This is the Best Part

I walked up the stairs to the platform. Dull gray and sleepy oranges appeared over the trees and squat buildings. Perched on that island of rock, wood, and iron rails, I watched the city-sad twilight horizon drift east. I could hear the commuter train barreling in from the south, escaping from dusk-swallowed skyscraper lights.

It did not slow down and some on the platform were startled when a whistle blew in suggestion. I turned my back and tried to hide from the approaching gust of dirt and cigarette butts. There was a gathering of momentum, a crescendo, and then it was gone. I arrived earlier than I thought. My watch was wrong.

I looked south again searching for a light floating over the tracks in the distance and I waited.


I was in a hurry. My bike had been stolen the week before so I had to walk to the train. It was a Sunday and I knew I couldn't waste time waiting for a bus that might not feel like coming. I did stop on the corner and look west just for a moment. There was another man standing at the bus stop but he was resigned to waiting. He leaned against the brick wall of the liquor store and closed his eyes when I looked at him. He took a deep breath and I think he was about to smile. I walked by without another glance and headed south.

The trees were getting greener on Leland street. There were baby carriages and fathers, and kids on bicycles with training wheels. There was a freshly opened scar on the pavement in the middle of the street with warning cones surrounding it. A cat was sleeping on a front step as I passed. It rolled its eyes at me and scoffed. I picked up my pace. A dog and his man were walking toward me. The dog was dragging the man, intent on moving forward. I winked at the dog. The dog's man, bleary-eyed and smoking a cigarette, mistook this gesture of solidarity the wrong way and dropped his eyes. I looked at my watch and cursed petty bike thieves.

At the next corner I had to pause at an orange, blinking hand. I could see the raised train platform blocks away, laughing in its rust. I looked up the cross street and then down hoping for a window to make my move. When I looked to my left again a woman in a wide brimmed summer hat distracted me and I stared. She was reading a book, sitting on the bench outside of the coffee shop. There was a white ribbon around the trough of her hat with a blue flower held in place. She took a sip of her coffee and caught me looking at her over the top of her book. I looked away, avoiding the awkward moment in time to see the orange hand turn to a happy walking man.

I surged forward and forgot about the blue flower in her hat. On the next corner was a Catholic church with its doors swung open. I spied inside as I surged by and saw a handful of people sitting in pews. There was a priest in a white and purple costume with his arms raised over his congregation. I didn't hear what he said but I heard the organ say goodbye. I thought it was a train whistle, leaned ahead, and put my shoulder into the distance between the church and the platform.

My watch gave me mere seconds. I tried a jog for a few steps then returned to a walk; I trotted for a couple of sidewalk squares and then thought better. the entrance to the platform, though I could see people on it ahead and above me, was half way down the street it ran parallel to. I took the right turn at speed, jumping around a startled squirrel, and fixed my eyes on the stairway at street level. As I approached, I noticed a couple sitting on the bottom steps close together. The man had his arm around the woman. They were looking at their feet but were smiling. As I came up to them I heard the man say, "this is the best part."