TheBanyanTree: Re-sending

[Sharon Mack]

The other version came through all smushed together....thought this
might be easier on the eyes...sorry!
 
Journal Prompt

Thursday, May 13, 2004

Imagine you are in a room with 50 random strangers.......

 

RANDOM STRANGERS

 

The inside of the station was ramshackle at best.  Trains down south
were not like the Amtrak up north.  It was small and hot and had holes
in the wall.  What windows there were had partial glass to none.  I
thought about how bitter it must be in winter and decided it was bitter
no matter what time of year.  Bitter and nasty and wet.  The hot and
cold merely was the outside coming in.  

 

People were everywhere.  Some spoke in low whispers to spouses or
family members.  Four or five men stood against the walls with one foot
up, the sole of their muddy boots or shoes against the wall and the
other planted firmly on the floor.  They lit cigarettes, one after
another, and took the smoke deep into their lungs, closing their eyes as
though it were the best feeling in the world...to take that smoke down
into their lungs.  I watched as they did it again and again until the
burning ember of the ash met the yellowed calluses on the inside of
their fingers, probably burned there long ago by many such cigarettes. 
I thought they'd put it out and looked to the floor already forming a
negative opinion of anyone who would stamp their cigarettes out on a
floor, but the cigarettes were not forthcoming.  I looked up towards the
men and saw them pinching the bitter end of the papered tobacco and
drawing as though it were a joint, all of them making the same sucking
noise as marijuana smokers do and once again they drew the smoke deep
into their lungs...then they flicked the cigarette outwardly, away from
themselves and let it roll on the floor and linger.  They didn't move
to stamp it out...just let it burn while they lit up yet another.  Some
lit the new cigarette with the old before tossing it to the ground, but
they didn't stamp theirs out either.  The cigarettes rolled, meeting
in the center of the room near a clogged drain.  I realized the floor
was slanted that way.  It worked for the cigarette smokers...kind of
like a huge, middle-of-the-room ashtray.

 

I turned my head, wishing for a bit of air.  The station was close and
the air was humid.  Someone's body was unwashed and the urine smell
burned my nose. I turned to see a filthy, unkempt little old man,
nodding to no one in particular, behind me.  I tried to move away toward
one of the open holes shaped like a window only to find that there was
no room.  Children had been lifted up into the frames and their parents
stood below.  Some waved folded up newspapers in front of their faces,
trying to fend off the intolerable heat.  It wasn't working.  Sweat
poured down their faces like tears.  It beaded on their foreheads and
swam down the inclines of their noses.  It poured forth from under their
eyes and dripped from their chins.  There were large wet spots under
their arms reaching down almost to their waists.  One large woman who
had her back to me was soaked through and the fabric of the back of her
dress shone like watered silk, but I knew it was sweat.  I turned away
from the window and moved to the door.  I went out onto the platform. 
People were lined up at the ticket window trying to bargain their way
onto the train but they were told it was full.  They would have to wait
for the next train.  I could see the anger in their frames and in their
faces.  They held themselves tight and moved in jerky spurts because
they really didn't want to move at all.  It was too hot to move, too
hot to be stuck here for another hour or more.  They bought the tickets
for the next train.

 

I looked up into the hazy sky.  Non-stop sun.  You could only see the
yellow ball through the haze, but you could feel its heat bearing down
on you.  It seemed to pick you out personal-like and focus its heat and
rays right on you wherever you were, however you turned.  It became a
personal thing. 

 

I watched a dog with a small child scurry under the unused train cars
left in the yard on the other side of the tracks.  It was dark under
them and I saw them lower their bodies to just the right height to
accommodate the old worn tracks rising up under them and the bottom of
the cars hanging down over them, so as not to bang their heads or
scratch their backs.  They found a large cluster of dandelion weeds,
headless from lack of light and sank into them.  The boy lay on his back
and crossed his legs sticking a long dried piece of grass in his mouth.
He began to make small chewing motions with his mouth.  The dog turned
on his back beside him and allowed the boy to rub his pink belly.  They
seemed to be the only ones with any reasonable comfort in the fire of
the day.

 

I heard a train whistle and prayed fervently it was mine.  I just
wanted to be on my way and out of this day.  I wanted to reach my
destination in the dark of night and prayed that the lack of light would
render the night cooler wherever I went.  I looked toward the inside of
the station trying to catch sight of my bag.  I'd left it inside. 
Moving slowly, I worked my way into the station and back towards the far
wall where I had first entered the station. People had heard the
whistle, too, and were beginning to move out to the platform. I wanted
to avoid any body contact with the crowd and especially wanted to avoid
the unwashed individuals.  I moved carefully, pulling myself into
myself, keeping my arms bent toward me, turning sideways if need be, to
get past the stragglers still left inside the building.  Most of the
smokers were gone and the children had been lifted from the windows and
were standing with their sweating mothers and fathers.    

 

When I got to my bag I found the unwashed man with the urine smell
sitting on it.  I gestured to the bag with one hand and pointed to
myself with the other.  He smiled a toothless grin and bobbed his head
up and down so hard his dirty hat fell to the floor.  The stink almost
knocked me over.  I just wanted my bag.  I heard the train whistle blast
through the station...an announcement came over the loudspeaker
announcing my train and destination.  I again motioned toward the bag
and waved at him to get off.  His eyes glittered colorlessly and he
squinted at me and shook his head no and pointed to himself.  I reached
for the tag partially sticking out beneath his filthy pant leg.  

 

"My name, "  I said and pointed to the words.  He shook his head no
again.

 

"Yes, "  I yelled.  "Yes, it's my bag...get off...my train is
here."

 

The brakes screeched as the train came to a full stop on the track.  I
took the tickets out of my pocket and waved them at him.  I felt
nauseated with the tension, heat and smell.  

 

"Please, " I begged.  "I have to go.  I'll miss my train."

 

He shook his head yes and smiled his toothless grin at me.  He waved me
toward the train.  He wanted me to go.  He wanted my bag.

 

I stepped forward and gave him a shove.  I hit him full on the chest. 
He toppled over and landed on his backside.  I grabbed my bag not
stopping to look to see if he was hurt or not.  I didn't care.  I just
wanted to get out of there.  To get to the train.  To get to where I was
going.

 

I moved toward the car.  People were closing in and I gave up trying to
avoid them.  I crashed and clashed and hung onto my bag.  I could smell
the man as though he were next to me.  I realized his acrid scent was
clinging to the bag and to my hands from touching him.  I wanted to wash
but there was no time.  

 

Reaching the car at last, I handed the trainman my ticket.  He tore it
in half and handed me my stub.  As I moved away from him I saw his nose
wrinkle up as though he smelled something bad.  It was the bag...I knew
it.  I turned away and went up the three steps into the car and found a
seat next to a window, which I opened as wide as I could, hoping that
once we began to move air would spill over me and cool me as we rushed
down the tracks. 

 

I stood to put my bag on the shelf overhead.  As I pushed the suitcase
onto the shelf, I noticed the tag.  It was a tag of another color.  It
wasn't my tag at all.  I turned it over slowly.  It was yellow and
tattered and there in a bold hand was a name...a name not my own.  I
gasped and the train lurched forward landing me in my seat next to the
open window.