Flash Fiction Friday (Cycle 40) Visions of who I did not want to be

Flash Fiction Friday Prompt: Use the photo for inspiration.
Genre: Open
Word Count: 1000 words

The New York Subway system is an unforgiving place and if you are smart, you quickly adapt to its way of life. I came to the city six years ago and learned the ropes by riding the system in the early morning hours from my apartment in Flatbush to my job at an accounting firm in Upper Manhattan. The basic rules were simple, never make eye contact with anyone and ignore everything that goes on around you unless your life is in danger. If it is someone else’s life being threatened then it then becomes a judgment call but I have been told several times by cynical native New Yorkers even then its best to look the other way. It went against everything I was raised to believe but like everyone else, I soon realized getting involved brought more problems than it was worth.

After a promotion I moved to Jamaica Estates in Queens and began my established routine even earlier, which had the benefit of me riding the trains before they became unbearably crowded. Each morning I saw the same small group of people at the station reading the morning paper or working on their laptops as we waited for our ride. When the train arrived and the doors slide open like programmed ants we would invariably spread ourselves as far apart as possible staying locked up in our own little worlds. I either ignored those around me by transporting myself to some faraway and isolated land where angry ocean waves crashed upon rocky shores or by working on one of my novels I was writing that I hoped would make me famous and do the same thing.

I easily adjusted to the new route and in some subconscious way felt I was accepted by those around me even though we never looked directly at each other. We were all quite the featureless professional bunch, nicely dressed in some sort of business attire, each carrying some form of briefcase and maybe if the weather was bad, a matching trench coat.

Some part of me hated this existence, the money I was making was great but I felt as if my soul was slowly being corrupted. Feeling an ill-defined hopelessness, I figured this would be my life unless something drastically changed. Another promotion resulting in a transfer could be that that change, although improbable, or by actually getting one of my books published with it making the bestseller list would work as well, although that was a joke for several reasons. Change did soon come and as usual it came from an entirely unexpected and nearly unbelievable direction in the form of a grubby old man.

It was a spring morning when he first appeared. He was small in stature with a baldhead and long white beard he never the less had intense eyes that marked him either absolutely crazy or very smart. His clothes at best were tattered consisting of dirty sneakers, baggy brown pants, and a faded t-shirt with the word "Navy" written on the front. He contrasted sharply with us well-dressed riders preparing ourselves for the onslaught of another day being good, productive citizens racing against the clock to constantly beat some arbitrary deadline only to have another replace it.

For my fellow rider and me his appearance was so sudden that we all committed the gravest of sins by looking him directly in the eye. Callously indifferent to the stares he was receiving; the old man took a seat and gazed right back with disdain.

While his sudden appearance that first day was a surprise, the problem he brought came from him disrupting the neatly crafted territories that separated the people on the subway car. Usually we all had an empty seat on either side of us, just enough to allow everyone an illusion of personal space but the old man threw that out of whack forcing someone to move which caused a ripple effect throughout the car. No matter what though, by disgruntled wordless acclamation the accepted orthodoxy had to be maintained forcing each member of the commuter collective to move whenever the old man boarded.

Months passed and despite it all the old man became an unwanted fixture daily taking a different seat in the train forcing yet another wave of movement as people adjusted their personal spaces. Somehow, I was immune to the irritation he caused choosing to return to my imaginary storm tossed coastline or again dreaming about being a bestselling author after I my turn came to adjust seats.

The change the old man brought to my life occurred one morning when I got off the train far earlier than usual. I had an appointment of the east side of Manhattan and in the rush to get off in time I left my briefcase on the subway containing not only work related files but one of my novels on a flashdrive. Realizing this I turned around in time to see the train speeding away with just about all my hopes with it.

Fortunately, the accounting paperwork could be easily restored but the version of my novel on the flashdrive was nearly irreplaceable and it would take months at least to bring an earlier version up to the same level. Waiting in the subway station for the return home that afternoon I was almost despondent until the old man plopped down beside me on the bench I was sitting then handed me my briefcase saying the words that I needed hearing.

“Listen son,” he began, “you don’t know me from Adam’s housecat but I was very much like you once. I played the game everyone told me I should participate in while deep down I knew none of it was right for me. I hated it and over the years it ate me alive, by the time I couldn’t take it anymore I was responsible for a wife and two kids. So, I started playing fast and loose with my job and family trying to cope and lost it all. I’ve watched you for months and you are not like those mindless drones, just look at me as what your future could be and run as fast and as far away as possible and find something you love to do.” Right as he finished he handed me my flashdrive with a huge smile on his face.

Completely stunned by his words and feeling I was indeed seeing the person I could become I thanked the old man and ran away from it all despite the stunned disbelief of many. Will it pay off? I have no idea but I now happily watch the wave’s crash ashore on the coast of Maine awaiting some answer.

(Author's note: Okay I have no idea if this story works, but I wanted to do something without gun play, detectives, starships, aliens, or hinting of the great and awesome Jimmy Buffett. Comments are very much welcome, so tear it a new one.)