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"The
railway ticket states a destination but it doesn't we will show"
One side of the train platform would take me to sunny Miami
and the other side would take me to grey New Brunswick, New
Jersey. All the 'new's in the town and state names are deceptive;
that those titles still exist is some cruel joke never envisioned
by the pioneering settlers. I could picture myself on a beach
under a semitropical Florida sun after watching the eastern
Atlantic seaboard pass as a blur. Or I could picture myself
under a peacoat and scarf. I could picture myself anywhere but
here.
But I am not anywhere else. I am on a commuter train struggling
to pull itself into the next station through New Jersey for
a few minutes' rest. Buildings pass too slowly. Telephone lines,
forgotten roadways, and abandoned factories are passed and their
decrepit silhouettes pose against the skyline.
His reflection was in my window. He had such blue eyes; he had
such beautiful eyes. They were not looking at me at all. I could
have fallen in love with him right there and followed him off
the train to a new life. Better or worse--who cares if it were
together at least? He had eyes you fall in love with in the
evening, collapse with at night, and wake up to smiling. And
no one would be the worse for the adventure. Down the stairs
from the train platform, he turned the other corner and I lost
him in the crowd under the railway arch.
I was an easy target for ex-convicts looking for train fares.
The first two I did give some spare change, the third just a
cigarette, and the fourth a polite 'no' but he knew I was lying.
The fifth I ignored; he started yelling down the platform to
get my attention. I just kept walking away because you can not
walk back to a situation like that. I felt ill and a bit ashamed.
Some weeks I nearly had to beg for spare change myself. But
when someone is rummaging through your garbage at the curbside,
no matter how low you feel it could all still get worse.
A commuter train lacks any brilliance, mystery, or intrigue.
Possible lovers walk away too quickly, and new enemies replace
them too easily. 'New Jersey Transit' does not have the same
ring as 'Orient Express'. Is it any wonder that train service
remains second to automobiles in the United States? I finished
my university classes and stopped riding the rails, staying
put in New York City. One woman climbed between the train cars
to praise her lord with screams into the air. Everyone knew
she was just crazy, but no one wanted to press the point in
a conversation. Curse the mad, awful world and go find something
new somewhere else.
"Standing on the station, looking down the line, there's
only one train every forty-five minutes"
| Matthew
Patrick, September 2000 |
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