Interesting Times

“May you live in interesting times”. This supposedly is an ancient Chinese curse, or part of a curse. If you check various search engines; you will be advised that it is neither ancient, nor Chinese. It has actually been attributed to an Englishman.

This apocryphal curse had always intrigued me. My life had mostly been a polar opposite of this interesting wish. I was and remain mostly average. I wouldn’t quite say bland: perhaps midway between that and milquetoast.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m okay with who I am. And if I’m not exactly overflowing with joy every day; at least I have never suffered any tragedy. My parents are still alive and healthy: they live on the coast. Honestly the only thing that has ever been said about me that wasn’t average, is from my maternal grandmother who always insisted my eyes were “striking”. Be that as it may; I’m fine being maybe a 6, or a 7 on a good day.

Despite being only physically so-so; I have had my share of relationships. I guess I’m lucky that I have a nice “personality”. I have had my share of heartache and have bounced back from that. I still hope to find the right person one day.

I had been working at my position at a government agency for several years when something happened that was “interesting”. I don’t work at any of the mysterious/exciting/dangerous agencies that have three initials. And I am at best, a lower mid-level employee with a job that while important, is interchangeable with many other positions at that agency.

I have found that a sure fire way to get someone’s eyes to glaze over is to discuss what I do for work in detail.

Even my commute is: boring is a good word for it.

I take the train into work five days a week. I take the train because the traffic going into downtown has been described as hellish. If you look in the dictionary under the term traffic-jam, you would find a picture of my commute.

So I take the train. I buy a monthly pass on the last day of every month and my work even reimburses me for ninety-five percent of the cost. Honestly the train takes as much time to get me to my job as if I had driven my own vehicle. But if I had to make that drive five days a week for fifty weeks a year; I would probably end up taking my own life. I don’t have a firearm; have never actually fired a real gun. So I would most likely drive my car into a bridge abutment.

The train is reliable and safe.

I usually nap on my train ride in to work. My day starts early and it’s always dark when my morning ride starts. Many of the other commuters follow the same pattern as I. Some spend their time absorbed in some sort of electronic screen, whether it be the latest smart phone or tablet: but I tend to doze intermittently on my daily commute. I do the same on the way home in the afternoon or early evening if I’m being one hundred percent honest.

About three months before the “interesting” event; I first noticed a distinct individual. I would normally sit in the second or third pair of seats on the right side of the train car. That was my habit. I have a lot of those. As I have said before; some would call me boring. But I enjoy the routine.

One particular day, a fellow commuter dropped something toward the opposite end of the car. Whatever it was; it shattered and there was a peculiar smell. Not unpleasant really; I never did figure out what it was. But as I was sitting there, looking in the direction of the sound and the odor; I noticed a figure that seemed to be asleep. Whoever they were, they were covered mostly in either a blanket or some form of cloak. Like an old school cloak you might see some costumed person wearing. I couldn’t see the persons’ face and remember thinking that the material of their cloak looked unusual.

One of my earliest endeavors in the field of employment had been working in a textile business that was owned by an eccentric middle eastern family. I became familiar with many different materials and forms of cloth. But I couldn’t figure out what that person’s garment was made of.

After noticing them that day, I found myself looking for them when I got onto the train to go to work. I would sit in my second or third pair of seats and they would already be in same seat on the other end of the car. The funny thing was: my stop was the first one on the line and I took the earliest train in to the city. But that person was always there when I got on and always in the same spot. They wore their cloak and were seemingly enjoying a nap as we travelled into the city. Their features were always hooded; so I never got a look at him, or her.

About a week before it happened, I noticed that the hooded figure was getting closer. I would get onto the morning train and sit in my regular seat. That person would be a row closer. I still had yet to get a glimpse beneath their cloak, so had no idea what they might look like.

On the day of: when I got on board the first train of the day, as was my wont, I found them sitting across from my usual spot in the third row of seats. Needless to say I was curious; even though by nature I am not particularly so.

As the train progressed into the city, I could not help but glance across to the hooded figure. For their part whoever they were, they simply seemed to nap as they always did.

We were half a dozen stops away from the station where I would normally disembark when there was a violent movement on the train. I never did find out what caused the distressing motion.

I was jerked forward and because of their orientation on the seat, the hooded figure was jerked backward. This caused their hood to fall back and reveal their face to me.

It took a moment of looking at them before I realized what I was seeing and I was -startled is a pretty good word for what I was.

I stood quickly and stumbled. I ran directly into one of the poles that are evenly distributed throughout each car on the train. I cleverly and gracelessly struck the pole forcefully with my face. I saw stars, almost like a cartoon and I went down on my back. I was a bit dizzy and could feel moisture on my cheek. I reached up with my left hand and felt my face gingerly. There was blood on my left cheek and I could feel a gash there. I remember thinking vividly “that’s going to leave a scar”.

There were concerned individuals standing around the clumsy person who had stumbled and fallen. The only individual that concerned me was the cloaked figure. I could see their face, as their hood had fallen back and they had not bothered to put it back in it’s usual place. I could see a faded scar on their left cheek. They leaned over me and offered a weathered hand.

And almost as though they had heard my thought. I heard them say, “it did leave a scar”

I couldn’t think of what else to do, so I grabbed the offered hand – my hand -and let me help myself to my unsteady feet.

Huh! I thought to myself. Am I living in interesting times?