Ride

I just ride. Every night, same routine. I usually dress older than my age so that I don't stand out in the early morning hours. I leave my house at the same time every night. Usually around the time that the use of drugs replaces family dinner. I walk down to the "corner store" to take out enough cash to get me a cab back home. I speak to the same station manager every night. She waves back reluctantly. I walk up the steps to the platform as I hum one of The Fray songs that's been stuck in my head for days. I also remember thinking to myself "It's got damn freezing on this platform" as I await the late night green line train to take me into civilization.  

The same train operator slowly pulled in and made the announcement that this was the last station. I boarded the train, and stand with my back facing the rear so that I could see who would board the same car. I sat patiently waiting for the doors to close. I would listen closely for that slight "click" sound (meaning that the train operator had started the train) because I knew I would be on my way. The doors would close and I'd be off. It was the same trip that I'd taken everyday that year. I would ride four stations and get off and then transfer to another line. I would catch the eye of the same girl every time, I assume she was headed home from a long days work. She was the real reason that I even made the unnecessary transfer. I would stand there in the cold, thinking that maybe one day she would make the first move. My nerves would never allow me to make the first move. Therefore, she's still only the girl I see on the platform every night. 

My train would quickly arrive and I would board briskly out of shame of not being able to talk to the opposite sex. I would wait until the doors has closed and the train began to move before I would look out the window in her direction. And then I would stare at her as we departed. She would stare back and that was all I needed to justify my pointless transfer. I would ride six stations to the next transfer point just to go back downstairs and see if I beat the original train I was on. Sometimes, I would still be able to see the taillights in the tunnel at the next station, sometimes it would be sitting there. I'm was always drawn to the seat I sat in, wondering if the person who sat there ever wondered about the previous asses that once occupied that seat.  

I would make my way to one of the most northern stations to say hello to one of the friendly station managers. We share laughs for a few minutes and talk about the daily passengers they've inspired stories to be told until the next passenger fumble. Sometimes, I wouldn't have a "next move". It would be like an army general standing over the lit table top working on a plan for deployment.  Sometimes I would just ride the lines, end to end. The destination was never important, just the fact that I was able to allow my mind to wander away from my reality and I can get lost in my passion. You see, trains weren't just a mode of transportation for me. Trains were my only friends for most of my life. It sounds odd reading that aloud to myself but it's the truth. Being out there, riding the trains gave me a peace that nothing else could provide me. I felt wanted. The train operators and stations managers used to be amazed by me. They were amazed that this young man had studied their job over over ten years. 

I would meet all types of people. It's how I became so diverse. I met folks from all different walks of life. Some of the best conversations I had ever had was while underneath the district talking to my fellow passengers who happened to be intoxicated. I loved to listen to them ramble on and on about their failed relationships, setbacks at work, and about how they never get this drunk. I always made up stories to relate so they wouldn't catch on to the fact that they were talking to a mature looking child. I guess I did a good job because they never caught on... or the alcohol may have played a part in helping my disguise.  The night was approaching a quick ending and it was almost time for me to get back to my reality but I could never miss the meet. 

I would go to the Metro Center meet and stand over the platforms counting down until the stations closing. I knew that when I heard that last train come in, I only had a few minutes to make sure I was on board. What the meet? The meet is a coordination that allows any passenger who enters the metro system before the last train to have the ability to get to any station in the system. There are two meets. The Metro Center meet which allows the Red, Orange, and Blue lines to come together, and the L'enfant Plaza meet that allows the Yellow and Green lines to meet. The Metro center meet stays until all of the trains are on the platform. both last red line trains wait upstairs and two orange line trains wait downstairs. Two supervisors stand on the platform. They both give each other a signal and the trains are released. Did you notice something missing? The blue line trains. An out of service train follows the orange line towards Vienna and goes in service at Rosslyn as well as the Silver at East Falls Church. Then another Blue line train goes in service at Stadium Armory. This way, any passenger who enters the system before the last train can get to any station in the system. Was that confusing? Well it wasn't to me! 

Because of my obsession with the system, I felt like the weird owner of a company. I felt as if I looked like the owner of a factory who was standing at the window of his office that overlooked the work floor staring at my pocket watch waiting for the whistle to blow. The type of owner that the workers made up rumors about my wife being buried in the floor of my basement. Was that too much? But that's how it felt. I would catch the same train every night. I was in love with the operator (who had kids my age). She was gorgeous! Light brown skin, long hair, and a body that would make a preacher sin (sorry, I had to). It was the most relaxation I had ever felt. 

I would arrive right back at my starting point. My night was over. It was time for me to head back home and prepare for school the next day. 

The night was over. My job was done. I was still alive. 

I was a teenager during a time where you didn't need a reason to do wrong. Drugs were all around me. They were in my home, they were at my school, they were in the streets. I was already on the verge of being a statistic. Two drug abusing parents, I was homeless, I had a disability that affected my day-to-day. All I needed was to be weak. Luckily, my mother made sure I didn't know what weakness was. I let trains occupy my spare time so that drugs and mayhem didn't. Metro's General Manager heard my story and hired me in 2007. I left and went on to work in the DC Mayor's office and the on to being an emergency dispatcher. Although I now work in EMS, I still miss the trains and I wonder what life would have been like if I had made different decisions. 

But what if, right?

Special thanks to Kendal Wade for modeling for this photo essay.