Train

26 February 2021

All signs tell you that today will be another crappy day. Already the will to get out of bed hasn't shown up, let alone the desire to face another day, with all its contradictions and hassles. But the die is cast, your right foot is on the ground and the cold floor has already awakened half your body; might as well strain your abs a bit and attempt an upright position, however precarious due to residual sleep. Also because, let's be honest, you're hungry too. Hungry as a wolf. And you need to pee. Badly.

You perfectly remember the forecast said overcast, but looking outside the window makes you think you have cataracts with how much rain is falling: you can't even see the house gate. You draw the curtain back and get up from the toilet. Bladder sorted, now it's the stomach's turn. Like every morning, breakfast is an obstacle course, time is short and you can't afford to be late. Your movements are rhythmic, syncopated, precise. You finish getting ready in the few minutes you have left and then down the stairs, backpack on your shoulders and umbrella ready in your left hand.

You open the door cautiously and dive into the street. Your umbrella does what it can to avoid the second shower of the day, but as petite as you may be its efforts are thwarted by rain that seems miraculous in how horizontally it moves; damn wind. You try to shelter as much as possible by hugging the walls of buildings and passing under balconies. Thank heavens the road to the station is short. Upon arrival you think with a smile that it didn't go so badly after all. Maybe it won't be such a crappy day after all? No, you're too pessimistic to believe it and too habitual to change.

The train arrives on time. Already a rare event in itself, but on a day like today it gains additional prestige. Getting on, you can't wait to feel revitalized by the warmth of the internal climate control. You move toward the front car and sit by a window, this way you can better enjoy the view but, above all, the warm air coming from the vents. The train is practically deserted, like every day for months now. There are only a few commuters, always with the same tired faces, and no casual travelers. Anyway, they all seem to prefer the back of the train, since no one is ever seen around you. It's time to open the book. You take your copy of "Pride and Prejudice", put it on your legs, use the bookmark to open to the right page and start reading.

The most annoying thing about this route is the constant stops. There's one practically every three minutes. Lately it's decidedly less bothersome, given the small number of travelers, but still at every door opening a bothersome cold air enters that gives you a chill behind your neck. There's no escape. In recent years you've tried every seat: none is without flaws. Where cold air doesn't reach there's an unbearable sewer smell, or the seats are placed longitudinally to the car. The fact is that every three minutes or so the train stops and with it your concentration. You put your right index finger in the book, close it and wait for the train to start again. A little more than ten minutes of travel have passed when at yet another stop a lively elderly lady also boards, besides the cold wind. She sits in the seats across the aisle, in front of you, and continues doing what she was doing when she got on: talking loudly on the phone.

"No Santina, I already told you that Pisces is a mess, Sagittarius is better [...] no, no, what does that have to do with it, is he blond? [...] but who told you that crap? [...] Rosetta? Which Rosetta? Giustino's daughter? But she's an idiot, forget her [...] yes, you should listen to me [...] okay okay I'll come by tomorrow, don't worry [...] yes bye bye, take care"

Your finger is still between the pages of "Pride and Prejudice", eyes fixed on the empty seat in front of you, whose folds look like a smile. Your gaze is absent, but your hearing has focused on what surrounds you, you couldn't help but listen to the old lady's conversation. Perhaps she perceived your attention toward her, perhaps she's brazen: out of nowhere she addresses you. "Where are you from, dear?" You blink, twice, to come back to yourself and find focus in the world around you. "I'm sorry?" "Nothing. I was asking where you're from. It doesn't matter. Going to work?" "Yes, excuse me. I was distracted. Yes yes, I'm going to work" For a few seconds she looks at you, doesn't move her pupils, she's one of those people who can stare you straight in one eye. It almost makes you uncomfortable. You lower your gaze. You can't do it, staring at people isn't like you. You realize that on her legs rests a book. "Predictions and the Occult, from Tarot to Astrology." You decide to play the reading card, pointing to the book you ask if she's passionate about astrology. "Oh dear. Let's say. Actually I wrote this book, but since I wrote it I can't stop reading it. Every time I reach the end I start over. I always find new things." "What the hell kind of nonsense," you think, "Really? That's so interesting!" you say. "Tell me, what sign are you? Let's see what I can tell you about yourself" "Sagittarius," you answer without hesitation. She looks at you again, for a few seconds, then lowers her gaze, opens the book and reads some passages to herself. She raises her head, thinks a bit, turns the page and reads some more passages. "So you're Sagittarius, you're going to work and you're wearing a green sweater" "Yes..." you answer. You certainly didn't expect something so obvious. "Good good" she continues "then I can tell you something. You want to talk to a person, you want them to tell you things. A person lost in the past." "Oh my god yes, actually I'd like to talk to more than one person from my past" you reply. But you realize you weren't convincing. Maybe it's true, maybe she's right. Maybe there's only one person in your past you'd like to hear from again. She doesn't even seem to be listening to you, she continues "One thing is certain, you only have one chance. If you get off at the next stop leaving your material possessions here, bag and coat, you will talk to this person." The next stop... Through the windows you can already see the first blue signs with white borders. The next stop is truly next, the train is already slowing down. "But I... I can't. How can I? I have everything in my bag, house keys, wallet. Plus I'm going to work." But what were you thinking? Are you really considering this? "To move forward in life, sometimes, you have to leave something behind." That's all she tells you, she lowers her eyes and seems to dive into reading.

Seconds pass, to you they seem like hours. There's something in you that pushes you to trust her. A few jolts, a switch, the train shifts forcefully to the right. "Fuck it," you curse to yourself. You stand up abruptly; the lady doesn't make a move, her eyes still fixed on her book. Turning around you look at your bag and coat: your life. You inhale as much air as you can into your lungs and run toward the doors. When you're in front of the exit you struggle to breathe: there's an unbearable stench. The few people on the platform scroll past you like images from the past, slower and slower.

The train is stopped. The door clicks and slides open, fresh air fills your lungs: it's almost hallucinogenic how fresh it is. You extend your right foot. The sole of your shoe rests on the platform, first the heel, then the toe. On the right you see two people boarding the train, they seem like a nice couple, hand in hand they can't stop smiling at each other. On the other side is the conductor, with his left hand he brings the whistle to his mouth, with his right he brings a key close to the door lock.

You're still poised between inside and outside, in a limbo. You can still choose. You start moving your left foot. As soon as it completely detaches from the sticky floor of the train you feel your right pocket vibrate. The phone. You stop and shift your center of gravity back. Your left foot is back on the train. The vibration stops. You inhale. The conductor whistles insistently. You raise your left foot again, again the vibration. You exhale. Another whistle. You hesitate. You push off your right foot and turn, with your right hand you grab a support inside the car and leverage. The door closes behind you. The phone has stopped vibrating, the stench invades your bronchi again. You put your right hand in your pocket and take out the phone. Two missed anonymous calls. You feel like you've been sweating cold. You hurry back to your seat. You want to talk to the old lady, ask her for explanations. When you arrive all the seats are empty, there's only your bag and your coat in the overhead rack. The wind flips through the pages of the book you left on your seat, but approaching you realize the title is "Predictions and the Occult, from Tarot to Astrology." You pick up the book, on the back cover there's your photo and your biography.