The Blue Line
R.F. Mechelke
Josh stood alone on a platform full of people, watching the Blue Line pull in. He climbed the steps of the train, walked down the aisle, seeing only the tops of bent heads, and sat at his usual spot. The stark gray, murky white of Chicago flashed through his window. The rhythmic metallic knocking and scraping of the train’s cold steel wheels over frosty blue rails reverberated in Josh’s brain, mesmerizing. He could taste the metal surrounding of the cabin in his mouth, mixed with the scent of women covered in perfume and makeup. As he sat with his feet up slightly, the warmth of his coat lolled him to sleep. His head bobbed and swayed to the left and right, synchronous with the movements of the train. He has ridden the Blue Line to work from Irving Park to Clark every day for the past two years, to where he would walk to a building located in the Near North.
The train came to a stop, jerking Josh from a shallow slumber. He looked up, and watched a few people disembark. A scraggly bearded middle-aged man sat in the vacant seat to his right, and a young brunette, with bright red lipstick and a long, white wool coat sat next to Josh. In the seat in front of him, two twenty-something guys, with jutting black beards flopped down, each wearing flannels under their coats. The woman next to Josh, stared at her hands, oblivious to anyone around her. The train was nearly full now, as it set off for the next stop. The scraggly bearded man fidgeted nervously in his seat, continuously plucking a hand into his left pocket. He wore a big dark coat and brown corduroy pants and scuffed up white sneakers. One could almost mistake him for being homeless. But he had a cleanness about him. His glasses were balanced on the tip of his pale blue nose, overhanging thin ruddy lips and white teeth. In his other hand, he clutched a radiating silver screen, reading with moving lips.
Over the two years on the Blue Line, Josh would see the same people board and exit the train each day, heads down, obediently. The sameness of the daily train ride, stopping at the same stops, seeing the same people, mere apparitions moving through space, mostly unnoticed and unseeing. Josh did not think of himself as one of the apparitions, he thought of himself as one of the living, in a ghost town. He moved in the world, with a longing and a deep sadness. On good weather days, he would dress for a morning run down Irving past Horner Park and its bright birch trees to Western and back. Josh would walk past the elevator, and take the stairs to his second story condo, throw his keys on the small table by the door with a vase of yellow daisies, open the fridge and drink from a jug of water. After showering and dressing, he would eat a bowl of steel cut oats within the embrace of his bay window overlooking Independence Park. It was the bay window and its view that sold the condo for Josh. He had always envisioned a small room with such a perspective. In the evenings, he would sit alone, eating his dinner and reading. He had a two-bedroom condo, with one bedroom converted to a den, with three walls lined with bookcases. The living room was outfitted with furniture with clean lines and neutral colors. The walls were covered with photos he had taken and paintings he had bought from time to time.
On his way to the train station in the mornings, he would stop at Mimi’s Cafe’ to fill his mug with black coffee and stand on the platform dotted with people who stood entranced, staring at their hands. On this morning, from the platform, Josh had watched the sky light up from the morning sun in shades of orange and yellow, burning off the frozen mist that had covered everything.
The scraggly-bearded man was not always so scraggly. He was once clean shaven and wore normal shoes. The brunette next to Josh now, had sat next to him once before, but she looked different. He remembered her looking more approachable, but now, she wore different clothes. Josh wondered if he was a familiar stranger to her or others. The thought was intriguing at first to Josh, but as he looked around the cabin, he could see it was not likely. As for the two lumberjacks, they were true strangers to Josh, but they looked much too familiar.
Josh reached into his backpack for the travel magazine he purchased the other day. As he read a story about Barcelona, the train shook abruptly with a terrible screeching until the train came to a stop. The woman next to Josh had grabbed his arm and let out a scream during the shaking of the train. The cabin erupted in motion and sound. The train was stopped on a section of the elevated track somewhere between Belmont and Logan Square. A woman’s voice spoke calmly over the PA system saying a maintenance crew had been called. The intended effect failed miserably, and anger broke out among the passengers. The woman next to Josh started speaking, and it took a few moments for Josh to realize she was speaking to him. She was peppering him with questions as if he were some authority on the situation.
Josh replied, “Sorry, I have no idea how long we will be stuck here.”
The woman persisted, “Can they send another train to pick us up?”
Josh could see the redness of panic on her face, and said, “I think it’s possible. Maybe it won’t take long. Are you worried about being late for work? I am sure they will understand.”
That seemed to soothe her a bit. She smiled.
“I’m Josh.”
She studied his face a bit, and said, “I’m Stephanie.”
But before Josh could say something else to Stephanie, a dark suited man started yelling, throwing his arms about frantically at the front of the train car. A large man, with a workmanlike coat started to back away. A woman, perhaps the dark suited man’s wife, tried to calm him down. He just got more upset. The scraggly-bearded man stood and started pacing up and down the aisle. Josh felt Stephanie’s tight grip on his arm again. The lumberjacks started talking loudly at each other. The cabin was quickly deteriorating into chaos. People were talking over each other in loud voices. Many were seeking answers or solace from their glowing hands and finding neither.
Josh looked from face to face, seeing many familiar people, whose faces he had seen change, some slightly, some more profound, like the scraggly bearded man, who finally returned to his seat, and resumed mumbling the glowing words.
Josh lifted his magazine, and said to Stephanie, who had released her grip on his arm, “Have you ever been to Barcelona?”
Stephanie lifted her green eyes from the radiating screen in her hands, and replied, ‘What?”
“Have you been to Barcelona? I have been wanting to go there for some time. The photographs of the streets hum with people.”
Stephanie looked annoyed, and said, “No, I haven’t,” and her eyes returned to the shimmering object she held so compulsively.
Unperturbed, Josh continued, “The architecture in Barcelona is beautiful. I am amazed by all the pictures of the balconies there. Who knew balconies could rise to an art form?”
Stephanie focused her bright green eyes on Josh, and she replied, “What’s so special about their balconies?”
“It’s the intricate lines and elaborate lattices forming them. Here, we’re all about function, never breaking the mold. Don’t you think it is more interesting to be different in a meticulously creative manner?”
Stephanie turned slightly toward Josh, and asked, “Can you show me some pictures of the balconies?”
The lumberjacks were apparently eavesdropping, and they both turned toward Josh and Stephanie, and remarked, “I’ve heard about these balconies. A friend visited there two summers ago and couldn’t stop talking about them. By the way, I’m Marcus and this is Emile.”
Emile waved.
Josh learned that Stephanie had a thing for balconies and patios since childhood when her father used to grill, and she would sit with him and talk and laugh. Her father passed away a year before she graduated college with colon cancer. She said it was so sudden: Extreme stomach pain, visit to the ER, surgery the next day, and 5 months later he died. He was only 56.
They passed the next hour talking about Barcelona and its food and people and architecture, and other places they wished to visit one day, until the woman came over the PA system again, and announced, “The maintenance crew has fixed the problem, and we will be on our way in ten minutes.” The cabin was full of relief.
Stephanie and the lumberjacks seem to shift in their seats, resetting themselves to their previous mode. Josh’s stomach sank, and he felt the loneliness again. But then he smiled, and said, “I have an idea. Let’s all call in sick and enjoy the day in the city together. The sun is bright and it’s warmer now. What do you say?”
Stephanie straightened, and said, “Let’s do it.”
Marcus and Emile weren’t on the way to work anyway, so they agreed immediately.
It had warmed up to a balmy 45 by 10. They all wanted coffee first, so they stopped at a small coffee shop. As they sat around the table, they talked about their lives. Stephanie had just started a job after graduate school a few months ago. She loved the city, but missed her hometown in Wisconsin. Her father, she said, would walk with her and her brother from their home to a diner at the corner of the street.
“They have the best shakes. I loved to sit at the counter and watch them make them with the old-fashioned machines,” said Stephanie.
Marcus and Emile were computer science majors from U of I, and were always plotting to strike it rich with a mind-blowing app. They were lifelong friends from the northwest suburb of Crystal Lake. They were traveling from their apartment near Belmont into the city just to hang around. They were in between coding gigs, so they had the time. Josh confessed to them, that he had thought they were computer geeks who spent most of their free time playing video games.
Marcus laughed, saying, “Yeah, you have us pegged, that’s for sure. But hey, we left the apartment today, didn’t we?”
Emile nodded in agreement. He was the quiet one. But Emile seemed like a nice guy, just very shy.
During coffee, they had decided to go to the Art Institute of Chicago. It seemed the natural place to go after how they met, and Josh and Stephanie were confident they would not run into anyone they knew from work. They walked out onto Monroe and turned toward Michigan Avenue. The sidewalk was gorged with people walking, heads down, like robots, soulless and joyless. They saw the Lions in the distance, and they all got excited. They wanted to run, but Stephanie was in heels.
“Go, I will catch up,” she said.
But they refused, saying they were all staying together. Once they reached the Lions, they ran up the stairs and bought their tickets. They walked from exhibit to exhibit. Marcus wanted to see the Impressionist wing. Emile just shrugged when they asked him what he would like to see.
As they stood in front of a painting, they realized it was same painting Cameron stood in front of in the film, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. They began to call their day a Ferris Holiday.
From the Art Institute, they walked to Millennial Park to see the Bean. Stephanie’s feet were beginning to hurt from her heels, so they walked along Michigan Avenue to find a shoe store, where she bought a pair of flats. They were all starving, and Marcus suggested the Purple Pig, saying that he had always wanted to go there.
Stephanie grabbed Josh’s arm, saying, “Yes, let’s go. I have always wanted to go too.”
Emile smiled, and nodded his agreement.
They arrived after the normal lunch crowd and were able to get a table right away. Josh watched the faces of his new friends, smiling and laughing, drinking wine, sharing great food. A few hours ago, they were all strangers, ignoring each other. After the train shook to a halt, waking them, they found themselves talking and laughing like they were old friends. Stephanie, once a familiar stranger to Josh, was now touching his hand under the table. They began to seriously talk about traveling to Spain together in the spring only a few months away.
Marcus said, “Spain would be perfect. I can speak Spanish too.”
Stephanie said, “Would you all like to backpack it, renting rooms along the way?”
Both Josh and Marcus loved the idea. Emile nodded his gleeful acceptance.
A phone started ringing, and they all searched for their phones, except Josh, who never had one, and Stephanie held hers up as the offending artifact. As it rang and vibrated, she looked around the table, smiled, and she powered it off and hid it away. They all smiled at each other and did likewise. And to everyone’s surprise, Emile said, “Where should we go next?”
R.F. Mechelke
Josh stood alone on a platform full of people, watching the Blue Line pull in. He climbed the steps of the train, walked down the aisle, seeing only the tops of bent heads, and sat at his usual spot. The stark gray, murky white of Chicago flashed through his window. The rhythmic metallic knocking and scraping of the train’s cold steel wheels over frosty blue rails reverberated in Josh’s brain, mesmerizing. He could taste the metal surrounding of the cabin in his mouth, mixed with the scent of women covered in perfume and makeup. As he sat with his feet up slightly, the warmth of his coat lolled him to sleep. His head bobbed and swayed to the left and right, synchronous with the movements of the train. He has ridden the Blue Line to work from Irving Park to Clark every day for the past two years, to where he would walk to a building located in the Near North.
The train came to a stop, jerking Josh from a shallow slumber. He looked up, and watched a few people disembark. A scraggly bearded middle-aged man sat in the vacant seat to his right, and a young brunette, with bright red lipstick and a long, white wool coat sat next to Josh. In the seat in front of him, two twenty-something guys, with jutting black beards flopped down, each wearing flannels under their coats. The woman next to Josh, stared at her hands, oblivious to anyone around her. The train was nearly full now, as it set off for the next stop. The scraggly bearded man fidgeted nervously in his seat, continuously plucking a hand into his left pocket. He wore a big dark coat and brown corduroy pants and scuffed up white sneakers. One could almost mistake him for being homeless. But he had a cleanness about him. His glasses were balanced on the tip of his pale blue nose, overhanging thin ruddy lips and white teeth. In his other hand, he clutched a radiating silver screen, reading with moving lips.
Over the two years on the Blue Line, Josh would see the same people board and exit the train each day, heads down, obediently. The sameness of the daily train ride, stopping at the same stops, seeing the same people, mere apparitions moving through space, mostly unnoticed and unseeing. Josh did not think of himself as one of the apparitions, he thought of himself as one of the living, in a ghost town. He moved in the world, with a longing and a deep sadness. On good weather days, he would dress for a morning run down Irving past Horner Park and its bright birch trees to Western and back. Josh would walk past the elevator, and take the stairs to his second story condo, throw his keys on the small table by the door with a vase of yellow daisies, open the fridge and drink from a jug of water. After showering and dressing, he would eat a bowl of steel cut oats within the embrace of his bay window overlooking Independence Park. It was the bay window and its view that sold the condo for Josh. He had always envisioned a small room with such a perspective. In the evenings, he would sit alone, eating his dinner and reading. He had a two-bedroom condo, with one bedroom converted to a den, with three walls lined with bookcases. The living room was outfitted with furniture with clean lines and neutral colors. The walls were covered with photos he had taken and paintings he had bought from time to time.
On his way to the train station in the mornings, he would stop at Mimi’s Cafe’ to fill his mug with black coffee and stand on the platform dotted with people who stood entranced, staring at their hands. On this morning, from the platform, Josh had watched the sky light up from the morning sun in shades of orange and yellow, burning off the frozen mist that had covered everything.
The scraggly-bearded man was not always so scraggly. He was once clean shaven and wore normal shoes. The brunette next to Josh now, had sat next to him once before, but she looked different. He remembered her looking more approachable, but now, she wore different clothes. Josh wondered if he was a familiar stranger to her or others. The thought was intriguing at first to Josh, but as he looked around the cabin, he could see it was not likely. As for the two lumberjacks, they were true strangers to Josh, but they looked much too familiar.
Josh reached into his backpack for the travel magazine he purchased the other day. As he read a story about Barcelona, the train shook abruptly with a terrible screeching until the train came to a stop. The woman next to Josh had grabbed his arm and let out a scream during the shaking of the train. The cabin erupted in motion and sound. The train was stopped on a section of the elevated track somewhere between Belmont and Logan Square. A woman’s voice spoke calmly over the PA system saying a maintenance crew had been called. The intended effect failed miserably, and anger broke out among the passengers. The woman next to Josh started speaking, and it took a few moments for Josh to realize she was speaking to him. She was peppering him with questions as if he were some authority on the situation.
Josh replied, “Sorry, I have no idea how long we will be stuck here.”
The woman persisted, “Can they send another train to pick us up?”
Josh could see the redness of panic on her face, and said, “I think it’s possible. Maybe it won’t take long. Are you worried about being late for work? I am sure they will understand.”
That seemed to soothe her a bit. She smiled.
“I’m Josh.”
She studied his face a bit, and said, “I’m Stephanie.”
But before Josh could say something else to Stephanie, a dark suited man started yelling, throwing his arms about frantically at the front of the train car. A large man, with a workmanlike coat started to back away. A woman, perhaps the dark suited man’s wife, tried to calm him down. He just got more upset. The scraggly-bearded man stood and started pacing up and down the aisle. Josh felt Stephanie’s tight grip on his arm again. The lumberjacks started talking loudly at each other. The cabin was quickly deteriorating into chaos. People were talking over each other in loud voices. Many were seeking answers or solace from their glowing hands and finding neither.
Josh looked from face to face, seeing many familiar people, whose faces he had seen change, some slightly, some more profound, like the scraggly bearded man, who finally returned to his seat, and resumed mumbling the glowing words.
Josh lifted his magazine, and said to Stephanie, who had released her grip on his arm, “Have you ever been to Barcelona?”
Stephanie lifted her green eyes from the radiating screen in her hands, and replied, ‘What?”
“Have you been to Barcelona? I have been wanting to go there for some time. The photographs of the streets hum with people.”
Stephanie looked annoyed, and said, “No, I haven’t,” and her eyes returned to the shimmering object she held so compulsively.
Unperturbed, Josh continued, “The architecture in Barcelona is beautiful. I am amazed by all the pictures of the balconies there. Who knew balconies could rise to an art form?”
Stephanie focused her bright green eyes on Josh, and she replied, “What’s so special about their balconies?”
“It’s the intricate lines and elaborate lattices forming them. Here, we’re all about function, never breaking the mold. Don’t you think it is more interesting to be different in a meticulously creative manner?”
Stephanie turned slightly toward Josh, and asked, “Can you show me some pictures of the balconies?”
The lumberjacks were apparently eavesdropping, and they both turned toward Josh and Stephanie, and remarked, “I’ve heard about these balconies. A friend visited there two summers ago and couldn’t stop talking about them. By the way, I’m Marcus and this is Emile.”
Emile waved.
Josh learned that Stephanie had a thing for balconies and patios since childhood when her father used to grill, and she would sit with him and talk and laugh. Her father passed away a year before she graduated college with colon cancer. She said it was so sudden: Extreme stomach pain, visit to the ER, surgery the next day, and 5 months later he died. He was only 56.
They passed the next hour talking about Barcelona and its food and people and architecture, and other places they wished to visit one day, until the woman came over the PA system again, and announced, “The maintenance crew has fixed the problem, and we will be on our way in ten minutes.” The cabin was full of relief.
Stephanie and the lumberjacks seem to shift in their seats, resetting themselves to their previous mode. Josh’s stomach sank, and he felt the loneliness again. But then he smiled, and said, “I have an idea. Let’s all call in sick and enjoy the day in the city together. The sun is bright and it’s warmer now. What do you say?”
Stephanie straightened, and said, “Let’s do it.”
Marcus and Emile weren’t on the way to work anyway, so they agreed immediately.
It had warmed up to a balmy 45 by 10. They all wanted coffee first, so they stopped at a small coffee shop. As they sat around the table, they talked about their lives. Stephanie had just started a job after graduate school a few months ago. She loved the city, but missed her hometown in Wisconsin. Her father, she said, would walk with her and her brother from their home to a diner at the corner of the street.
“They have the best shakes. I loved to sit at the counter and watch them make them with the old-fashioned machines,” said Stephanie.
Marcus and Emile were computer science majors from U of I, and were always plotting to strike it rich with a mind-blowing app. They were lifelong friends from the northwest suburb of Crystal Lake. They were traveling from their apartment near Belmont into the city just to hang around. They were in between coding gigs, so they had the time. Josh confessed to them, that he had thought they were computer geeks who spent most of their free time playing video games.
Marcus laughed, saying, “Yeah, you have us pegged, that’s for sure. But hey, we left the apartment today, didn’t we?”
Emile nodded in agreement. He was the quiet one. But Emile seemed like a nice guy, just very shy.
During coffee, they had decided to go to the Art Institute of Chicago. It seemed the natural place to go after how they met, and Josh and Stephanie were confident they would not run into anyone they knew from work. They walked out onto Monroe and turned toward Michigan Avenue. The sidewalk was gorged with people walking, heads down, like robots, soulless and joyless. They saw the Lions in the distance, and they all got excited. They wanted to run, but Stephanie was in heels.
“Go, I will catch up,” she said.
But they refused, saying they were all staying together. Once they reached the Lions, they ran up the stairs and bought their tickets. They walked from exhibit to exhibit. Marcus wanted to see the Impressionist wing. Emile just shrugged when they asked him what he would like to see.
As they stood in front of a painting, they realized it was same painting Cameron stood in front of in the film, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. They began to call their day a Ferris Holiday.
From the Art Institute, they walked to Millennial Park to see the Bean. Stephanie’s feet were beginning to hurt from her heels, so they walked along Michigan Avenue to find a shoe store, where she bought a pair of flats. They were all starving, and Marcus suggested the Purple Pig, saying that he had always wanted to go there.
Stephanie grabbed Josh’s arm, saying, “Yes, let’s go. I have always wanted to go too.”
Emile smiled, and nodded his agreement.
They arrived after the normal lunch crowd and were able to get a table right away. Josh watched the faces of his new friends, smiling and laughing, drinking wine, sharing great food. A few hours ago, they were all strangers, ignoring each other. After the train shook to a halt, waking them, they found themselves talking and laughing like they were old friends. Stephanie, once a familiar stranger to Josh, was now touching his hand under the table. They began to seriously talk about traveling to Spain together in the spring only a few months away.
Marcus said, “Spain would be perfect. I can speak Spanish too.”
Stephanie said, “Would you all like to backpack it, renting rooms along the way?”
Both Josh and Marcus loved the idea. Emile nodded his gleeful acceptance.
A phone started ringing, and they all searched for their phones, except Josh, who never had one, and Stephanie held hers up as the offending artifact. As it rang and vibrated, she looked around the table, smiled, and she powered it off and hid it away. They all smiled at each other and did likewise. And to everyone’s surprise, Emile said, “Where should we go next?”
