Strangers on a Train
Frank doesn’t know what he’s doing riding the train like this. It’s hot and crowded and there are far too many people looking at him as they rock back and forth. It’s the evening rush, and the aroma of body odor and exhaustion fills the air. If there’s one good thing about the permanent glare he wears, it’s that it keeps most of the commuters from taking the single seat left open on the train, right beside him.
The doors whoosh open one last time before heading out of the city, letting on the last batch of latecomers running to catch the doors. He’s staring intently down at the bolts holding the floor together, avoiding any unnecessary human interaction. The bag between his feet holds enough guns and ammo to take out an entire city block, and he doesn’t need any nosy nellies asking questions.
But none of this, not his glare or quietly intimidating demeanor, means anything to Karen Page. She’s in her own little world, rushing through the sliding doors, plopping down beside him out of breath. Panting, she digs through the bag tucked under her arm, a long sheet of blonde hair hanging down in front of her face. The soft locks brush along his forearm, the scent of flowers cutting through the thick air and invading his nose. It triggers a memory, softly falling sunshine and tinkling laughter accost him. It’s only a flash, and he tenses in response.
She looks up, holding her recently rediscovered cell phone up to her face, mouthing an apology for invading his space. There’s already someone on the other end of the line, and she nods in response to whatever they’re saying before reminding herself she actually has to speak. “Um, yeah, no… that sounds fine… I can’t make it tonight, I’m exhausted… I’m just gonna go home and hit the sheets… Don’t worry about it… See you tomorrow.”
The phone slips back into her bag quietly, and she turns away from Frank. He’s a man of quiet observation, so it’s not surprising that he notices the little circles under her eyes, dark smudges marring her fair skin. The cheer in her voice was forced, phony like someone was holding a gun to her head and telling her to make nice for the person on the other end of the line. The lie about heading home for the night slipped so easily from her mouth, he’s almost curious about what she’s actually doing. Frank scoots away from her, adjusting the wide legged position he’d taken before she’d arrived. It’s not much space, but at least he isn’t pushing her up against the armrest like before.
The train ride is endless, tired commuters ignoring each other in favor of books and phones, the only sound comes from the clacking of the wheels against the tracks. Stop after stop comes and goes and still the blonde woman stays seated next to him, shoulders slumping down noticeably with each stop. Eventually the car is nearly empty, three other commuters silently staring out the windows as the city passes completely from view.
He expects her to get up, find an empty bench to spread out on, but she doesn’t. From the corner of his eye he can see her head jerk down for a split second before she catches it and looks back up, blinking slowly. It’s not safe for a woman to sleep on a train, especially not one as beautiful as this. He frowns into the cup of cold coffee as he takes one last sip.
When she drops off the next time, he scoots a little closer, letting the side of his arm bump up against her. When her head slips down on his shoulder, it’s impossibly soft, the scent of flowers catching him off guard for the second time. She’s warm against him, a flutter of possibility catching in his chest like some long forgotten and unwanted emotion. Just as he’s about to push her off, maybe clear his throat loudly and glare down at her, she sighs. The muted sound whispers against the ear turned toward her. He freezes. What could it hurt to wait until the next stop?
Settling in, he closes his own eyes, the almost forgotten memory of sunshine and laughter making it’s way once again into his barely beating heart.