Precious Cargo

A man boards a train. It’s late, and he is accompanied solely by the clicking of his feet down the isle. The only other passenger in sight is a girl, prettier than most, bathed in fluorescent light and faintly bumping electronic music. The man, against his better judgment, takes a seat next to her. She smiles, and, perhaps a bit too loudly, greets him. “Hi” Hesitation stirs in the space between them. “Hey” The man’s reply is forcefully casual. He begs himself to say more, but instead screams a silent, empty prayer for his own salvation. The man all at once hates himself and curses himself for doing so. Memories of squandered opportunity seep toxically through his mind. The girl remains, confused. Who was this man who had so boldly delivered himself to her side, and yet would not so much as ask her name? She removes her headphones, intentionally leaving the volume loud enough to be identified. The man stifles an urge to inquire about her music. Not knowing what to say, he pretends not to notice. As the song ends, an unbroken silence rings in the air. The man checks his phone frantically, trying not to appear perturbed. The girl wonders about the man’s phone. The man, without diversion, accidentally catches the girls eye. As their glances meet, the tension breaks, and the two travelers attempt to summon fitting words to share in the the moonless night of the subway. The train slows. The travelers’ attention flits to the window. Cold air brines with the interior of the car. The man glances one final time at the stranger beside him, cornered by his regrets and self-loathing. Fighting himself to stay, to speak, to wonder “what if”, the man hurts in a way only those without the closure of a broken heart can. The man smiles and gets up. The girl smiles and returns to her music. A man exits a train.