The Commuter

The train shook as it tumbled down further into the ground and further away from home. You enjoyed travelling on trains. You liked how it was the only part of your day that forced you to sit down and stop and think about everything. It was so hard to think about things these days. Life just seemed to be rushing past you all the time. It must have been six, seven years, now, since you decided to take a job at Slimtech.

Slimtech was not your job of choice, to say the least. It was a computer restoring company in the heart of the city and while it paid decently enough, it certainly wasn’t where you planned to end your career. You were still young and hungry for more. It was just hard to remember the last time you felt any kind of passion for anything. It was hard to remember what passion was any more.

As the roaring of the train intensified, it edged its way above ground again, the sunrays blinking through the buildings past the tracks and hitting your eyes. You twisted away from the opposite windows and turned instead to the one behind you, the armrest digging in slightly to your side through the linen of your blazer. With an indignant sigh, you cursed the umbrella you’d brought and cursed yet again the weather app. You looked out the window and, not for the first time, thought about how wrong the weather forecast had been.

After half an hour of watching the morning sunlight dance on the buildings and awkward sitting positions trying to avoid being blinded, your stop finally arrived. A commute like this, after six or seven years, was easy to master. You weaved among the tourists and sped through the tunnels with ease. Commuting like this was an art form. All the other suited city dwellers had begun to blend in with the concrete but it was making games of your day that kept you from falling into the pit of blandness and grey.

In no time you were at the bricked entrance of the station, falling into your daily rhythm once again. The street was wide and busy, as it was every day. The stench of the fish market down the road and the roars of the red double-decker buses. The grey, faded brick and the diversity of people and places. London was your home for sure and it had been for as long as you could remember. Before then? Well, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that you couldn’t remember. With a dismissive shake of the head, you hopped off the pavement and headed directly for the large building across the street.

The building itself was tall but most of it was residential. The company headquarters only took up the first and the ground floor. Your office was on the first floor and even though it was only a flight of stairs away, you often found yourself waiting for the lift in the mornings. The glass on the first floor was green-tinted and as you waited by the lift doors, you caught yourself gazing at the colour of the sky and the people as they passed outside.

You found yourself drawn in particular to a girl walking along the pavement. Unlike the others, she was walking slowly, almost meandering through the people, absolutely starstruck by the tall building of the central business district. London tended to have that effect on people. You couldn’t bring yourself to tear your eyes away from her as you stepped through the doors with the usual morning crowd and, as the doors boxed you in, you wondered when the last time you’d looked that way at something was. 

The desk assigned to you was right in the corner of the room by the window. It wasn’t particularly well-kept, but whilst you didn’t pride yourself on tidiness, it was quite a bit neater than the others’ in the office. You set your bag down on the floor and sat down on the worn chair. The desk itself consisted of the usual set up; a computer and a standard telephone. Where most people kept photos of their family, your desk was stocked with too many notebooks and colour-coordinated stationery. Even though you’d sat here for four of the years you’d worked here, you held considerably less sentimental value for it than any passer-by would have expected. This was the desk where you wasted away hours completing whatever projects you were assigned and putting together the monotonous presentations that rarely diverged from the message of the last. It was a place where you were wasting away your life.

As you logged on you thought about how having a family would be. Children maybe. It would be nice to have photos to put on your desk, after all. You dropped your eyelids and tried to stop the thought in its tracks. No. A family needed a foundation and your savings were nowhere near as much as you’d want them to be. You weren’t going to be that kind of parent. The kind you were unfortunate enough to have. You couldn’t fail anyone if there was no one to let down. It certainly didn’t stop you from letting yourself down, though.

Work that day was numbing, as always. You fell into the dreamlike state where everything was a motion to go through, waiting to wake up to the sound of the bustling end of the day and the commute back home. It was a routine. It was safe. It was lethal.

By the time you stepped out of the building that evening, it was cool and dim. The dusk light cast most of the street in shadows but the light of the streetlamps glowed. The metal of the cars shone and glinted, giving the evening a magical feel to all who stopped to notice.

Everyone was busy moving through the crowds and heading home. You felt yourself being carried by the strong currents of the commuters, flinging you back down to the station and throwing you into a packed tube car to be shuttled back down underground.

This was probably the worst part of the day. The stench of sweat and impatience. The noise that filled your head with nothing and cast you into a spell of indifference. Barging and pushing as if someone’s life depended on it. It always felt to you that the rush hour ride back home was witness to humanity’s worst.

A small eternity later, you stumbled out onto the platform, the cool, non-stale air hitting your face. As the train loped away to its next station, you ambled towards the station exit. It was becoming harder and harder to endure this suffocating life. You found yourself sitting down on the bench. It was cold and soothing and so fresh. As if life hadn’t found a way to ruin it yet. It was like that girl from earlier. Someone who still seemed to be free from this way of life. It was both beautiful and sad to think about. Sad, because you knew life would find a way to dampen her spirit. You didn’t want to go home. As soon as you went home the cycle would begin again and you would lose this moment of clarity.

You kicked back and looked up at the sky. It was dark enough that the stars were out now. The night breeze rolled around you, filling the air with mystery and hope. Hope. Now that was something you missed. The streetlights swirled with their golden auras and even the rats seemed to scamper with an added sense of purpose. The evening swelled with pride and fulfilment. Everything you wanted to feel for yourself.

The feeling began to collapse. You picked up your bag again and walked, the station platform now empty of all others. It was nice; as if this moment belonged to you and only you. As if it would only ever belong to you.

When you got home, you fell onto your bed. You thought about making dinner but decided you weren’t hungry.

Maybe one day you’d quit your job and decide to travel the world. Maybe one day everything would make sense to you and you’d just figure out the key to making life work.

All you did know, here, in the mess of duvet and pillows, was that you were tired. You needed to sleep. After all, you had to get up early. You had work tomorrow.