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September 21, 2005
neovox short story
Leonard Broytman
Writing in Cyberspace
September 21, 2005
Mercilessly making its way through the cold November air, the wind pounds against Sal’s face with force and just enough might to send him racing for the stairs heading downward that are just ahead.
Flying down the steps towards the warmth of the crowded sea of bodies waiting on the platform, Sal stares down at morning rush and prepares himself for another long day down at the bureau. He eyes everyone he passed with suspicion and extreme unease as he passes, pushing through the sardine can which has formed on the tiny platform. He has made a living out of trusting his instincts and doing all that he can to provide safety and peace of mind to those around him. But those days seem to be behind him now for the instincts he once valued are beginning to dull down.
Sal checks for the possibility of an oncoming train but it is nowhere in sight. He stands at the edge of the platform, cautiously eyeing the groggy eyelids staring back at him. The morning looks just as any other but then again, well that’s how it always happens. He knows better than to simply accept the normal circumstances around him and take them for what they appear to be.
His eyes drift from person to person but everything seems to be in order. A young mother busily looking after a rather active toddler, an old man reading the paper at the early hour even though he is dressed as if he has seemingly nowhere important to be… yeah, everything looks about just right. But what about that guy over in the corner behind the two garbage cans. Why the hell is he looking around like that?
Sal begins to watch him rather closely and studies his every move as he mentally anguishes over the possible meaning and tires to interpret the subject from afar. He stands as the train arrives at the platform, most of the morning commute whizzing by him in an effort to secure a comfortable seat once inside. He continues to observe the rather peculiar man who has now turned and is beginning to walk away, still looking around as if wondering if anyone can or is in fact watching him. He begins to make his way down the nearly deserted platform as he buries one hand deep in his pant pocket, the other clutching a small brown bag. He continues to walk as he steadily picks up the pace, almost power-walking towards the exit. With his head now buried between his shoulders, he hurries faster and faster, doing everything he can to leave the platform as quickly as he can. Sal doesn’t even think twice about it as he unflinchingly follows.
All of a sudden, the man turns into a staircase previously unseen to Sal as he begins to down to a lower platform for train heading the opposite direction into Queens. This platform however is far from deserted and makes the mysterious man a bit hard to follow. Sal begins to exhale painfully as he searches for the man, his thoughts racing over the danger that is about to be inflicted on all of the innocent and unsuspecting people around him. He pushes through the crowd, impervious to the groans of those he disturbs. This is for their own good.
He finally spots the man standing near a group of young kids and notices that the man is still holding the bag. Sal slowly walks through the crowd, somewhat relaxed and inconspicuous. He locks eyes with the man but for some reason, the man does not react and simply looks away. After a few more moments, the man turns and begins to walk yet again. This time however, Sal does not waste any time as he darts down the platform.
Yet again however, Sal turns the corner to find nothing but bodies… the man absolutely nowhere to be seen. Sal stumbles around for a few moments as he tries to pull himself together and consider his next move. He decides that there is nothing that can be done now but feels confident about what he had just prevented. Whatever that may be is something that Sal cannot even begin to think about… or maybe he just doesn’t want to.
He looks down at his watch and realizes that he is going to be late once again. He turns and begins to walk back to his platform as his feet suddenly stumble upon something, nearly causing Sal to fall. He stands for a moment as he eyes the small brown bag laying on the ground. He stands for a moment as he studies the half-eaten tuna salad on rye which has slipped out of the bag and onto the pavement.
Posted by Leonard Broytman at September 21, 2005 9:55 AM
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