Jealousy 4

I feel like the world will not let my wound stop seeping. My body tenses and I have stop breathing. Maybe stepping off the platform would have been a good idea. I stand up abruptly. The train lurches forward and I stumble backwards. There is nothing to grasp and I begin to fall. The drunk guy somehow manages to catch me, sort of. He is taking pay with a free grope of my ass. I am enraged. Before I have regained my balance, I turn and slap him. At least I try to. Our arms become entangled as he tries to stop me and I land in a pitiful heap on the filthy train floor.

‘John’ from the couple reaches out and helps me stand up, steadying me before letting go. “Are you okay?” he says sincerely. I keep my eyes cast down and focus on the Nike symbol printed boldly across the side of his shoe. I have to concentrate to hold back my tears. I can’t answer or I will lose control. I nod my head adamantly, biting the inside of my lower lip until I taste a small drop of blood. “Are you sure?” I shake my head again and take a few steps forward and grab the hand rail in front of me just as it is announced that we have arrived at Grand.

The train slows and I step into the rail, resting my forehead against the cold metal. It feels good, but offers little relief.

I stay in this position for the next two stops: Chicago and Clark. People move around me but I am otherwise left alone. At Clyburn, my drunk friend stumbles. “Have another hellacious day at the office,” he slurs while flipping me off. He bumps into a cute blonde standing on the platform. He immediately turns around and I can see him trying to flirt with her. She recoils from his attention. Her friends form a circle around her. I imagine this is what it looked like when wagons would form a circle during an Indian attack. The doors slide shut and I am whisked away from the scene.

Three more stops before I exit. They are close together and I am grateful. The swaying of the train has begun to make me nauseous. Or maybe it is the heaviness of misery cradling itself in the pit of my stomach. I watch the walls of the subway flash by. Hundreds of fluorescent lights pass by like the white dotted line that runs between the lanes of the roads. “You have arrived at… Fullerton” says the automated voice as the train grinds to a halt.

I watch the people entering the train. One in particular catches my eye. She is tall, blonde, and perky, much like John’s new plaything. Her voice is high pitched as she converses with a friend on her cell phone. She takes the seat next to the pole I am holding. I watch her scan my clothing, taking in the ripped pants, my name badge, my tear stained face and windblown hair. My hands are dirty from the grime on the floor. I am a complete and utter mess. She giggles into the phone, lowering her voice. I hear her say, “Wait ‘til I tell you what the cat dragged in. You will die and we can laugh about it over drinks.” I have been reduced to ‘what the cat dragged in.’

Her long legs kick out from under the seat as she slides down to avoid my glare. Her perfect little blue pumps are resting in the middle of the aisle. I have an urge to stomp on her dainty little ankles. I don’t. I know she isn’t the same girl that has distracted John from those around him who love him for who he is and not his money.

As much hatred as I have toward that woman, I am heartened by the fact that she is just a temporary obstacle. “Belmont” the automated voice calls out. I feel a little warmth creep back into my frozen body. This is just a temporary set back.