- by Dukie

(1)       "A Room of One's Own"

So I sometimes work downtown on the weekends and I was running late for this gig at Old South Church. I'm careening down the escalators at Porter like a maniac. I didn't know my feet could turn over that fast. I get down to the platform, all out of breath, and no train. Waiting, waiting, waiting... I could have walked for Chrissakes... FINALLY, the thing comes. Doors open, and on I go. I plop down on a seat and sit there recovering from my sprint, when it suddenly hits me—there's no one else in this car. I have a T car all to myself. Completely empty. At first I didn't believe it. I stood up, craning my neck, looking back and forth to see if there's someone hiding somewhere in the corner. You get those people that sort of blend into the sides and corners of T cars, especially on the Red Line. It's not so much that they blend in with their physical surroundings, it's just that they stay completely still. Nothing. There's no one there. I had no idea what to do. I was at a total loss. A completely unprecedented event had just occurred in my life and I was totally unprepared for it. There are certain moments in life that you know are going to happen someday and you prepare for them in your mind as much as you can. Outside of death and premature ejaculation, you can pretty much set a gameplan for most of them. An empty car on the T was for me something that I never even conceived could happen. I mean, it can't, can it? People are always going places. Especially around here. At any given time in this town, you're pretty much stuck somewhere between "just arrived" and "outta here." You go into work on Monday, on Tuesday the guy across the hall from you is gone. He's gone. And there's a new guy there now. You go to eat lunch at your favorite place, the person waiting on you Monday is gone Tuesday. They're gone. And there's a new server there now. Soon the restaurant is gone. It's gone. And there's a new one there now. You go home after work and the guy rooming with you on Monday is gone Tuesday. He's gone. And there's a new guy there now. With all these people coming and going, it's no wonder you can't find a seat on the train. That's why when they close off one of the cars on the train for maintenance or whatever, even though you know you can't sit there, you still get so excited when you see it roll by. And then you're all let down when you see that it's dark and they make the announcement, giving you that disclaimer. But, what could possibly be wrong with that car? Is the floor broken, is a window out, what? Did someone die in there between Broadway and South Station? Are T employees napping in there, hidden somewhere under the seats? In essence, that is everyone's subconscious end goal, to get on that empty car, and feel what it's like to step in, just you. And it had finally happened. So I had no gameplan. So the train starts moving and jerks me out of my fog and back into reality. It's rattling along and everything's pretty much the same except that there's no one to look at, no one's eye to catch, momentarily. There's no one to flirt with, no one whose eyes you try to avoid. It's just me, in this big, loud, rattling car. Nothing but darkness going by. After another minute or two, I'm hit with another startling revelation—I'm a complete and total moron! I've been given this...gift. A few moments of pure solitude in a mass transit vehicle. A vehicle which, by its very nature, is meant to carry large groups of people from point A to point B...and I'm just SITTING here! The air is rushing out of my balloon and I'm collecting sandbags! In just under a minute, the train will embark at Harvard Square and it'll all be over. This car will be ordinary again, filled with people. Or at least, filled with more than just me. One or one hundred, it makes little difference. Unless...would fate allow...is it possible that no one will get on there either? Am I destined to ride this car all the way downtown by myself? But why me? Why give me the privilege, what had I done to deserve it? I gave some change to a guy somewhere on the Orange Line last week, but a lot of people do that. No...I couldn't allow for that possibility. I couldn't take that chance. In less than a minute it might all be over and I'd have nothing to show for it. I had to take advantage. I had to seize the moment and act! The possibilities seemed endless... I found myself pacing, which is not easy to do on a moving train. I could get naked! Yeah, but then I'd have to get back into my clothes before the doors opened again. Wouldn't even have a chance to walk around, surveying my domain. How much fun would that be, naked T riding? Naked T Day! Free passage on the T to anyone going naked. Half-price if you go topless. Nah, it'd never work. Something else...What is it that everyone always wants to do on the T, but never feel they can? What is it that the T stirs within us like no other mode of transportation? What primal urge, what unspoken potential lies latent beneath the rumbling floors? Surfing! Every human being, since they first set foot on the T, has dreamed of nothing grander than riding the underground waves. Of testing their endurance against the heave and ho of the mighty tidal elements that govern mass transit. Yes. Yes! It was inevitable—I had no choice! I leaped into the spray, holding low and tight. The current was strong... hungry... enraged. A brutal force, created by man, set untamed upon this lone rider. A sudden curve dashed me into the seats, but I righted myself and held on. I was...gnarly! I hung eight! Or ten, or six, or whatever it is. And then there was the noise. The slow, rising screech of metal upon metal that signaled the car's defeat. And my victory. Gradually, the waves subsided; the car slowed. I grasped the nearest pole, feeling my pulse slowly returning to normal. As the train ground to a resigned halt, my legs gave way beneath me and I collapsed into a seat, sweat glistening on my forehead, my shirt damp. The doors opened at Harvard and the people poured on, some of them pausing to stare at the exhausted ecstasy on my face. I was a survivor. A warrior. A surfer of the great mechanized wake. And they were just passengers.