The Red Line

Evening has settled into night and it's drizzling outside. My old roommate Dan and I wait on the Roosevelt Red Line platform pointed North. Two security guards stand around, chatting, each of them with a large, muzzled, German Shepard at their heels.

A group of six or seven men stumble up the stairs, arms around each others' shoulders laughing and talking louding. Suddenly, a shorter chubbier man in the group freezes. His chums move a few steps before realizing he has fallen behind. A taller, bearded man turns around and awkwardly reaches out his hand. "What's up, dude?" he slurs. The other four turn around too, swaying and mildly confused.

Dude is staring at one of the dogs.

"Come on dude, what's the matter?" Beard steps forward.

"WHAT THE FUCK" Dude screams.

The security guards turn, eyebrows raised.

"What's up, man?" Beard walks to his side.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE DOING UP HERE"

"Calm down sir," a security guard says.

Another member of the group, wearing large, thick glasses and sporting a shiny bald head, walks over to Dude and grabs his arm.

"Come on man," he says, giving his arm a tug.

"FUCK THAT GET THAT SHIT OUTTA HERE"

"Sir, calm down"

"Come on man, let's go."

"FUCK YOU FUCK THIS WHAT THE FUCK ARE THEY UP HERE FOR"

"Sir," the security guard takes a step forward. His German Shepard looks indifferent and groans under his muzzle.

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME"

"Come on man, we'll go downstairs and take a bus, okay? Let's go,"

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME"

The train's headlights are seen rolling down the elevated track not too far away.

"Let's go, dude," other members of the group say.

"Sir, stay right there please."

"FUCK YOU"

"Come on, let's go."

"STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE," the other security guard suddenly shouts.

The train arrives quickly and loudly, drowning out the noise. Dan and I quickly scoot onto a car and take a seat.

"You want something to read?" Dan asks.

No, I'm fine.

Across the aisle, a woman is bent over her legs, head flopping against her knees, matted hair reaching around to her face, invading her nose and mouth and ears. She breathes loudly, but unintrusively. A plastic bag sits at her feet, her left hand clutching one of the handles. The other has escaped her as she sleeps, dropping to the floor. Its contents lie half on the floor, half in the bag. Mostly garbage, scraps of food, newspaper, old McDonalds boxes and cups, magazine, squished box of cigarettes.

She's dressed in a thin black sweat shirt that doesn't quite cover her arms and light blue pajama pants with small pink bunnies dotting the fabric. They are too short for her and between their hem and her old battered sneakers I can see puffy, swollen flesh where healthy ankles should have been.

The train comes to a quick halt, her head swings and cracks against a metal pole. She doesn't move. I can still hear her breathe.

The train arrives at our stop and we stand. Dan exits before me. I don't know what to do and for a second I stall. I quickly roll up a five dollar bill and stick it in her bag. She doesn't move.

Walking along Belmont Dan lights up a cigarette. "You see that crazy lady sitting across from me on the train?" he asks.

I step in a puddle. Yeah... I did.

"Pretty fucked up, huh?" he says and takes a long drag.