I have ten minutes to catch the train; it only takes two to get there. I pack up from MakeOffices, the co-working space where the blogging workshop was being held, say my thank yous and good byes, and head out.
I make it to the platform to find that I had just missed my train by two minutes. I forget how big the train station is sometimes; even though Google Maps said it’d only take two minutes for me to get to the station, I forgot to account for the time I’d take looking for my platform inside the station. I probably also took longer than I realised to say my thank yous and good byes back at MakeOffices.
It’s about 9:30PM now and the next train is in about an hour. I’m not troubled because I brought readings, and I have my laptop too, so there are things I can do to pass the time productively. But I lament about how I could have just stayed at MakeOffices to do homework until the next train.
The train finally arrives and I hop on. I get settled and pull out my laptop to do more homework. I get pretty into it. I don’t think that I had ever used my laptop on the train before, but right now I want to keep my brain distracted because it’s buzzing from the previous blogging workshop. Blogging workshops inevitably have some networking component, and no matter how well or badly they go, I always ruminate and get up close and personal with social anxiety. It’s a fun time.
A stop is announced.
I don’t recognise it.
Ah fck. Wherever the heck I am, I know I need to get off and turn around. Scenarios are already running through my head. My phone is low on power, which I had noticed earlier, but didn’t dwell on because I figured I would be home soon and I knew how to get there. Apparently not.
As the train pulls in to the next stop, I dare to drain the remnants of my phone battery to figure out what train I’m on and where it’s heading.
I’m on my way to New fckn Jersey.
My eyes search the train for a map. I discover that I had travelled two stops from Center City (of Philly, for those of you new around here) in the wrong direction. I strain to see out the train windows and gauge the environment we’re entering.
It looks quiet. Kinda sketchy. It’s late and I worry that there won’t be another train. I don’t have enough time to look up the train schedule, and I’m not sure my phone battery could handle it anyway. But I know I have to get off regardless. Better stranded two stops away from Center City than stranded in New Jersey.
Somehow my scrambled thoughts come together to form a coherent thought, and I lay it on the train ticketer as I’m filing off the train. I tell him I took the wrong train and I need to get back to Center City. He tells me to go down the platform, through the tunnel, pop back up on the other side of the platform, and wait for the next train, which would be heading to Center City. Don’t go anywhere else, he says. Right on the other side. I thank him for his tip and for looking out for me.
I make my way down the platform and through the tunnel. I look ahead for a path that will take me “right to the other side.” I don’t think I see anything, but I also haven’t walked very far and also it’s dark. I peek behind my shoulder to double check I didn’t miss anything.
I did. A humble staircase leading up to the platform right on the other side is wedged into the hill I’m walking down, and I walked right past it. Good thing the train ticketer kept emphasising right on the other side, even though I didn’t know what he meant exactly at the time. Scenarios flash through my head of how this night could have gotten worse but didn’t. I’m grateful for him.
No more distractions, I tell myself. I try to be stern, but it’s hard when I want to quiver. There’s a doughnut in my hand, which I had swiped before leaving MakeOffices, and I’m determined to throw it out; no more distractions. I need to be fully alert and fully mobile; I can’t go around carrying a doughnut!
As I walk up the stairs, I make out the awning of the train waiting area. There’s a woman behind it. She’s bent over, looking like she’s drawing something in the dirt or maybe trying to pick something up. Okay fine, what I’m wondering is whether she’s homeless or… not. I mean, she could be a bedraggled college student; college students do weird things. But what I’m really wondering is whether she’s safe and sane.
I don’t want to take my chances so I decide to head straight to the awning and sit tight. There’s a trash can right next to it and my mind takes a break from paranoia to focus on throwing out the doughnut. One step at a time, that’s all I can do.
I notice the woman skittered away–still behind the awning, but now more like she’s hiding.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m calling out to her, “Hey!…” I ask her if she wants a doughnut. She’s unsure at first, but she comes out, thanks me for it, and takes it. She asks, “You don’t have a cigarette do you?” I apologise and say I don’t. I don’t think she expected me to, but she probably figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Something about her voice seems kind and soft. She thanks me again. I’m glad the doughnut brought someone a little fulfillment instead of going to the trash, like it was about to.
I’m finally under the awning. She’s back where she was, sunk behind it.
I search for a train timetable to determine how long I’d be waiting here for. 11:13PM. I burn the time into my head and make a note to be especially alert as the time approaches. 30 more minutes.
I’m perched at the edge of the bench. I shrug off my backpack and…
The woman slinks back out to ask if I have one dollar to spare for her to buy something to drink at a shop. I find myself saying I do, and I look for my wallet in my backpack, being sure to keep my wallet inside my backpack as I search for a bill. This moment strikes me because just an hour ago, back at the Center City train station, a girl had approached and asked me if I had cash to spare for a subway token. I brushed her off, saying, “Sorry, I don’t carry cash,” as I always say, no matter the case. It’s mostly a matter of me not wanting to stop and fish out my wallet and fish out the money, and perhaps get dragged into something more, regardless of whether or not I’m in a rush. But recall that I was in a rush this time, for a train, which I ended up missing by two minutes, leading up to where I am now.
She needs this money more than I do, and I know that a bill means more to her than it does to me. I’m grateful for the safe and secure environment my parents have always provided for me. I’m grateful that this night, as crazy as it is and as scared as I feel, is but a night. And I know that I will (probably) wake up in the morning and get back to my comfortable living. I feel far from great right now, but I can’t even imagine what this woman could be going through.
I hand her a five. She thanks me and asks if I want her to get me anything. I say that I’m fine and that she should keep the change. She presses a few more times before accepting it. She thanks me. For the bill. And for the doughnut again. She asks my name. I hesitate a second before telling her. I mean, a name is just a name. She asks if I’m studying here. I figure it’s a general enough question to answer safely. She asks what college. I’m scared to give away too much personal information. But from the way she’s talking, I get the feeling that she only longs for conversation. Again, I feel something kind about her. I also feel something timid and frightened about her. Which I especially identify with right now. Of course, in the back of my mind I also consider that it could be a ruse. But the social awkwardness of the unanswered question wins me over, and I answer her.
We get to talking. She learns I study at Bryn Mawr. I learn her mother “did windows” at Bryn Mawr. We agree on the beauty of the neighbourhood. She says she lived in the suburbs too (I suppose, used to). Then we get to talking about where we are now. She tells me it’s safe. She says, “It looks sketchy, but it’s safe.”
That’s really all I want to hear right now. I thank her for reassuring me. She thanks me. For the bill. For the doughnut. She goes to the shop to buy whatever she was planning to buy.
I go back to the bench under the awning and shuffle through my backpack to find my USB cable to charge my phone; I plug it into my laptop. Today of all days, my phone had to die while I was out. It’s a rare occurrence for me; I almost always leave the house with my phone at 100%. But I’m also grateful to have my laptop on me and grateful to have a laptop in general. I drain the life force out of it. Or rather, I transfer it, I guess, to my phone.
As long as I have my phone, I know that I have access to resources, and I take comfort in this sense of control; there’s not much else I can say the same for on this night. I immediately text Victoria and Thomas. You know, in case I die, so people know where to find my body.
But also just to feel connected. To feel safe. Like I’m not alone. I’m grateful that I have these people and all the people in my life in my life.
I bombard them with texts, trying to fill my physical void.
I tell Victoria: I hate that I’m wearing heeled boots and a dress right now. But I’m grateful for the unusually good weather that inspired this outfit. I’m grateful I’m not (temporarily) stranded in bad weather. I’m grateful it’s not cold and my phone battery won’t freeze and crash as it’s recharging. Speaking of recharging, I’m annoyed at myself for wasting my batteries on Instagram earlier in the day.
I’m grateful I don’t have classes the next day until 6:00PM. I’m grateful I pre-purchased several train tickets. I’m grateful I have the financial means to do so.
I tell Thomas: I feel like I could cry right now. (Just the day before, we had talked about how I don’t cry and how he couldn’t imagine me crying. He asked me when the last time I cried was, excluding from movies. I couldn’t remember. Well now.) I feel like I could cry, but on the exterior I look very calm. I can’t show weakness. Because weak people are preyed upon. But I probably won’t cry even when I’m safe at home. Which I’m determined to get (get home, that is). I feel like I could cry if I wanted to. But I don’t want to. And I don’t need to.
I ramble to Victoria and Thomas until the train arrives. I get as close to the train as I can get from the platform and wait for passengers to disembark. I look back over at the awning to see if the woman is still there. She must have heard the train, because she’s peeped out to wave me a big goodbye, and I see her mouth the words “thank you.” I wave back at her. I was looking for her too. I waved to thank her for reassuring me. I waved to show her I was safe. And I waved to wish her well.
At long last I’m on the train.
Everything makes me “want” to cry now. Initially, for the anxiety. Now, for the relief. And for gratitude.
I muse at Victoria,
was this a life changing experience??
maybe?!
maybe i should have taken a pic for the blog
jkkk no fckn way
(btw the photo for this post was taken at the Center City station after this whole event)
No distractions! I’m not home yet.
The train ticketer finally announces the Center City station as the next stop. I have never heard sweeter words. I’m grateful to have made it here to hear them.
I’m grateful that my next train is only in ten minutes, at 11:30PM; I’m not stuck at the station for another 30 minutes or longer. (Recall, this “next train” is the train I was supposed to take initially, back at 9:30PM.)
But the train I’m on pauses before it reaches the Center City station. Ten minutes tick down to six minutes. We start moving again. I see other passengers start to stand up, anticipating arrival. I pounce to the front, ready to make a break for my next train. I have one minute.
I run down the platform, run through the station, and run up the platform for my next train, but not before skidding and slipping onto the side of my butt right at the bottom of the escalator up toward the platform. Darn fashion boots. Onlookers gasp and ask if I’m okay. Usually I’d be embarrassed. But right now I’m grateful they care. I’m grateful for their presence. I’m grateful for civilisation. I’m grateful to be back.
I make it to the platform and I see other people waiting there but no train. I glance up for the departure screen and read that the train is three minutes delayed.
I’m not mad.
I’m grateful to have made it.
I’ll keep my endnote brief because it’s been a wild ride. This happened to me just last night. Amidst the fear and anxiety, I knew I had to write about it. I’ve never felt such a range of emotions in such a short amount of time. I can’t remember the last time I felt this scared. But also this grateful.
I’ve been struggling with gratitude lately. Probably more than just lately. But lately especially so. At the same time, I know there’s a lot for me to be grateful for. I almost feel like I don’t “deserve” to be ungrateful, whatever that means. Logically, that either doesn’t make sense or I need to be more thoughtful and specific with how I phrase that. But either way, that’s how I’ve been feeling. But which would only make me feel resentful, making it even harder to find gratitude.
Then all this happened. And of all places to find gratitude, I found it in misfortune.
And I’m grateful for it. Now that’s not to say that I would wish to experience such fear and anxiety again or even in the first place, but it happened, and I’m grateful for the gratitude I found on this wild ride.