I plop down into the first available seat. My back welcoming the hard surface, that I’ve traded for my heavy backpack, which rests in the seat beside me. The train is oddly empty, except for an elderly man sitting across from me, and a young Asian women a few seats to my right. The man wears a red plaid shirt and thick glasses that give him the eyes of an owl. He is completely still, but for his right hand that rolls his cane back and forth, his large eyes never blinking. The young woman has her head buried in a textbook, sitting between strewn copies of the metro. I look out the window, waiting for the train to leave the station. A girl sits on the bench facing the train. She wears a sleeve, the type where it is nearly impossible to distinguish where one tattoo begins and another ends. Beside her is a teenage boy, presumably her boyfriend, he has thick dark eyebrows, the right one pierced. The station similar to the train is also unusually empty. The litter, the only sign that people have been here today.
Suddenly a large crowd of men and women appear, seeming to enter from every angle. I look back towards the bench. Gone is the young couple, replaced by young women in knee-length dresses and hair that curls at their neck. Their children attached to them by the hand. They kiss their husbands goodbye, as they head off toward the city. Men in suits, bruised black and blue, with slick hair covered by their hats head toward the train. All with slim ties, tied in identical Windsor knots, briefcases glued to their sides. They seem to walk in unison, yet in all different directions. A man breaks through the stream of businessmen, battling the current as he weaves his way through. A group of policemen pursue the man, with dogs at their feet and whistles in their mouths. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see smoke blowing its way out of the top of the train, like water escaping a blue whale. The tracks begin to slowly move beneath me, as the train begins to budge. The fugitive leaps toward the open door of the moving train…
The world comes back into focus, as if twisting the lens of a camera. I am back in the subway car, the station as empty as ever. The tattoo sleeved girl now staring at me, her eyes squinted and her lips curved into a scowl. I can not hear her through the thick glass of the subway but I can read her lips: “ What the f*ck are you looking at?” I sit, stunned, unable to remove my gaze. She continues to glare at me and effortlessly shows me her middle finger, a gesture that seems like a muscle memory to her. I freeze, puzzled as to how to react. She begins to march furiously in the direction of the car. I turn and close my eyes willing the doors to close before she arrives, my heart beating rapidly. “ Stop, f*cking looking at me,” she screams. I meekly try to defend myself, but there is no use. I can tell no excuse will satisfy her.
I turn back towards the old man, who has not moved a muscle since I last saw him. His eyes as large as ever, though oblivious to the confrontation that just occurred. I bow my head, as I hear the automated rings signifying the doors closing. I convince myself that I will never daydream again, and I am able to keep my promise. Until five minutes later, when I discover a world where people no longer wear clothes, but have full body tattoos instead.
—
Widdershins Lit 