The Commuter

The elevated rail rocked and clicked its way north, towards downtown. It was just another loud, swaying commute. A commute Andre made at least twice daily for what seemed to be much of his life. He rode that same line for as long as he could remember. As a boy, with his mother, where she worked as a hotel housekeeper. As a teenager, to Middlestadt College Preparatory Academy, where the nation’s best medical professionals came from. Chicago’s best school, his mother found herself working two jobs to afford tuition. She had always underscored the value of higher education. She did not want Andre to have to stress and work long hours for minimum wage his entire life, like she did. As an adult, Andre rode the train to the same hotel his mother worked at, only as a valet on the late afternoon shift. They would always meet one another on the platform, Andre disembarking to finish the block and a half walk to the hotel, his mother, exhausted from a long day’s work, boarding for home. The young man was excelling in school and was on schedule to be his class’ valedictorian.

The train began to slow now. The brakes squealed as the train wheels fought for friction on the worn shiny rails. Roosevelt Station was his last stop. The place where he and his mother exchanged their daily greeting as he headed to the hotel, her, home. Andre was ready and waiting when the doors opened to the crisp Chicago air. He paused his music, removed an earcup from one ear, and conversed with his mother for a few brief minutes before finishing the last leg of his commute. They said their goodbyes, and instead of trotting down the stairs to street level, he completely removed his headphones and watched his mother take her seat on the train. She closed her eyes for a few minutes and did not see him staring. He watched the train car until it stopped at Sox and 35th, where at that point it was just a small silver box, blocks away from his stop. He finished his commute and found himself clocking in exactly at 5:00pm, instead of the usual five till.

“Dre!” shouted Alex, also known as Wabash, because he lived not too far from the hotel, just off Wabash and Huron. “Five minutes late are we!” he jabbed. “Perfect timing. Got one ready for you.” Wabash tossed Andre the keys to a late model German SUV. These were typical of the cars he and his coworkers drove daily. He jumped in, not needing to familiarize himself with the vehicle and drove down two levels to the underground parking garage. He expertly guided the expensive SUV into a tight parking spot, killed the motor, pulled the keys, and started what would be one of many brisk jogs back to the valet podium. He continued this cycle of driving, parking, jogging for another few hours as the sun began to set. It was golden hour over Lake Michigan. The valet team was enjoying a few minutes without a single check in or call down for a parked vehicle when a Rolls Royce with a mirror like finish pulled up. Outstepped a chauffeur, moving forward, around the dinner table sized hood, swiftly with all the grace of a ballerina towards the rear passenger side door. Before he could make it, however, as he was abreast the mirror, the door clicked open, revealing a casually dressed, blonde haired man. “Ah, sir.” The chauffeur said shakily and with a Swedish accent. “I was just on my way to open your door, sir.”

“Oh, to hell with that Elias.” The blonde-haired man said, sheepishly grinning. “Do you know what my mother would do to me if she found out I was being carted around in a one-million-dollar car, let alone having doors opened for me?” Both men smiled, in that familiar smile only lifelong friends can exchange. Andre did not recognize a smile like that. He had grown up most of his life attending school by day, accompanying his mother to work by night. He did not have the type of friendship the blonde-haired man and his chauffeur shared.

As Andre stepped forward to greet the men and assist Elias in removing the luggage from the cavernous boot of the Rolls Royce, his phone started to vibrate in his pocket. At first, he ignored it entirely, wanting to get up close the luxury car, but also to leave a good impression on Elias, in hopes he would receive higher than normal compensation for his work. His phone started to ring again, and again, through his jeans, he halted the vibration, sending the call to voicemail. Elias greeted him as his outstretched arms started pulling designer luggage from the trunk. A third time his phone vibrated, this time, making him ponder what could be so important. As much as he had to fight the urge to just ignore it a third time, he took a step back and asked Wabash to take his place, slid the phone from his pocket, and saw a name he had not seen in years. Nia. His sister. Concerned, he answered the phone. “Andre? Is this you?” she asked.

He replied.

Again, she spoke. “Andre, it’s mom.” Taken aback for a split second before his heart rate skyrocketed, he replayed the words in his mind. “She didn’t come home from work so Uncle Titus called the police. He explained the route she took everyday and told them she was always home within a few minutes of 6:45pm because of the L’s punctuality.” With every passing word, Nia sounded more and more hysterical, breathing heavily, and starting to wheeze. “They said she had to be missing for 24 hours before they could file a missing person report, but he begged them, so they backtracked her route.” Andre’s mind raced. Adrenaline surged through his body. “Andre, they found mom. She’s dead.” His heart seemed to stop and at the same time, hammer its way through his ribs. He fell onto his knees, slumped. The blonde-haired man rushed over to him, knelt taking Andre’s chin into his fair skinned hand and lifting his head to peer into his eyes. “Are you okay…” glancing down at Andre’s nametag, “Andre? Andre are you okay?” he said in an unwavering, pragmatic but somehow still sympathetic tone.

The valet manager dashed to Andre’s side. “Dre, what’s up man, what’s going on?” He sat in silence for a few breaths, then gurgled in a barely audible voice,

“That was my sister. My mother. She’s gone.”

The manager reeled backwards ever so slightly, but the blonde-haired man leaned in closer as he turned to find Elias. When he did, he immediately rose and rushed over to speak to the chauffeur. After just a few seconds conversation, they both moved back towards the grief-stricken young man. “Andre.” the blonde-haired man said. “My name is Aleksandr; this is my friend and driver Elias. Where do you live? We’d like to get you home to family.” Andre, stonewall and resolute tried to hide every emotion that no doubt was showing through with every breathe. “I can’t accept. I have no way to repay you.” He said as tears that refused to fall welled in his eyes. Aleksandr reached out to him Andre and asked his manager how far he lived from the hotel. “Distance-wise not far but it’s an hour and a half ride on the L.” the manager replied. Aleksandr uttered what was probably a Swedish curse word and turned back to Andre. “Andre, son.” He had never been called son by a man before. Andre never knew his father. It caught him off guard, subconsciously causing his shields to drop. “I wouldn’t sleep at night knowing it took you an hour and a half or more to get home when Elias and I can have you home in thirty minutes. Please, just tell us your address and we’ll get you there.” Said Aleksandr.

“Okay.” Said Andre, nodding slowly. Aleksandr helped him into the rear hinged door of the Rolls Royce. Knowing he could not make the words even if he tried, he handed Elias his phone with his address displayed. The chauffeur entered the address into his mobile phones GPS app and the trio quickly left the hotel check in area.

Aleksandr rode in the backseat with Andre. The two did not share a word for the first few minutes of the journey, until the Swede broke the silence. “What is her name?” he asked Andre in the present tense, not wanting to cement the name into memory. “Comfort.” Replied Andre. “A beautiful name.” replied Aleksandr. “I’ve never heard that one before, but it’s truly a beautiful name.” he finished. “It fit her.” Said Andre. Feeling the need to keep him talking, Aleksandr started asking Andre questions about himself and his life. “I attend Middlestadt by day and work at the hotel at night.” Andre answered. “Middlestadt?” asked Aleksandr. “A prestigious school. I am glad, they’re going to set you up for a lifetime of success no doubt. I have a son that attends as well. His name is Leif.” Turning away from Aleksandr, he briefly raised his eyebrows, knowing now, without his and his mother’s income, there would be no way for him to continue his education. His life began to flash before his eyes, and he feared he would end up like many of the southside friends he grew up with. Aleksandr looked quietly out the other window, letting the streetlights glint illuminate his face in flashes. The library quiet cabin of the Rolls Royce was broken by Elias. “We’re here.” He said in a low tone. Andre looked as if he was steadying himself against the inevitable tide of confronting his worst fear. “Thank you both for the ride. It means more to me than both of you will ever know.” It had only taken him nineteen minutes to get home. There were no family members cars in the street parked in front of the house. Just the Rolls Royce, and two police cars. Andre braced himself and walked up the stairs onto the narrow porch. He turned to the men who drove him home, waved, and disappeared inside. The next few days were impossibly hard on him. He knew one day this day would come but did not expect it for another thirty years. He had not left the house for a few days after the memorial, forgetting about all except his late mother until he received a call from a local number. He answered.

“Andre. Good afternoon. This is Dr. Schonberg; we’ve never spoken directly but I’m the Dean of the medical department here at Middlestadt I’m terribly sorry to hear about your mother. Your anatomy professor relayed the news of her passing from the email you sent. Given the recent tuition payoff, I’m reaching out to you today to see if you’re coming back to school.”

Andre was confused. “Sir, you must have me mistaken for another student.” He answered the dean. “I haven’t, I can’t pay my balance and I won’t be returning for the remainder of my senior year.”

“Well” the dean said, “Our records show otherwise. Your $20,000 dollar balance has been paid in full and someone turned in a black Moleskin notebook that belongs to you. We’ll hold it here for you in the central office.”

The two finished their conversation and hung up. Andre immediately walked to his nearest L station and rode the train to Roosevelt. He proceeded to Middlestadt’s central office and claimed his notebook.

It read,

BELONGS TO: ANDRE JONES

And handwritten on page one,

“Dear Andre,

I have a friend in the school, and I looked into your academic record. It is flawless. Bravo. I cannot let your gift go to waste, neither should you. I know you’ll find Comfort everywhere you turn.

Your Friend,

Aleks”