The Train Ride

Trying to stand, you stumble. Trying to think, your mind blurs. Inside your head is a whirlpool of half finished thoughts, inside your gut is a churning of dread. You've drunk so much you've forgotten why you started but the taste in your mouth reminds you of every drop. The pain you felt isn't gone, only replaced. Bile rising you avert your face, but in every direction there's another passenger. You see every glance as an accusation, every expression is one of disgust. You lean on the seat, the only escape is downwards and you take it, resting your head in the soft crook of your arm, forehead pressing against the cooling plastic. Finally, your eyes are sweetly hidden from passing gazes, finally safe, finally secure. And it's then you vomit up your lunch.

And it's then you hope that maybe nobody is looking at you now.


I kid you not, this is the description of the man in front of me on the train today. Well, the end part is, the beginning is pure conjecture.

It got me thinking, although not quite enough, as disturbingly all my mind wanted to think about was "Does that smell like Coq au vin?" (That's probably just the result of eating chicken, drinking wine, and letting it cook in your stomach for a couple of hours - wonderful). But it did get me thinking about what you can get away with on a train. This man just regurgitated the last 4 hours of his life onto the floor, and on that train, at that moment, he went instantly from just another nobody to that guy. Yeah, that guy who threw up on the train that time, you remember? Instant infamy. And then at the very next stop, he leaves the train, and with one step he becomes invisible again.

Everyone around him now has no idea what he's done, and everyone who knew is leaving.

With that one step he's born again, new and pure, his disgusting past already unknown, already beginning his new life.

And as the train pulls away, and I watch him sway gracefully towards a bench, I can't help but feel just a little jealous...