Off the Rails

    The man looked at the train station around him. He had insisted on traveling by train instead of a plane, even though he knew that planes went much faster. Faster did not equal safer, especially that far off the ground. At least this station seemed clean enough. He wheeled his suitcase behind him, hoping to avoid close contact with his fellow waiting passengers. With one hand on the retractable handle, he pushed it down with his thumb. The entire mechanism disappeared into the suitcase smoothly. The backpack felt more cumbersome than it had when he had left his apartment that morning. He checked his watch. It was five minutes until the train arrived. The man began fiddling with the straps on his backpack, loosening and tightening by degrees until his arms felt trapped by the webbing. He loosened the webbing in reaction, making the pack feel as though it was going to fall. The train arrived just as he finished readjusting the strap to a comfortable length. Like the other passengers, he stepped on as “Watch the gap” repeated for the second time.

The train was as crowded as he had been told it would be. He grimaced at the thought of contact with humanity. The idea of that wretched virus, even though it was halfway around the world, was eating away at his mind. Someone coughed, and his head swiveled to look. The woman who had coughed was already sitting on the red, plush chair beside the window. She met his eyes briefly, then turned back to her book. The picture on the front had an alien and a man with lasers shooting out of his fingertips. A passenger tried to edge past him, and he recoiled again. Another possible vector. He realized he had been standing in the middle of the lane for some time now. Almost everyone had put their baggage into the overhead compartments. The only remaining seat was… next to the woman who had coughed, who produced some sort of lozenge from her purse. He did another quick scan as the paper crinkled.

"Ticket, please." The conductor's voice seemed a little congested. Maybe he was just paranoid.

"Ticket, please." The conductor put a little more force into the request and tapped him on the shoulder. The man fumbled for his ticket, and silently cursed the warm coat that had So. Many. Pockets.  He was sure he looked like he was dancing that ridiculous 90’s song. Why had he offered to write up and present this information anyway?

“Sir, is that your ticket in your back pocket?” the conductor gently prompted. The man slapped his back pocket, and, as if by magic, the ticket was there. He turned and handed the card to the conductor, who scanned the barcode and returned it. The man returned it to his pocket and started looking for a seat again. Moments later, a polite cough sounded behind him. The conductor hadn’t moved past him because his backpack and luggage were in the way

"There is an empty seat over there, sir." The conductor pointed to the woman who had coughed, who had by now looked up from her book. "Would you like some help with your carry-on?" the conductor continued. The man stammered out a negative and snapped up his carry-on bag handle to its full height. Thank goodness he had sprung for the larger bag with the wheels. Otherwise, he would have had to place his belongings or his research into the hold. Making that decision would have taken much longer than the train would have traveled. He rolled his bag to the appropriate location and opened the overhead. It was almost full, but he was determined. He tried to snap the bag handle down, but it caught on the second to last click. He pressed the button and tried again. Nothing. He could feel his face burning, and the tingle down his neck that he knew meant everyone was looking at him. He tried again, but it still didn't move. The man could hear the conductor following behind him, getting closer with every blip of the scanner. The woman scooched over to the middle seat, apparently trying to help. He waved her away. He could do this himself. He had done it earlier, after all. She moved back and rested against the window, watching. The third time was apparently the charm, or he pushed the button in the middle of the handle firmly enough while pushing down on the handle. Either way, the handle disappeared as it was supposed to. The man lifted the carry-on bag into the overhead compartment. It fit 3/4s of the way in. He tried wiggling while he pushed. Remarkably, his luggage came out of the compartment a little. The man heard the conductor clear his throat politely. Once again, he was holding someone up who was trying to do their job. The conductor had caught up to him once again. If he could just get it to… There. The carry-on bag, crushing the small purple bag he had placed it on, finally fit. He unslung his backpack with practiced ease and sat down next to the woman as the conductor walked past. The train lurched toward its destination as the man unzipped the top, pulled out a small laptop, and began working feverishly on his presentation.

The woman glanced at the man sitting beside her. He had been looking down the entire time the conductor had checked her ticket. His round glasses and face contributed to the air of inexperience about him. He drummed his fingers between bouts of furious typing. Clearly, if the right word escaped him, it wasn't for long. He wasn’t paying any attention to her; he was focused on his presentation about… She craned her neck closer to try and read the screen. He must have sensed her gaze because he whipped his head around to look at her. His brown eyes gawked at her as his mop of brown hair moved and formed into a new animal shape. He slammed the laptop shut as she held back a smirk.

“Hi, I’m Nina. Is this your first time on the train?” She smiled, proximity creating a need to put this fidgeting child at ease.

“Nina? I’m, uh, George.” His hand moved to shake hers, then dropped back as he realized he wasn’t supposed to shake a woman’s hand. “Uh, yes, it is my first train ride.”

“Nice to meet you, George.” She said, raising her hand to shake his. He took it hesitantly and shook. “What are you writing your presentation on?” She asked, trying to fill a suddenly awkward silence. He squirmed and decided there wouldn’t be any harm in telling her.

“I’m writing about ways to determine whether a patient is experiencing anxiety in a public area.”