[ IP ] The Night Train

I limped down the stairs into the depths of the 14th avenue station. It was nearly 3 A.M., but summertime in New York means the heat also never sleeps. The sweat began to bead on the back of my neck and even in my drunken stupor I could calculate the exact number of hours it had been since my last shower. It had been a long day, and a longer night. I needed to get home. 
 
 I shuffled over to the nearest bench and plopped down, uttering an audible sigh of relief as I felt the weight shift off my weary feet. I leaned back, letting my head find a comfortable rest on my shoulders. My booze-dulled senses pulsed. My eyelids started to droop... 
 
 `` Do n't fall asleep just yet, kid. The night train will be here any minute.'' 
 
 I opened an eyelid and glanced over. I had n't noticed it, but I was sitting next to an old man. He had his cane clasped in his left hand as if he was readying himself to stand, but his right arm was stretched across back of the bench making him look as if he did n't care if the train came in five minutes or five hours. I shut my eye and let out a mumble of understanding. 
 
 `` It's a beautiful night, do n't you think?'' 
 
 So it was going to be one of those. I could ignore him. He was just a lonely old man. 
 
 Fine. 
 
 `` Gorgeous. It's hot though.'' I managed. 
 
 He grunted in agreement. For a moment there was silence and I thought our exchange of pleasantries had concluded. However, after a minute he spoke again. 
 
 `` I'm down here a lot nowadays. Waiting for the night train.'' 
 
 I opened my eyes and looked over. The old man had a characteristic kind face -- big nose, big ears, relaxed smile -- but there was something in his eyes that made me feel... Well, I do n't know exactly. It made me *feel*. Suddenly, he did n't seem like a stranger to me anymore. It was a dangerous thing for a New York City resident to be feeling about random people he meets in the subway, but I did n't resist it. 
 
 `` Why's that?'' 
 
 He looked over, startled, as if he did n't expect to be asked a question. Then he shrugged and smiled. 
 
 `` It's difficult to explain. To a youngster, that is.'' 
 
 `` I'm not *that* young.'' 
 
 He chuckled at this. Then his smile disappeared as he furrowed his brow. `` When you're older like me, your memory starts to fade. But it's not how you think. It's not like the words on a book page left out in the sun. That's too uniform, too orderly. You do n't forget everything. Just some things.'' 
 
 He waved his hand, painting a picture for me. `` My memory is more like the tide on an endless beach... it comes and it goes. It crashes in violently, only to later recede back into the sea. Sometimes though, the waves leave things strewn on the sand. Old things. Memories. Ancient ones.'' 
 
 The old man trailed off as he said this last word, rubbing his hands against his thigh. 
 
 `` Are they good memories?'' I asked, hoping to lighten the conversation. 
 
 He smiled again. `` Sometimes! Sometimes. That's the damndest thing. It's the randomness that gets you. They're pristine, they're sights and smells and touch so vivid and so alive. I experience nights I forgot I lived in such remarkable clarity.'' He shrugged. `` It can be painful. But it can also be beautiful. Like the night train.'' 
 
 I glanced down the empty tunnel. `` The L is beautiful to you? Maybe back in the day...'' 
 
 He continued, unfazed. `` It happened just last night. I was sitting here, as I am now, and the tide receded. Suddenly, I found myself in a dark apartment in Brooklyn, smelling the sweet aroma of red wine and perfume. The lights of the city twinkled in the distance and the apartment shuddered and shook every time the night train passed by. I felt soft sheets against my skin and saw the slender silhouette of a girl smoking a cigarette and blowing it out the window into the summer night. She smiled at me. It was a beautiful, knowing smile, the kind that had more meaning than a million conversations ever could. Her name was June. That was fifty two years ago.'' 
 
 I said nothing as the old man shook his head. 
 
 When he spoke again, he turned to me and looked me straight in the eyes. 
 
 `` It's like this, my friend. Life is short: you'll be old before you know it. But life is also longer than you could ever imagine. Every moment, every single day you live is kept within you, deep below the surface. The moments that you live and lose will be found again. Some will be painful and some will be beautiful but all of them will make you feel.'' 
 
 I opened my mouth to speak, but I could n't think of anything to say. 
 
 Suddenly, a rush of wind began to wick away my sweat; the L train was barreling down the tunnel. As it screeched to a halt in front of us, I offered my hand to help the old man up. He simply waved. 
 
 `` I have nowhere I need to be. I'm where I want to be right now. With the night train.'' 
 
 I boarded, then turned and watched him through the windows as the doors closed. His eyes were looking at the train, but I stood there and wondered what he saw. 
 
 
 
 

