waiting, watching, wondering

my absolute, all-time, favorite seat on the train is the single seat positioned perpendicular to the window in the middle of the car. this seat allows for maximum city-seeing with minimal interference.

in the morning, however, i'm happy to take any seat i can get. today i was in one of the two seats that faces two more seats directly across the aisle. to my left was a man in a suit and probably his early 30s. across from me was a girl about my age who had gotten on at southport.

at north & clybourn, our forced quartet was completed as a man sat down in the last remaining spot. at first glance i assumed this man to be some bad-ass bike messenger. he had a small frame and not an ounce of fat. i'm pretty sure he had more muscle in his skinny right calf than i do in my whole body. he had a shaved head and donned thick, leather workboots, a bulky brown vest, and sunglasses. the train sped towards clark & division, and i watched him. i was staring, but i couldn't help it. and the more i observed the more i wondered if my initial impression was incorrect.

was that chipped, red fingernail polish on his pinky or dried blood? through his lightly tinted sunglasses i could see his eyes darting around the train car--not settling on anyone or anything, refusing to rest.

was that toothbrush in his sleeve pocket a means to keep his bike free of mud and rust? or was it used every morning with toothpaste? as the girl next to him readjusted, he quickly moved the arm closest to her in a manner suggesting he wanted nothing to do with personal contact.

was that leather belt and piece of coated wire tied around the loop in his vest a bike messenger's talisman or a homeless man's morning find? i had my earphones in, but his lips formed sentenced- length shapes. whether a silent voicing of internal thoughts or casual conversation to his seatmate, however, i couldn't tell.

was that deep dent in the upper part of his forehead a part of the natural, uneven topography every skull displays? or was it the reason he was now repeatedly banging his right elbow into the partition separating the exit and the aisle? was he pumping himself up for a long day of riding, or preparing to jump off the train and beat someone down?

as the train pulled into chicago & state, i stood to exit the train. he remained seated but raised his arms straight up in front of him and held them there. was this gesture a silent request for me to take his bony hands and help him to his feet?
or was he pretending to be a zombie?