Perception

The graffiti I would often admire flashes by in a blur, as I race down the corridor to catch the last subway train. The smell of piss and hobos intensifies the deeper I make my way down to the tracks. The sound of screeching brakes in the distance alerts me that it's just arrived and will be leaving again soon. There’s no time to waste. Carrying this bag really slows my pace but I move as fast as I can across the dirty concrete tiles to get there before it pulls off. Coming down the final flight of stairs I hear “doors closing” in the distance. “Hold the door! Please hold the door!” I shout to any soul willing to be a saint. The two metallic doors unfold and begin to shut but a black leather spiked boot meets them and holds them open.

It’s a man who looks close to my age but it's hard to tell with all the piercings and facial proddings. He’s dressed in all black and his jeans are torn in every which way. Chains hang from his pants, shirt, nose and ear as though he’s enslaved to himself. His black leather jacket is frayed and scuffed but the one thing I can’t help but notice is that there is a yellow smiley face pin on the lapel. “Thanks, I didn’t think I would make it.” I say to the kind emo stranger. He just smiles and grants me passage onto the empty subway car. The doors close and the train slowly begins its way down the tracks. The low hum vibration beneath my feet makes me smile. I would have hated to lug all this stuff back up the stairs.

The seats are worn but sturdy and I take one placing my belongings beside me. While Mr. Emo, as I have decided to call him, sits across from me. He gives me a once over with his eyes and finds a point of interest near my chest. He stares at me with unwavering eyes. I try to look away but when I turn back to check, his gaze remains. I don’t know what this guy’s problem is but it’s making me uneasy. Maybe he’s off his meds, maybe some mental disorder but I’d rather not stay here to figure it out. I quickly gather my bag and head towards the door to the next car. Before I can get too close, there’s a metallic clanging down at my feet. “What the hell? The door handle is gone…” Mr. Emo has tossed the handle towards me and chuckles to himself. The broken handle bounces against my shoe as I realize I’m trapped in this car with this psycho until the next stop.

“Were you goin somewhere?” He asks.

“Just to the next car…”

”Shucks you barely made it onto this one.”

”Yea but this one is a little crowded. Ya know?”

“Haha, you’re funny.” He says. You’re scary I want to say in return but I just smile and reclaim my seat.

Instinctively I avert my eyes from Mr. Emo and take in the sights of the rail car. There’s several bits of trash under the seats, an assortment of gum across the window sills. My favorite is the graffiti though. Among the random names, and call signs is one that makes me laugh. It reads “The Red Line always makes me late, the conductor is always” then their is a rather voluptuous female dragon with a really big butt. It’s a clever play on words for dragging ass and makes up for all the graffiti I missed on the way here.

“What’s in the bag?” Mr. Emo asks, very loudly. “Just some personal things.” I respond as I hold it closer to my body. “Well it looks like your personal things are trying to get out.” The corner of the bag is jumping and twisting to be free and I quickly beat it into submission. I look up at him with a great big smile hoping I can just sit in peace until the next stop. Mr. Emo stands without a word. And plops down next to me with my bag of belongings between us. This is the first time he hasn’t looked at me since I’ve entered the train. He stares straight out the window and into the nothingness outside. “I’ve heard about people like you. Go around snatching people’s cats and dogs and shit and then like sacrificing them to Satan. I’m just letting you know if there’s a cat in the bag man I’m gonna have to-“

”WHAT?” I yell. “Sacrifices to Satan? I mean do I even look like the type?” My voice objectifies the vast differences of our appearance.

“Well I mean kinda…”

”Dude, I have on a K-Mart polo and some khakis! The only thing in danger of getting killed here is somebody’s taxes!”

”Ha, you really are funny… So what’s in the bag then?” His dark brown eyes sparkle with curiosity. He leans over to try and sneak a peak inside. Why has he taken so much interest in me? What the hell difference does it make to him what’s in my bag?

”Look man, nothing’s in my bag, now can you just leave me alone til we get to the next stop?”

“Geez Louise man, so touchy. I’m just making sure there’s no animals in there.” I grab my bag and move to the seat at the end. “I assure you there’s no animal in the bag.” There’s an air of annoyance to my tone and an awkward silence between us. The clanking of the train along the tracks is a forgotten peace I never knew I needed until being around this guy. “Well ya know if there was an animal in the bag-“

”Damn it! There’s no fuckin animal man! It’s my heart! It’s pieces of my fucking heart…” There it’s out there, is he happy now? It’s not a dog, or cat or fucking chinchilla, it’s the broken pieces of my heart. His silence is a welcomed treat, and I’m left alone in the corner to brood.

“That’s heavy man.” He says while lighting up a cigarette and coming to sit across from me. I swat away his plumes of smoke and pretend to cough so he gets the idea. He doesn’t. “Ya know, you’re not supposed to smoke in here.” I say pointing to the graffiti covered sign on the wall. He ignores me, and takes another long drag from his cigarette and replies. “Ya know you’re not supposed to be collecting the broken bits of your heart, right?” Oh really? Is that so Mr. Emo? Someone please call the cops on me and make sure they read me my rights.

“Look man, it's been a long day and it's gonna be an even longer ride, I would just appreciate it if we didn’t speak any more.” Mr. Emo nods his head up and down and his jet back hair reiterates his understanding. He closes his mouth and makes the gesture to zip up his lips with his fingers, but quickly unzips them. “I mean can I just ask why you’re doing this.” At this point my irritation is palpable and I work out a plan in my head to pull the emergency stop button and escape through the widow.

”Look, if I tell you will you just leave me alone?” Mr. Emo nods vigorously and runs his black painted fingernails across his chest in the shape of a cross. “Fine, it’s because I want to be able to love again like I’ve never been hurt. If I finally get all the pieces of my heart back I can love again without past expectations, past hurts, and past traumas. I can be free and forget the past. Right now tryin to love someone with so many holes, and cracks and tears, it’s just not fair to them. It’s not fair to love.” There it’s out there. The grand master plan falls across these worn down seats and into his welcoming ears.

”Well that’s stupid.” he says harshly.

“Look, now-“

”Just hear me out. You’ve heard of Pandora’s Box haven’t you?”

”Of course, who hasn’t?”

”Well most people think it’s about unleashing all of the evils and horrors into the world. When it really was about giving things life, even the things that aren’t so pretty. You need those past pains to shape who you are as a lover now. Your first will be your worst, and the ones after, eventually cause laughter. Life and love are usually how you look at things, even negativity can be beautiful and necessary.” His words graciously fall from his lips and I swat them down to the floor. The brakes screech and the doors swing open. Mr. Emo doesn’t say a word, he simply stands and exits, slapping the butt of the dragon spray painted on the wall as he leaves. Finally the chatterbox has nothing to say and I breathe a sigh of relief. That’s when it hits me, I glance up and stare at the ass of a dragon. The graffiti despised by most is actually something I find artistic value and joy from. If I can look at something like graffiti with reverence, why can’t I do so with the scars of my heart? My pain has shown me what I didn’t want, given me behaviors to dismiss, repeat, and some to continue. I peek into the bag and see the shattered cardiac remains of my love life. They squirm and crash into one another while others climb up the sides to escape. “Doors closing.” I throw my foot onto the metallic door and dump the bag back into the world. The broken pieces bounce and scatter across the subway floor and return to the dark shadowy recesses of the Earth. Mr. Emo, just watches and smiles.

“Hey! Who are you?” I yell from the doorway.

”You’ve heard of Cupid right? Well I’m the reason you appreciate him. He sends the princes, I send the frogs.” He says as he collects a fragment of my heart and places it in his pocket. The doors close and I take my seat again but this time I feel lighter not carrying around all those previous heartaches with me.

The conductor pokes his head out from drivers compartment. “The next stop is the last stop! All passengers must exit at the next stop…” The Rosetta cheeked man then turns towards me. “Hey I know you, I’ve seen you ride this train every night for a while now. I figured you would have gotten off at the previous stop.”

”Not this time.” I say to the chubby man.

“Well you know, the next stop is a relationship, right?”

”Yes I know, and now that I’ve gotten rid of my bag, I’m finally ready.”

-End