tilting her body in the same direction. He swung himself over into the opposite seat, his breath now audible to the other passengers, his body lusting after the unconscious woman. Her skirt had been pushed up almost to the top of her thighs and he could tell she was not wearing underwear. Jesus, he said softly and reached across to caress the edge of her hem. The minute he touched her he remembered where he was and immediately leaned back again in the seat, his hands resting in his lap.
He was beginning to feel aroused, and uncomfortable just sitting here, embarrassingly uncomfortable, so he crossed his legs and stretched his arms above his head, twisting his torso back and forth like he was stretching after his interrupted nap. All of the other passengers were occupied, doing their own thing, except the older woman who was peering at him disapprovingly, and averted her eyes as his stretch and scan maneuver passed over her area of the car. Maybe she’ll get off at the next stop, he thought, not really clear in his own mind whether he was thinking of the old lady, or the unconscious woman he was trying not to jump on.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her eyes open, a look of confusion and panic which leapt across the aisle toward him like a runaway train. She pushed her bad arm on he seat cushion to lift herself into a more comfortable position and winced as she realized it was badly hurt, and was useless for the moment. She reached back with her left arm and maneuvered herself into acceptable passenger mode, glancing down as she did so and seeing the torn blouse, and her skirt, stained and still damp from the fall. She looked at him with shock and disbelief, tears welling up in her eyes, and then the childlike fear crept back into her gaze. Her mouth opened, and then closed. No sounds, no words, no questions.