Thursday, February 27, 2025: Lynne Bronstein's "Getting Off That Train"

 

Getting Off That Train

        The Expo Line train turned north after stopping at USC. It rumbled along, full of passengers heading home from work or school or heading to work, depending on their schedules. There were elderly ladies with shopping carts and young men with dreadlocks holding phones that played hip-hop. A couple of old men were nodding out, slumping in their seats. A girl who may have been a student was burying her face in a book while another student was reading his Kindle one line at a time with his finger.

    The train came to a stop. It was not the next station. No one said anything because trains often stopped for a minute or two for unknown reasons. But the train stayed still and silent for more than a couple of minutes.

     “Not again,” said a young man. His friend nodded and remarked “Third time this week.”

      People continued to do whatever they had been doing but there were a few murmurs.

      “Prob’ly something on the tracks,” said the first young man.

        The second man looked out the window on the left side of the train. “Don’t see nothin.’ “

         A middle-aged, pale woman with tinted red hair began to mutter “I’ll be late. I’ll be late.” She fumbled in her purse for her phone. Several other people reached for their phones. They called wives, kids, co-workers.

         The train’s P.A. system came on and announced something. Unfortunately, it sounded very garbled to the middle-aged woman. “What did he say?”

          No one responded to her question. People were busy talking on their phones.

          “Can someone tell me what they said? Why are we stopping? Please, someone tell me what’s going on?”

           A man in his sixties, with thinning gray hair, turned around in his seat and looked at the red-haired woman with disdain.

           “Why you making a racket, lady? No one else is making a fuss except you. You think you’re the only one who’s gonna be late? We’ll get outa here. Just relax. You ain’t the queen bee around here.”

            The red-haired lady grabbed her purse and walked to the next car. At least this was one of those trains where you could go from one car to the next, not like the Red Line subway where the doors at the ends of the cars were locked and you were stuck in one car.

             She sat down in an empty seat and asked a man near her if he had heard the P.A. announcement.

             “Yes I did. They said there’s a signal failure. All along the line. Train ahead of us is stuck. Train ahead of that one stuck. Maybe the whole system. Lucky we’re not in the subway ‘cause I’d hate to have to walk through the tunnel to get out. They’ll probably open the doors soon and we can get out and find some other way to get home, like the bus.”

             “Just my luck,” said the red-headed woman. “Just my goddamm bad luck.”

              “Yeah, it sometimes is just a bad day. But, hey y’know it could be a lot worse. Like I say, it could be the subway and we’re not in the subway.”

               The woman scowled. She sat and fiddled with her hands. She tried to read something on her phone but she got bored and gave up. Maybe, she thought, she should have taken an Uber after all. Oh, the train cost a lot less but then you got these accidents. And these people. Noisy, badly dressed, doing things that they weren’t supposed to do, like smoking joints and vaping and dancing to loud music.

              Suddenly, a single door on the left side of the car opened. Passengers lined up to exit the train.

               When the red-haired woman got to the door, she saw a new problem. The train door was a little bit too high. There was no platform as there would be at a station. It was more than a four-foot drop to grade level. Others were either sitting down in the doorway and sliding off or simply jumping off.

                She was not young and she had periodic bouts of arthritis. She feared she might break a bone or two if she jumped or slid off. She hesitated on the threshold.

               “Hey lady, you gonna move?”

                Two boys behind her were raring to jump.

                “I can’t jump.”

                “Then get out of the way.”

                 “I need to get off but I can’t jump. Do you hear me? I’m not young.”

                  She shuddered. The two boys were grinning widely. She knew they thought she was cowardly and spoiled. Yes, she agreed, she was spoiled. She was used to Ubers and to people who could give her coherent explanations. 

                   A young man with dreads, who had already jumped off, saw her hesitating in the doorway. He came over to the door, holding out his arms.

                   “Can you hold on to me Just reach out and grab hold of my arms and I’ll pull you down. It’s okay. You’ll be safe.”

                “I’ll try.”

                 It was, after all, either this or be stuck on the train forever.

                 She grabbed his arms. He lifted her out of the doorway and set her down on the ground. She was still on her feet.

                 “Thank you,” she said to the young man. “Thank you so much.”

                 “Any time, ma’am,” he replied with a smile.

                  “It was very kind of you. Kindness is so rare. I never expect to be treated kindly.”

                  “It’s the right thing to do. My pleasure.”

                   She realized she should have also thanked the man who told her what the P.A. system announcement was but she couldn’t find him. So, she doubled down and thanked the man with the dreadlocks again.

                  “I’m glad you understood how it is with me. It’s hard for me to do things like jump.”

                   “I understand. My mother’s about your age.”

                   “Oh, come on,” said the woman. “I’m not THAT old!”

© 2025 Lynne Bronstein