Rising Sun

Rising Sun

There’s something really special about a train ride in the morning. You can take a train in the middle of the day, the end of the day, the evening, or any other time of day, but a train ride in the morning is so different from all of those. There are so many types of people on the train in the morning. They could be going home from a night of partying or they could be heading to work. Or there could be a person like me. Just taking a train for the ride. I look at the far end of the train car. The smell of cigarette smoke is overpowering. I look at the signs posted all around the train car. Smoking is not allowed on the train. I watch as a man in a suit shoots a dirt stare to the back of the car. He’s glaring at a woman who has a sleeve of tattoos on her left arm and a cigarette in her hand. However, he remains quiet and doesn’t say anything.

It’s interesting how so many different people take one type of transportation. Besides the man in the suit and the smoking woman, there’s a group of high school students, a man with a bookbag, an elderly lady, and me on the train. I hear a phone ring and the man in the suit reaches into his pants pocket to take out his smartphone.

“Hello? Yes. Uh-uh. I left them on her desk. No, Riley took care of it. Okay, bye.” He ends the call but doesn’t put his phone away. 

I only heard his side of the conversation and I wonder what the other person was asking. Was there a problem at work? Did he forget to do something? I don’t know. This man is a total stranger to me. I don’t even know his name. The woman at the back puffs a big cloud of smoke from her cigarette. I stare at her. I don’t know her either. She has a tattoo and she’s smoking and she’s wearing a tank top and some pants. I want to know why she’s smoking and why she decided to get a tattoo. It’s pretty. She looks tired. When I first saw her I thought she was probably middle-aged, but looking at her closely she can’t be older than 26. She’s staring at the man with the backpack. She looks... nostalgic? No, she looks sad. Does she know that man? His backpack is next to him and he has a textbook in his lap. There’s a notebook on top of it and a pencil in his hand as if he was in the middle of working on something. His hand is unmoving and I can hear his soft breathing. He’s sleeping. He’s probably a student. There are dark circles under his eyes as if he hasn’t slept in days. There’s a bandaid on one of his fingers. He has earbuds, but only one of them is actually in his ear. Still, I don’t know this man either. I hear a giggle from the other far side of the car. The group of students is whispering quietly. There are two girls and two boys. Judging from their uniforms, I guess they go to high school downtown. I look between them and the man I presume is a student in college. The group of students doesn’t look that much better off than the man. They all look tired. One of them yawns. I don't know any of them. The elderly lady sitting a few seats down from me is knitting. Maybe it’s for one of her grandchildren. Or maybe she doesn’t have grandchildren. I don’t know that lady. I don’t know what their lives are like. 

I live in the same city as these people, but they don't know me and I don’t know them. They don’t care about me and they won’t remember me. When I die, they won’t miss me and when they die I won’t know who they were. The man in the suit doesn’t like the woman smoking the cigarette. The woman smoking the cigarette seems to want to be like the man who is sleeping. The students at the other end of the car and the man who is sleeping are both in school and they are tired. The elderly lady next to me has lived a long life and unlike the high school students who still have many years ahead of them, she has lived out the majority of her years.

We can feel emotions towards each other without knowing each other, but we won’t mourn when one of us is gone. This train ride is probably the only moment we’ll ever have together. I probably won’t remember them in a month. They won’t remember me and if they look back on this train ride later today they will only know me as the person in the middle of the train, drawing something in a notebook. The fact that this small group of people will not remember each other and won’t care about each other when something happens makes me feel very small. If no one cares about each other in this small group, then no one will care about each other at all. There’s a possibility that those high school students might get shot today at school. The college student may collapse because of a lack of sleep. The man in the suit may get fired or run over with a car. The woman smoking at the back may get shot or raped. The elderly lady might die from a heart attack. And I won’t know and I probably won’t care as much as I should. These are people. People I don’t know, but their people, like me. They have families, and they have dreams, and hopes, and fears. Yet, I won’t cry or mourn when they are missing. I won’t feel guilt or sadness when they’re gone. My only reaction will be something along the lines of “Oh, how sad.”

This train ride holds no special meaning to them. I’m on the train to observe and to draw and to capture moments that no one cares about because all moments deserve to be remembered. I never know when I will die. This train ride might be my last or it might not be. I won’t ever see these people again. They will continue on with their lives like normal. I’m happy that at least this small moment of nothingness in the vast universe where and when I am right now will be remembered through my small drawing.

I look outside as the first rays of the sun come out above the horizon. The sky is a blend of blues and pinks and oranges. The light reflects off the skyscrapers, blinding me for a moment. The strangers and I watch the rising sun in awe, living in this insignificant moment.