While standing at the ticket stand in Queen’s Park station contemplating on the best ticket option that fits into my proposed busy schedule, I could not help but notice the serenity at the station.
The atmosphere was nothing like a typical day at the station until my attention was drawn to a young beautiful lady whose voice was divinely beautiful. She sang classically while using her fingers to feel the hair of her guitar softly. I suddenly lost my attention to a group of youngsters laughing and teasing each other until an angry voice of a lady that lost her $20 to the ticket stand because her tickets didn’t dispense after she paid for them. She was mad at whoever was at the other end of the call, hence, with a great guess, she definitely was speaking with a customer care representative of the ticket operations because the ticket attendant/security in the station came in to help her by offering her another set of new tickets that she happily received. Finally, I remembered why I was at the station in the first place (hey, don’t laugh at me. A sister was drawn to the environment).
Without wasting time any further, I called a friend to help me out with the best option of a ticket, and he was very helpful. I bought my ticket and took the train going Southbound.
While waiting for the train, it was a different atmosphere. It was lousy, busy, and an opportunity for lovers to remind us why love could actually be a crazy expression of feelings (hey, I am not a love sucker, Lol).
THE TRAIN CAME, WE WENT IN.
I took a seat opposite the route map in the train to be more attentive to the stops, I couldn’t afford to go on any missionary journey at that time because I was behind my day’s schedule.
The environment was different. It was a train filled with stories written on the faces of every passenger. Some shared similar stories, others were different. Some changed during my entire thirty-five minutes ride on the train, while others were consistent.
I tried to read each face and make a story out of it but one minute, I was right, the next, I was wrong. Too many faces clouded my mind until a group of children with their teachers entered the train. I definitely could tell a story about this new set of people. They were happy children that had so much excitement entering the train and with the joy of being cared by their teachers as they were directed to an area that could accommodate them.
The hunger to tell a story grew higher. I wanted to understand what really was going on in the lives of each individual within my sight range on the train. I moved to another side of the train.
It was dark. It was like everyone was sad. So sad I could feel the sadness clouding me. I was being strangled that I quickly moved. I turned back and saw almost all of them were corporate, neatly and fashionably dressed and looked like people either going to work or going for a job interview. I thought to myself: “This ought to be the happiest set of people. They have a job but why work in a place that makes you sad going there.” Suddenly, I was drawn back to reality when an elderly man walked up to me for some money. Then I said to myself: “Yea, we all have bills to pay”.
The more I tried to read, the more I felt more confused about life. The more I questioned, the more answers I left wandering down my nosey feeling.
The train finally came to a stop at York Mills station which was my final destination. I stood up from my seat to walk to the train exit when it dawned me that I was also a face on the train.
I was a face on the train.