Waiting
I did not mind the rats or the smell or the darkness or even the idea of what lay behind the darkness. I just fell into step behind the man in front of me who followed the person in front of him. There were flashlights of course, which blinded me every now and then making me search, reaching out with my hand for the man before me, but this too I did not mind.
We heard that the conductor had fallen asleep. He later said that he didn’t even remember closing his eyes. His body instinctively applied the breaks, but it was too late. His car crashed head first into another, both were derailed, and eight people were killed.
We were being evacuated by foot along the underground tunnel, which seemed unnatural and dangerous, although I rode the subway everyday without thinking. Just like I followed the man in front of me. We walked in the middle, between the steel rails. There was no talking, just the sounds of heels grating the dirty concrete floor.
And I thought about how he didn’t even call. He said he would and I waited. And he didn’t call. And I hated becoming the girl that waited, pretending not to wait, for the call. Now I was walking, stumbling through the dark, not yet piecing together the possibility of my life just being one subway car away from changing forever. Because I really believed him when he said he would call.
And I thought he must have heard about the accident. He must know. So I pulled out my phone, saw the lighted screen and waited. The word “Searching� flashed across followed in a moment with “No signal.�