Rush hour in DC, Red Line to the suburbs.\u00a0 Daryl opened his eyes as the subway doors slid open, the driver\u2019s garbled voice announcing the station and destination.\u00a0 He was in the last seat on the train, behind tinted plastic, trying to separate himself from his fellow commuters.\u00a0 The train was full of impassive faces and searching eyes staring at the chilly spring evening outside.\u00a0 A steady rain fell, running down the windows and soaking the red-brown tiles of the station platform.\u00a0 Looking through the doors, he met a man\u2019s eyes.\u00a0 A mousy accountant type,\u00a0 standing oblivious in the rain, staring right back at him.\u00a0 The platform looked abandoned, which was unusual, even for the late rush hour.\u00a0 He held the gaze for a moment, then looked away, uncomfortable.\u00a0 When he looked up again, he jerked back into his seat as the man was taken to the ground by a cop, a scene that belonged on TV or in movies.\u00a0 The two of them vanished beneath the windows as the chimes rang and the doors closed.\u00a0\u00a0 He turned in his seat and watched the station fall into the distance as the train pulled away, a swarm of police converging on the man and no one else in sight on the platform.\u00a0 Then the scene was gone.\u00a0 The station a rapidly fading island of light along a dark corridor through the city.<\/p>\n
\nThe driver\u2019s voice came through the PA, the electric purr of acceleration turning it into an unnatural, alien growl.\u00a0 Daryl knew the words: Next stop, Silver Spring. First stop in the state of Maryland.\u00a0 An announcement he heard everyday; something unchanging.\u00a0 No explanation of what had just happened.\u00a0\u00a0 Why bother?\u00a0 The driver might not have even seen it.\u00a0 It was a world of warnings and fear, but no actual explanations.<\/p>\n
Silver Spring was the last above-ground station before the train plunged into tunnels beneath the suburbs.\u00a0 That was the hardest part of the trip, when the scenery went away.\u00a0 Even on a rainy night, the ride home seemed a little bit faster when there were lights and buildings and roads to stare at.\u00a0 The living, breathing city right out there and accessible from any stop, flowing by at 60 miles an hour.\u00a0 But down there in the tunnels, the windows became mirrors, broken only by lights that seemed weak against the well-lit, climate controlled cocoons blasting past.\u00a0 Daryl\u2019s own tired eyes were reflected right back at him down there, and he didn\u2019t always like what he saw.\u00a0 His stop was at the end of the line, the end of every workday spent in the dark tunnels with all these soulless commuters shuffling out of the train and pressing their way to the overflowing parking garage.\u00a0 He looked around now, but no one seemed flustered.\u00a0 Surely plenty of folks had seen that guy taken down, but there was no conversation, no questioning looks, no reactions at all.\u00a0 The zombie culture.\u00a0 Daryl hated that he was a part of it.\u00a0 The world exploding around him and, well, in everybody\u2019s sad little world, it was all about avoiding confrontation and maintaining the status quo.\u00a0 That was the rule.\u00a0 It bothered him that he thought about alternatives, though.\u00a0 It seemed, he thought, that ignorance would truly be bliss.\u00a0 That he, too, should be able to repeat the common sayings\u00a0 \u2013 the poor are poor by choice, the unhappy can switch jobs, opportunity is always a-knockin\u2019.\u00a0 All a weird bastardization of the outdated American Dream, words and thoughts that are spoken almost automatically, part of a background noise. He assumed that he had failed somewhere along the way and, now, things had begun to spiral downward into a strange maze of social anxiety. An unfocused, undetermined rage.\u00a0 He was an only child, his parents crippled by their own mental instability and dead and gone before he had kissed 22.\u00a0 The remainder of his family ancient, few and far between.\u00a0 He had grown up on his own and had learned to bounce theories, fears and confusion right back inside.<\/p>\n
Every day for what felt to be an eternity, he had ridden this train home.\u00a0 Even when the cops cleared a station and tackled people to the ground, even after the American Century had ended in terror, the daily routine felt like he was caught in some sort of loop, repeating the same commute home again and again despite changes in wardrobe, the emergence of a few grey hairs, and shifts in employment.\u00a0 The routine always ended, plunging into tunnels, with the decision that he was wasting precious and limited time with meaningless worry.<\/p>\n
He tried to remind himself to keep perspective.\u00a0 There were leaders and followers even in ages of renewal, liberation and revolution.\u00a0 That was Human Nature.\u00a0 Most of his acquaintances assured him that his sense of dissatisfaction came from anxiety, depression, lack of sleep, lack of sex\u2026 Or whatever.<\/p>\n
He often fantasized about the simple jobs.\u00a0 Would he have more time to breathe and realize goals if he just gave all this up and became a night watchman, or worked the bar at the Greek restaurant near his house?\u00a0 The paycut would be the hardest thing to swallow \u2013 Amazon.com would be so disappointed in him.\u00a0 The true horror: He belonged with the consumer sheep, surrounded by material wealth and never moving forward.\u00a0 Secretly, he feared, he enjoyed it.\u00a0 The money and the routine, that is, not his sullen, impatient fellow commuters.<\/p>\n
Something was in the air now, something that made him feel edgy.\u00a0 It went beyond what he had just witnessed which, even now, just a few minutes later, felt like a dream.\u00a0\u00a0 There was a slight difference in the background noise of daily life.\u00a0 That was the tone the whole world had taken in the 21st century.\u00a0 It seemed silly.\u00a0 The wars were fought by Other People.\u00a0 Daryl and his ilk were safe in their cubicles, and if they did get a plane steered into them it would all be over without much delay.\u00a0 No more bills, no more useless commute, no more tired weekday nights.\u00a0 He grinned to himself.\u00a0 When a person starts hoping for terrorist attacks just to break up the monotony, it\u2019s probably a bad sign.<\/p>\n
Each train car had a driver\u2019s booth on either end, ready to become the lead car.\u00a0 The last seat he now occupied, separated from the others, could be sealed off by a flimsy door when the driver was present.\u00a0 Without the driver, the cubicle was a dark cell and Daryl could peer through the Plexiglass at the controls, ghostly lights floating in shadows, ready to power up and pull the train in the opposite direction once they hit the end of the line.\u00a0 Round and round it goes.\u00a0 He would really hate being a Metro operator.\u00a0 He was toying with the idea of picking the lock, letting the door slam shut and sitting like a VIP office rat.\u00a0 The locks on the Metro could be popped with a car key, which made a mockery of the whole idea of enhanced security.\u00a0 He jumped out of his mental drift when the cell phone in his coat pocket rang.\u00a0 Without checking the caller ID, he answered.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s up?\u201d\u00a0 Azizi, one of his housemates.\u00a0 It was good to hear a friendly voice; it helped shake the dark thoughts out of his skull for a few moments.<\/p>\n
He exhaled against the phone, \u201cNothing, Aziz.\u00a0 I\u2019m on the train.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah.\u00a0 Look, Martin and I are doing a Phantasm double header, tonight.\u00a0 Well, I guess it\u2019s more of a quadruple header.\u00a0 All four in a row, case of beer, pizza, death by four AM?\u00a0 You on board?\u201d<\/p>\n
The foundation of friendship seemed to be alcohol and bad movies, though he\u2019d known Martin and Azizi for years.\u00a0 Why complain?\u00a0 At least he had friends.\u00a0 They had the right idea, too.\u00a0 Martin was a freelance writer with a part time job at a used bookstore and Azizi pounded out webpages from the comfort of the basement all day.\u00a0 What Martin called \u201cbathrobe jobs.\u201d A lifestyle that was looking pretty attractive to Daryl, though he didn\u2019t have the talent that could keep him fluid.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou still there?\u201d<\/p>\n
Daryl jerked, the phone pressed against his ear.\u00a0 Had he been staring glassy-eyed and open mouthed at his fellow commuters?\u00a0 Probably.\u00a0 \u201cJesus, it\u2019s a freak-out night.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you hijacking the train or something?\u00a0 Should I call back in a few minutes?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m about to go underground\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
Azizi made a strange sound that didn\u2019t translate well over a cell phone and the noise of the train.\u00a0 \u201cOkay, sounds like your brain has turned to pudding.\u00a0 Just a head\u2019s up, then.\u201d<\/p>\n
This was an unusual call.\u00a0 As if Azizi were trying to reach out.\u00a0 Did they feel it too?\u00a0 The soulless dissolution of reality, the tension of life?\u00a0 Nobody knew how to talk to each other anymore.\u00a0 The driver was on the speakers again and Daryl couldn\u2019t make anything out.\u00a0 He didn\u2019t need to.\u00a0 The train moved into the Silver Spring station.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think I\u2019ll join you guys,\u201d he mumbled into the phone, watching the flood of commuters pour out of the train.<\/p>\n
Office buildings surrounded this old station now.\u00a0 He could remember a time before they were there.\u00a0 Not even thirty years old and he had seen a world rise up, everything seeming to change overnight.\u00a0\u00a0 It was after seven in the evening and most of the offices still looked to be occupied.\u00a0 Men and women were on the phones and walking in the brightly lit windows like living dolls in a house.\u00a0\u00a0 Sad world behind those suicide-proof windows.<\/p>\n
He continued, \u201cMaybe a movie is what I need.\u00a0 Help me unwind.\u201d<\/p>\n
Azizi was silent.\u00a0 Yes, it was an intervention call.\u00a0 Even over the noise of the commute and the tinny cell phone, he could hear the slight tremolo of concern in Azizi\u2019s voice.\u00a0 \u201cD, you sound like you\u2019ve smoked too much crack today.\u00a0 I\u2019ll have Martin break out the gin for you, that\u2019ll get some Humanity back into your tortured soul.\u201d<\/p>\n
The cool March evening had settled in and the well-lit city hugged the children of rush hour.\u00a0 This was the American dream \u2013 the train passing between office buildings, the lights, the roads blurred with traffic.\u00a0 Everything was working, and everyone was going somewhere.\u00a0 Daryl was one of the millions out here.\u00a0 A cog in the wheel.\u00a0 A creature of the superpower.<\/p>\n
\u201cI need to figure a way out,\u201d<\/p>\n
Azizi cleared his throat. \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m one of the mindless sheep.\u00a0 I\u2019m part of a system that keeps going on despite all the people it\u2019s slowly crushing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSounds like you\u2019ve hit the gin already, D.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s no direction here, Azizi.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSure there is.\u00a0 You\u2019re heading northwest.\u201d<\/p>\n
There it is.\u00a0 A friend calls because he\u2019s concerned, but doesn\u2019t know how to say it.\u00a0 Daryl backed off.\u00a0 \u201cSorry, man, I\u2019m just ready for spring to finally settle in.\u00a0 Getting tired of these dark evenings on the train.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah.\u201d It seemed as if Azizi was about to say more, but Martin\u2019s voice pitched high in the background.\u00a0 There was a rustle of fabric, then his friend was back on the line.\u00a0 \u201cSo the neighbors are acting weird.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are they doing?\u201d<\/p>\n
Azizi didn\u2019t answer right away, the phone losing the signal and chattering with static.\u00a0 \u201cI don\u2019t know, man.\u00a0 Hey, I\u2019ll call you back.\u201d\u00a0 Azizi sounded rushed, Martin was still saying something in the background.\u00a0 Then the phone went dead just as the train hit the tunnel.\u00a0 Daryl glanced at the handset \u2013 no signal.\u00a0 Well, at least someone was having a touch of excitement tonight.\u00a0 The driver cut in again, and Daryl mouthed the words.\u00a0 Next stop Forest Glen.\u00a0 Doors opening on the left.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Rush hour in DC, Red Line to the suburbs.\u00a0 Daryl opened his eyes as the subway doors slid open, the driver\u2019s garbled voice announcing the station and destination.\u00a0 He was in the last seat on the train, behind tinted plastic, …<\/p>\n