Train rides were my inspiration.
So many nuances, tinges, and shades to capture in an illustration of the Bostonian T world. I would have loved to draw it all, right there and then.
I liked trains. I liked their rhythm, and I liked the freedom of being suspended between two places, all anxieties of purpose taken care of: for this moment I knew where I was going.
Who were these people? Where did they come from, where did they go to, who did they love, and who did they hate?
We all shared the same space, day after day, even if just for a little while.
So close, yet so far away.
The subway was such a shame sometimes.
So much potential for connectionâall of it wasted.
That's what I'd usually wonder. Today though, I simply snuggled up in my comfy heavy coat with a contented sigh, remembering Jayden's promise to get some of my graphic novel illustrations published.
His dad would find me a publisher because they were good.
Not because we were lovers. I had made him swear to that and he'd better be telling the truth!
The publication would show my mother. She'd always said my "doodling" would get me nowhere and rejected my wish to study art. But last year my illustrations had finally been noticed and highly spoken of at Massachusetts Independent Comics Expo. I was steeling myself to prepare a query letter package after my latest project was completed, but Jayden's dad had connections that might help me skip that unpleasant step. The old man was a financial genius, advising numerous companies, one of them being Marvel Entertainment.
Pop!
The biggest bubblegum balloon I had made in like, forever, went off before my face with a Big Bang. I was pretty sure some of the gum was now stuck to my braces.
It sure earned me some reproachful glances from my fellow riders.
Stretching in my seat, I enjoyed the last moments of privacy before Downtown Crossing station, where passengers would flood the train.
A few minutes later, the doors opened with a swish, and a frail, elderly woman clutching a fuzzy bundle of brown fur stepped into the car.
I placed a hand on the seat opposite to defend it from the oncoming hordes and gestured her to join me.
She sat. "Thanks, dear."
As the train started moving again, the fuzzy bundle of brown on her lap gave me a big-eyed, long-eared stare.
It was a puppy!
"Awwwie, your dog looks lovely. Eek! Is that a corgi? It's my favorite dog breed. How old is it?" I leaned forward moments after she made herself comfortable.
"Oh yes, you're quite right. A corgi it is. It's a she. Ruby Tuesday," the woman said with a wrinkly smile.
"Ruby Tuesday! No way! I adore that name. And that song! Can I please pet her?" I squealed with glee.
"Of course, my dear."
I fingered through the stash in the humongous, Mary-Poppins-like pockets of my coat.
If there was one thing I always carried, it was food.
Human food, because there would always come the time of the day when I wanted to do bad things with carbs.
But I knew I had some dog treats in there, too.
The little comic book shop at Harvard Square, Million Year Picnic, where I worked, did not even know how true to its name it was. During every lunch break, I would sneak up to the back alley and feed the stray dogs prowling around. A luxurious canine picnic indeed.
When I finally pulled the doggo treat out of my pocket, Ruby Tuesday lunged forward. Her wet tongue raided my palm in mere seconds.
Such a darling!
"Oh, how nice of you." The woman smiled. "Why, you are spoiling her. Those are her favorites, actually. It's almost as if you knew."
"Just doing my daily good deed." Satisfied to watch the cute dog licking its nose, I sat back in my seat and activated my AirPods.
The train stopped for the next station, and I began bobbing my head to the rhythm of Journey's melody about a small-town girl taking a midnight train.
The woman opened and closed her mouth again, like a fish out of water.
I couldn't make out her words at all, so I paused the song. "Pardon?"
"She is not supposed to eat that many treats, actually," the woman said, "but, might as well. She is very sick, you see."
"Oh gosh, no! That's beat! So sorry to hear that." I pulled one of my earpods with a frown, my hand clasping my mouth.
Dammit.
Isn't that how it always happens in life?
It can go from boring to crazy, from happy to sad in 0.3 seconds.
Line of hot chocolate, line of diarrhea.
Ruby Tuesday gave me a sad look. Trying to cheer the puppy up, I stuck out my tongue at her. If anything it made her look even sadder, so I bent forward and ruffled her fur.
"She has first-stage cancer, you see, and... Well, it ain't all that bad. She is getting her regular chemo and all, but I always tell myself, even if it doesn't work out... we did have a good run, Ruby and I. And isn't that what it's all about?" The woman was now smiling, but the tears twinkling on her cheeks matched the rainy station we were at.
"Oh, dear, look at me go on." One of her wrinkled hands shook on her lap as she tried to rub the tears out of her eyes with the other one.
I swallowed.
Closing the minuscule gap between us, I leaned forward and squeezed her hand. "Oh no! Nothing to be ashamed of! My dad used to say that crying is good. When the tears abandon you, it means your eyes are drying off. You're just getting ready to be happy!'"
"You are very smart," the woman sniffled. "Such a positive, kind soul, too. Don't you ever change."
"Oh, and your hair color is so nice, dear," she added. "Refreshing, and original."
"Pffft." I mock-blew a raspberry. "At least someone thinks so." I'd remember this for when my mother threw a fit when she met me for our cozy Saturday luncheon.
I reclined back in my seat with a smile.
My tongue probed my front teeth, checking for remnants of bubble gum in my braces.
I was sure Ruby Tuesday was going to be alright.
As I looked out at the windows of the train that stood on the track next to us, my eyes clashed with those of a gentleman seated inside it.
He was practically staring at me through his square-rimmed glasses.
What was his ogling all about? I frowned, tilting my head.
He shrugged.
I had to give him credit. He held my gaze like a champion, with a kind smile on his lips.
He looked like a man in his late thirties.
Yet, the grey shirt and grey sweater he was wearing made him look older, and the bags under his tired eyes sure didn't help his case.
Still, those glasses looked adorable on him!
As well as the nest of his dark-brown bed-hair, which reminded me of Mr Ruffles, a cute teddy I had as a little girl. But the man's hot stubble made him more than just cute.
He was not as red-hot as my Jayden, of course.
The man still ogled me, and I playfully opened and closed my nostrils in a mocking salute.
He mimicked my move, although a lot slower.
What happened next openly mocked my glass-half-full attitude.
The man sitting next to Mr. Ruffles, sporting a Razor Kraken gaming headset I would have given my good tooth for, un-ringed the can of Coke he held in his hand.
Mr. Ruffles raised his hand to his face shielding his eyes from the spray of the morning carby temptation. Parts of the maroon droplets splattered both him, and the window next to him. While the headphone guy enjoyed his drink, Mr. Ruffles rummaged around his pockets, looking as miserable as only a drenched, furry creature can look.
The scene was somehow funny, but my heart instantly flew out to him. He deserved some kind of support, the poor man.
Unable to help him for real, an idea light bulb formed over my head.
My hand flew towards my magical coat pockets once again.
Tissues!
All women of the world should know about using this instant-charm instead of rummaging through their bags.
I waved a pack of tissues at him with an encouraging grin.
Everyone needed to be happy today. It was my birthday.
And... I was getting published!
Then his train started to move.
Hot-Stubble Mr. Ruffles waved at me with his snotty hand, a blush creeping up his cheeks, and he glided away.
Illustration by EvelynHail. For a full-resolution version, see:
https://www.wattpad.com/837040070-mind-the-gap-â%EF%B8%8F-january-14-9-33-a-m-iris/comment/837040070_15d5fd433eb5524e32603d2e1298bef3_1607239786_d6b33bfe9d