Sometimes, it’s the small details you don’t see.
Everyone sleeps on this train. It’s almost always lifeless in the mornings. I enjoy that: the peace and quiet of the car makes it easy to get lost in space. I can’t sleep so instead I simply look out my window and stare aimlessly at the dense greenery that sits outside the train tracks. Something about the morning sky helps me start my day — I feel calmer and more in control once I arrive at my station.
There was, however, this one time on the train that I remember almost photographically. This one moment, which some have told me is not worth remembering, still visits me sometimes, and makes me wonder whether I had made the right decision.
Most of the time, I believe I hadn’t.
It was a typical train ride until we reached Old Plaza Station. The doors opened at the stop, and no one but me turned towards the door. A woman, amongst many other people, came on the train and sat directly in front of me. The first thing that caught my eye was her auburn hair, which lay completely flat against her shoulders, almost wrapping them like a shawl. There was something about her demeanour that caught my attention. She, on the other hand, barely noticed me. Come to think of it, I don’t think she knew I was sitting in front of her.
Small things became apparent to me, like the tension that brought her shoulders closer to her neck and her refusal to look anywhere but down. She had immediately pulled out her cell phone and began scrolling, biting her fingernails on her other hand. She paused for a few brief moments, but she barely had any time to read as she continued scrolling down. She was looking for something. If anyone were awake, they would have sensed the desperation in her actions. There was an air of worry surrounding her, so much so that I could feel the tension as it exuded from her skin.
Finally, after what seemed like almost an hour, she put her phone down and looked off to the other side of the train. Her eyes were holding back a teardrop as she kept shifting her gaze as if it could change her thoughts. She continued biting her fingernails, but her mind seemed blind to this action. I kept trying to predict what thoughts might be running through her mind, drawing up scenarios and trying to rationalize her strange behaviour.
It wasn’t a moment later when she pulled out her phone again. She looked at the screen and immediately put it down, clearly disappointed at what she saw. Her phone vibrated and a glimmer of hope appeared in her eyes, but I could tell by her next reaction that it wasn’t what she wanted. From that point on, her eyes kept shifting down to her screen, holding back from grabbing the phone and physically checking her notifications.
People on this train are lifeless, so it was strange to see someone whose emotions were spilling out into the car. She stared at the vista beyond the window, but it was obvious she wasn’t looking at the same scenery as I was. I believed that her dreams — or her nightmares — spilled out onto the glass for her to take in full view. I cannot forget the look of horror and hopelessness that she involuntarily wore.
Suddenly, she looked around and saw that I had been looking at her. She blushed, obviously embarrassed, but smiled, as if her problems had never existed. I realised I had been staring this entire time and shamefully dropped my gaze.
All I wanted at that moment was to ask her if she was okay, but I stopped myself. Would it have been alright? Should I have asked her?
To this day, these questions still run through my mind.
By the time I made up my mind, she had closed her eyes and had pretended to fall asleep. I went back to looking outside, and put this all aside.
It wasn’t until the train reached its destination and when everyone started getting off that I noticed something strange. She got up and smiled at me again, and began walking away. That was when I noticed the limp: a seemingly fresh injury that she hadn’t gotten used to. I don’t know how I knew that, but it just seemed to make sense. A sudden feeling of worry came onto me, but I quickly brushed it aside. I looked at the window and could only imagine what she was looking at. I could see her nightmare coming alive on the window, but I quickly looked away and pushed it all to the back of my mind. Who am I to worry about this stranger?
I simply watched her walk away, and I never had the chance to see her again.
By Mateen Manek
Mateen Manek is an English teacher and a writer based in Toronto, Canada. His poetry book, ‘The Traveller: Part I’ is available on Amazon. Click here to get the latest news on his writings.
