© 2012 Phylicia Joannis
It was getting uncomfortable.
The air was thick and heavy around us. Each passenger’s body heat collided with the clammy atmosphere. It was hot, and as a result, most of us were sweating.
All of the women sat together, fanning humid skin with whatever was available. The Climber and the Complainer stood far off from the rest of us. Plotting a grand escape, I was sure.
Dreadlock was close by, leaning against the capsized bench.
“How long have we been down here?” he asked.
The Nurse checked her watch. “About an hour, I guess.”
Dreadlock frowned and shook his head. “I was supposed to be at a job interview today.”
He winced as the Nurse checked the bandage on his leg. She frowned as she carefully uncovered the gauze to clean the wound. Dreadlock cried out.
“I’m sorry,” the Nurse shook her head. “Try to take your mind off of what I’m doing if you can.”
Dreadlock nodded and turned to me. “So, how’d you end up down here?” he asked.
I flushed and placed my hands in the pockets of my denim jeans.
“Me?” I stammered. “I um, I just needed some air, you know?”
Dreadlock chuckled. “I guess this wasn’t exactly what you were expecting, huh?”
I smiled halfheartedly. Dreadlock continued.
“So, I’m curious. What did you need air for? Something bothering you? Your parents try to ground you or something?”
“I’m twenty-one!” I stated defensively. “I don’t live with my parents.”
“Okay, okay,” Dreadlock replied. “You just don’t look very old, that’s all.”
I had to get him to change the subject.
“Well, what about you?” I asked. “What kind of job were you interviewing for?”
Dreadlock shrugged. “Some crummy job in an office paying minimum wage. I’m not even sure I was really going to go.”
“Why wouldn’t you?” the Old Woman questioned. “There’s nothing wrong with an honest living.”
Dreadlock scratched his stubby chin. “Well, I haven’t had too much luck finding one. Even if I went, they probably wouldn’t hire me.”
“Why’s that?” I asked, curious.
Dreadlock’s eyes shifted down and I knew my question touched a sensitive subject.
“Never mind,” I told him quickly. “It’s none of my business.”
Dreadlock shook his head. “No, it’s just… I have no work experience.”
The Nurse’s eyes flickered, the Old Woman raised her brows, and I laughed.
“That’s impossible,” I stated.
“You look near your thirties,” the Old Woman added. “Surely you’ve worked somewhere?”
Dreadlock shook his head.
“You can’t be serious!” I scoffed. “Even I’ve had a job!”
“Why wouldn’t you?” the Nurse eyed me suspiciously and I swallowed.
“Well, I mean, I’m the youngest person here, right?” I hemmed. Nervous, I began to retie my shoelaces. “So why haven’t you worked?” I asked as casually as I could.
“I was in prison,” he said quietly.
I stopped messing with my shoes and looked up. “Oh.”
Dreadlock noticed the looks on our faces and tried to explain. “I got busted for drugs when I was 14. I wasn’t selling anything, but I caught a ride with someone who was. They put me in juvie, and I met someone who said he’d hook me up with a job when I got out. I lived with my aunt and she didn’t have much, so I took him up on his offer. After running with him a couple years, I got busted again. But I didn’t know about the baseball rule.”
“What’s the baseball rule?” I asked.
“Three strikes you’re out,” the Nurse replied curtly. “After three drug offenses you get kicked out of the juvenile system and they try you as an adult.”
Dreadlock nodded. “I was tried as an adult on my fourth offense. They gave me four years for each charge.”
“What were the charges?” I asked.
Dreadlock shook his head. “I can’t remember what the charges were called, but they caught me selling at my school, and I had a knife in my backpack. In the end, it added up to twenty years. My public defender told me to plead guilty, and I got out in ten.”
“Selling drugs is a waste of time,” the Old Woman shook her head. “There are too many lives ended early because of that stuff.”
“Yeah and I learned my lesson,” Dreadlock sucked in his teeth as the Nurse finished wrapping his wound, “But it seems like I can’t catch a break. Everywhere I apply for a job, no matter how hard I try, the moment they see I was in prison, they lose interest.”
“That’s a small price to pay compared to the other side of your story,” the Nurse replied tersely.
“Are you kidding me?” Dreadlock scowled. “I lost ten years already. Why should I be punished for the rest of my life?”
The Nurse looked at Dreadlock sternly. “My brother lost his life, okay? A drug dealer shot him because he tried to stop him from selling that poison on our block. My brother was a hero, and he’s dead. You’re a coward, looking for a quick buck and you’re still breathing, so excuse me if I don’t feel sorry for you because you can’t find a job.”
The Nurse gathered her instruments into her bag and sat beside me. A part of me wanted to comfort her, but I didn’t know how.
So I left her alone.
Dreadlock looked at me, the Nurse, and the Old Woman. He was searching for words he’d never find; words of comfort for the Nurse and reassurance for the rest of us.
“Miss, I’m really sorry for your loss,” he said softly.
She nodded in response. “Forget it. You’re not the one who killed him.”
Ill at ease with the emotional tension, I turned to find the Congressman. He was alone in a corner. I mustered enough courtesy to excuse myself and sat beside him. I spied him removing a thin sliver from his arm before it disappeared into his coat pocket.
“Oh, I um…” My eyes shifted away as I hemmed to hide my apprehension.
“It’s okay,” the Congressman smiled. “Just my insulin shot.”
“You have diabetes, then?” I asked. “How many of those do you have to take? Do you have enough?”
“Oh, it’s no big deal,” he smiled warmly. “Just a little prick when my blood sugar’s low, and I’m good as new.”
“Okay,” I replied as I sat down beside him. “I wanted to thank you for what you did. You saved my life. I don’t know anyone who would have risked his life for someone he didn’t know.”
The Congressman shook his head. “Don’t think too highly of me just yet.”
I paused before my next question. “Are they true? The rumors I mean?”
The Congressman grimaced. “Most of those claims are nothing more than malicious fodder for the media.”
“But not all of it’s false?” I surmised.
The Congressman was silent. I thought he was ignoring me, so I rose to leave.
“I had a mistress,” he confessed.
I sat down again.
“I’d just been elected to Congress. I was young and foolish, and she became pregnant. I told her to give the child up, paid her to terminate the pregnancy and keep everything quiet.”
“That’s awful,” I whispered.
“It was a long time ago,” the Congressman sighed. “Seventeen years, to be exact.”
I swallowed. “But your wife, she found out about the affair?”
The Congressman laughed blandly. “Years later.”
He shook his head. “Then came the allegations of bribery and abuse and multiple women. I hadn’t even seen that woman, or any other woman, in years. She called me one night, out of the blue, asking for money. She said she’d expose our whole sordid affair if I didn’t pay her.”
“So you tried to pay her off?”
The Congressman nodded. “And I was duped. She leaked the story to the press and used the money as proof we hadn’t ended things. I was audited, accused of fraud and misusing funds, you name it. I lost my reputation. It wasn’t long before my career and family followed.”
“It was a nasty divorce, huh?” I asked. “I remember hearing my foster mother talk about it during her book club meetings.”
“So you’re an orphan?” the Congressman asked.
I paused. “Yeah, um, my parents died when I was little.”
“That’s unfortunate,” the Congressman murmured.
“So, you didn’t remarry or anything?” I asked.
The Congressman scoffed. “No, I’ve been a bit of a black sheep since that whole mess. What about you? Are you married?”
“Me?” I laughed. “No way.”
“Well, you’re old enough aren’t you?” he asked.
“Of c-course,” I stuttered. “I just, I’m not into marriage.” I couldn’t look at him. His eyes were soft, but keen. They could see right through me, and I knew he knew.
“Come on,” the Congressman coaxed me. “I told you my secret, you tell me yours.”
I bit my lip. Played with my fingers. Caught something out of the corner of my eye. I turned to watch something brown crawl from the dirt in the door and sniff the air.
“What is that?” I whispered. It was burrowing through the dirt, leaving piles of it on the floor. It finally plodded to the ground and scurried to the far end of the train, where the dead body lay.
“It’s a rat,” the Congressman chuckled.
I stood quickly, rubbing away the prickly feeling rising through my arms. “That’s disgusting.”
“It’s just scavenging for food,” the Congressman explained. “If it’ll make you feel better, we can set a trap for it. Keep it for emergencies.”
I stared at him, horrified. “I’m not eating a rat!”
The Congressman shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
The thought left a bad taste in my mouth. The greasy little rodent made a high pitched sound as it reached Dead Guy’s carcass.
Another whiskered face peeked through the hole in the dirt.
“Aaah!” I gasped and pointed as one rat after another made its way into the car. There were dozens of them.
And they were hungry.
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