Knight on the Rim

I never like being on the train alone. And in the middle of the day? It's unsettling. You try and tell me otherwise.

But this is the scene of yesterday. I get onto the train—in none too unpopulated an area, at a time when I assume people will be riding—and I walk onto the car, and it's just me. And I'm thinking, Did I miss something here? At night it makes sense, you get on up north and it's late and you're the only one, but never for very long. And there's always that part of you that's thinking, What happens if some nogoodnicks get on here, and we're alone, and what'll they try? No matter who you are there's some part of you that's thinking that. But at night all this seems normal. With the sun out and the birds chirping, it just isn't right.

That only lasted for one stop, when I was joined by this certain guy, crashed onto a seat right across from mine. He had an unfortunate grey ponytail, accompanied by an unfortunate paint-splattered grey UV Vodka T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. I remember it well, because there is a certain kind of guy who wears a UV Vodka T-shirt with the sleeves cut off and he was this certain kind of guy. He had paint stuck to his arm hair, bags under his eyes. He looked tired, and dry.

He had his cell phone in his hand, the flipping kind, and it was open. He turned his attention to it rather aggressively, obviously in the middle of something. His mouthed pursed and bunched from side to side until his fingers finally clicked whatever he decided. This was met by a few seconds of silence. "Garbage!" he yelled after that. The train slowed down, stopped, and then kept moving.

The vodka man looked all over that screen, I'm not even sure how, it was so small, but he did. I had no book, no paper, no music, no way of doing anything but staring slightly off from straight ahead. How do I avoid this guy? Pretend I'm asleep? Move? I was here first.

He made another selection and shortly after yelled another "Garbage!"

"Attention passengers, attention passengers, we will be standing momentarily due to track maintenance. We apologize for the inconvenience."

"Goddamn garbage!" he yelled. It was too late. We were looking at each other after that. "Knight to h5," he explained. "Left my queen open and I didn't even see it." This was not what I expected him to say. "Dim, dim. And they're right."

"Well," I told him, "that's real tough. You gonna try and get her back?" I asked him.

"Gotta try," he said. He looked at me with—at least I think it was—sincerity. A little too much, a little too much for this subject, and toward a stranger. "Are they gonna start this goddamn garbage train?!" Operator seven cars up must've heard him, because the train started up after that. And the vodka man looked back down at his phone. And I just sat there, watching him. He bit his lower lip from time to time. He'd squeeze his eyes and I knew he was thinking Garbage! He smiled heartily, the moment when I imagined he got his queen back. But I was wrong. It was a call.

"Hey, honey. No, I'm on the train. But I'll be home soon. I'm hurrying, believe me, I'm hurrying"

Twenty-three minutes we shared that train car, just the two of us. And when I got off and one other person got on, taking my place, I don't know why, it upset me. Took me a while to remember where I was going.