I wrote this story three years ago.
Reading it now, I am surprised by it. At the time, I thought I was writing a story about a woman on a train.
Returning to it, I wonder if I was already exploring those small moments when the stories we habitually tell ourselves are interrupted. Perhaps that’s why it still feels alive to me.
Sky was wrecked. She’d partied hard the night before, and now she had to face the torturous commute to work.
Smelly armpits and being squashed like a sardine were never pleasant when travelling during rush hour, but when you’d had a skinful the night before, it was hell.
She only had herself to blame, though. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know she had work. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know she had an important meeting at 10 a.m.
She did.
When her friend Jackie had asked her out, her initial response was to say no. And then, with a little nudge from her good friend, she’d said, “Okay, but only for a little bit.”
How many times had she done that?
Too many. She knew it. Jackie knew it. And they’d gone out and got smashed. Again.
Eventually, she crawled back to her place only to drift off to sleep, and 5 minutes later, her alarm went off, or at least, that’s what it felt like.
She stood on the platform, her head banging. She’d taken some tablets, but they weren’t doing anything.
This was going to be a tough day.
The train pulled into the platform. It was packed.
She waited while some commuters got off, then moved with the force of those on the platform into the tiny space, wondering what she was doing.
Why was she so stupid?
Why did she always have to be so stupid?
What on earth was the matter with her?
Like a drumbeat, her thoughts snapped at her, thudding inside her head, adding an intensity to her already painful headache.
So stupid.
So stupid!
Why am I so stupid?
Pressed close to the other bodies within the carriage, she stood holding onto a grab handle. Head down. Eyes shut. Hating life. Hating herself. Head banging.
Then, with a jolt, the train stopped.
Sky felt herself falling. She reached out, trying in vain to stop herself. The bodies around her moved with her. They all jolted together.
A hand grabbed her arm. Held her.
Everyone looked up and for a moment connected. They were all jolted from their inner worlds and suddenly saw each other.
A collective gasp.
A community of commuters so close yet so separate suddenly brought together.
A tension cord snapped, and strangers were suddenly people again, all sharing this moment, all experiencing a new camaraderie born of a circumstance that none of them had expected.
A tableau.
A sky with a jolt of lightning.