Emptiness dominated the train. Her body provided no pressure that could resist the vacuum of the subway car. The bones in her shoulders ached, as though they would fly apart into the nothingness of the empty surroundings. The rattle and rhythm of the train was part of her. The flash of lights on the wheels rolling over the tracks seemed to happen inside her head. She was alone in the car, or more accurately, the car was empty with her in it.
This was an express train, and as it sped past Prospect Park, she read the time on the station clock. It was three in the morning. Home by four she thought, if she didn’t get mugged or raped. And so the train sped on. The subway car was spotless, except for the false promises of better jobs, brighter smiles, and blue skies over tropical beaches that adorned the walls of her compartment. She squeezed her eyes shut as the ache in her bones migrated down her spine. She despised the cleanliness of her compartment. Her bones ached because she had spent the last ten hours of cleaning the homes of the rich and cantankerous- who found it hard to get “good help.” She imagined how difficult it was for the poor fools on “work for welfare” who had created this immaculate car from the smelly, stained car that it had been just months ago.
She stirred from her reverie in time to alight from the train at Stillwell, her appointed stop. The streets were empty of muggers and rapists and so she made it home by four. Her apartment felt like an extension of the subway car. It had one room with a bathroom attached. No kitchen, but a microwave and an alarm clock sat on the one table in the room. The bed sat against the wall. The only luxury she had added was a full length mirror opposite the bed. She dropped her very large handbag just inside the door and trudged over to the table, set the alarm clock and then lay on the bed fully clothed. She was asleep in minutes.
The alarm woke her at seven a.m. She rehearsed her routine in her head. Strip off her clothes. Check her one hundred and thirty pound, five foot eight body in the mirror for signs of decrepitude. Soak the clothes in the bathtub. Wash her underarms and private parts. Brush her teeth. Hang up the wet clothes to dry in the bathroom. Put on the clothes that had dried the night before. Make the bed. Lock the door before leaving. Be on the train by seven fifty. She dragged herself off the bed and was on the now crowded streets again in thirty minutes. On the way to the train, she snatched a cup of coffee and a fresh donut from a vendor on the corner and paid him without breaking stride. The vendor knew her and this was their daily routine. At seven fifty she took her seat on the train and settled down for the ninety minute rattling ride to her second job.
The nursing home sat in a beautiful meadow, with the proverbial stream nearby. Inside, she deadlifted one hundred and fifty pounds of old Mrs. Moore off the bed and onto the chair so she could change the sheets. At least this time, there was only urine on the sheets. When she was done, she threw the sheets into a hamper full of sheets that carried the blood, piss and excrement of the patrons of this beautifully situated nursing home. Four hours and nine beds later, she picked up her handbag and headed for the train. It was two p.m. and the sun was still shining on the stream that ran by the meadow in which the nursing home sat.
She walked to the bus stop with some anticipation for her weekly tryst with Beauford. Beauford was five foot four and a trim 120 pounds of high energy. He was waiting for her at the bus stop. Together they rode the bus down to his apartment. She knew the routine that constituted their relationship. But this time she insisted on taking a shower first. Her mind was blank as the water ran over her body. She realized that she was becoming an automaton, empty of human feeling. She dried herself and plodded to the living room where the naked Beauford lay on a very large couch. She recognized his smile and kissed him and began to stroke his penis. As she did so, she reviewed in her mind the next few hours, the rush to the cleaning job, the bone numbing work, being polite to those solid citizens who paid her a pittance for making their world nearly picture perfect, the ride home on the empty rattling train, the walk through the streets to the empty apartment followed by a few hours of sleep before the cycle started again. She did not wonder why she was with him. It was the only time when she did not feel like a like a robot, only now she was so tired. As they made love, Beauford’s energy sapped any remaining energy from her. However, her mind refused to give up and kept going over what she had to do to get to the short train ride to her next job.
As she left her lover’s apartment, the sun had set and the real people were going home to their families. She could not remember why she worked so hard. She only wanted to make it to her next train ride.