This story is by Hope Epting and was part of our 2024 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
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“Are you ok?” I said to the man next to me on the train. He clearly wasn’t, rocking in his seat as steadily as a metronome with tears streaming down his well-chiseled face.
I’d been engrossed in a Facebook memory when I first grabbed my seat and hadn’t looked at him. I probably wouldn’t have looked up, but as I plopped down, his scent hit me. A discordant mix of B.O. and cologne. I almost left, but his face was tragic and my heart sank. His anguish snapped me out of the sadness and guilt the picture on my phone evoked.
I had recently learned the 5-second rule from a Ted Talk for taking action on impulse before your brain kills it from overthinking –something I was often prone to do. Today, instead of overanalyzing I said exactly what I was thinking to this stranger in a neatly pressed yet sweat-stained gray suit.
Once the words left my mouth, he looked at me with a stunned expression as if I too had woken him from slumber. He said nothing, staring at me for what was probably only a few moments, but seemed like an eternity.
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“Is there someone I can call for you? Can I help you?”
More stunned silence. He closed his eyes and took a few deep calming breaths. When he opened them he said softly, “no, thank you.”
This man needed help. A determination and confidence sprung forth in me to show this man kindness. It was a light shining out of a darkness that had consumed me over the last year. I could do for this man what I hadn’t been able to do for Rob. I used the rule again as lighter fuel for mustering the courage to continue.
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“I’m Wendy. What’s your name?” The man replied but an automated voice muffled him saying, “The next station is King Memorial. Exit here for The King Center, Ebenezer Baptist Church, and The Sweet Auburn District.”
There was one more stop before I was getting off to go to my statistics class — I thought perhaps I could skip it, but it was the first day of the term. I tried again.
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“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you before, what’s your name?” I tried to make eye contact, but he IRL ghosted me and just stared out the window while nervously biting his nails.
We rode in silence for a minute before the automated voice chimed in again, “The next station is Georgia State. Exit here for Georgia State University, Grady Memorial Hospital and Underground Atlanta.”
My mind raced. I was overthinking, and though something was stirring inside me, outside of stalking this man, I wasn’t sure what to do. I stood up, preparing to exit, and looked back at him. His eyes met mine. They were filled with a recognizable pain.
Hitting him with sincerity in 5…4…3…2…1
“I understand you don’t want to talk or help, but you look pretty upset. I want you to know that I see you and though it may sound trite. This too shall pass. Hang in there.”
I smiled softly. He nodded and his face looked slightly more at peace than it had moments before.
I braced for the train to stop and raced out as the doors opened, still worrying about the stranger and wondering if I should’ve done more.
###
Her words had knocked me out of my grief momentarily. I got up as quietly and quickly as possible to not let the woman know this was my exit too, I barely got out in time. When the doors closed I caught a whiff of myself. I wondered if pheromones were a real thing or did that woman have a death wish?
I’m not crazy and it wasn’t my intention or habit to exercise in a three-piece suit. I put it on early in the morning hoping the scent of it would wake my wife after her surgery. Instead of seeing her warm smile, I left the ICU in a daze, walking past the waiting room. I did not stop to talk to Kate’s sister. I took the nearest exit rather than heading toward the parking garage. I stood on the sidewalk for about five seconds and then I just began to run. I didn’t think about my clothes. I tried not to think about anything, but as my feet hit the pavement, the words kept ringing in my ears “I’m sorry, the trauma was too severe, and she didn’t make it.”
I ran and I ran, hoping that the words would leave my system. The malevolent earworm droned on…and on…and on. I don’t know how long I ran, way more than I could have that morning. By the time my lungs and legs screamed “STOP!” I had made it all the way to Decatur. I think my brain was magnetically pulling me towards a statue in front of the old courthouse I’d proposed to Kate in front of years ago. I stood numb, staring at the old couple happily holding hands encased in bronze. That was supposed to be us, but now the cruel sentence would just play on.
It was more grueling than the Phish concert Kate had forced me to years before. The night seemed like it would never end. I didn’t care as much. I just looked over and stared at her. My heart always felt like it was filled with helium when I was around her —light.
Now, I understood the term heavy heart more intimately than I ever had. I went to my pocket to grab my phone to order an Uber back to where I left my car and the heaviness was compounded with frustration. I had left it somewhere in the hospital. I had a Breeze card from the last time I went to the airport and headed to MARTA.
When I tapped my card, I heard over the speakers “a West-Bound train is approaching in 1-minute.” I forced my legs, which were still screaming at me, to run one more time. Exhausted, I collapsed in my seat and leaned against the window. I closed my eyes, but then briefly opened them as we passed Fox Bros. BBQ. It had been one of our first dates and afterwards we caught an Improv show at Dad’s Garage Theatre. Kate had volunteered me on to the stage to participate at one point. I was mortified and in love. She pushed me out of my comfort zone so many times. Tears began to stream down my face, and I guess I was crying harder than I thought because someone asked if I was ok.
The woman’s persistent kindness reminded me of Kate, which gutted me. Then she stole Kate’s line, “hang in there.” As I walked toward the hospital, the words became a new earworm. I let out a sigh of relief and felt just a little bit lighter.
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I had just enough time to get to a seat. I tried to focus as the professor covered the syllabus and then began to talk about descriptive statistics.
My mind wandered, thinking back to my encounter on the train. Without lifting my phone, the selfie from two years ago of Rob and I at Six Flags became fixed in my mind’s eye.
The outing was a celebration of his med school graduation right before he went off to residency. I was so proud of my baby brother. I don’t remember if I said it. Could he see it in my eyes?
When he stumbled into my birthday party eight months later, skinnier, drunker, and higher than I’d ever seen him – I scolded him.
“Sis, don’t be like that,” he slurred as he handed me a gift bag. Inside was the vintage Braves cap that we had fought over when our Granddaddy died. The one that he said I’d have to pry from his cold dead hands. I hadn’t taken the gesture as a sign. Not even when he thought he was alone later that night, and I saw him crying—no, sobbing.
I said nothing and two days later, he was dead.
The cops said he might have accidentally overdosed since they didn’t find a note. I looked up the rates of first-year residents dying by suicide. For a brief moment, I reduced Rob to a statistic.
On my birthday, I hadn’t looked at him the way I saw the stranger on the train. If I had just looked at him through an empathetic lens. If I had engaged instead of retreated.
Did my words help the stranger? I didn’t have all the data. All I did know was I did the action with what I did know — and the action felt right. Hopefully it made at least a small difference.
“Class dismissed.” I looked up as my classmates exited, I sat for a moment in my grief, let out a breath and then…
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I stood up and left.
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