Tucker

When asked to think of the happiest moment in their lives most people would pick a monumental day. Perhaps it would be their wedding, or the birth of their first child. For Tucker Osbourne, it would always be the blizzard at Braxton Hill Station.

It was all because of a train delay. It was early December and the first heavy snowfall of the year brought the city to a standstill. It was 6:10 pm and the sun had long since disappeared behind the silhouette of the city. The first wave of office workers had already come and gone from the station, determined not to find themselves working a minute after 5pm. Though barely an hour had passed their footsteps had already begun to fade under a new blanket of snow. The yellow lamps that lined the train platform illuminated fat, white flakes so thick that Tucker could barely see the end the end of the walkway just 30 feet away. Snow muffled the usual noise of the commotion, though even the stillness of winter could not mask the rising agitation from the post-work hoard that shoved its way onto the platform. The narrow stretch of walkway between the train tracks was becoming increasingly crowded as people shuffled in, shoulder-to-shoulder like penguins. It was a delicate dance. No one was willing to sacrifice their spot near the edge where the doors would emerge so the throng of people expanded from the center, until even the slightest unwatched elbow might force someone off the platform and onto the rails. The train was officially three minutes late.

The automated chime rang over the loudspeaker and a heavily accented voice spoke. "Attention, attention. Due to an intruder at track level all service on Line One has been suspended. Emergency response has been dispatched to the scene. We anticipate longer than normal wait times Eastbound between Harbourfront and Glendon. Expect minimum fifteen minutes of delays."

Groans erupted across the train station. A stout businessman in an ill-fitting brown suit shook his head and muttered to himself, "Every damn time." He looked up and upon realizing that no one had knowingly nodded or whined in agreement, he repeated himself louder before trying to force his way back towards the station house.

Intruder announcements were becoming increasingly frequent, though hardly a daily occurrence. More often than not an animal had wandered into the tunnels for warmth and refused to get off the tracks. Occasionally it was a car stopped too close to the line or an abandoned bike in the way.  On the rare instance it was a suicide, though the announcements never differentiated.

A few years ago even a single announcement would have caused murmurs of panic or fear but the rise in incidents combined with the increasingly quick emergency response times made it, at worst, an annoyance.

Following the overhead announcement the crowd began to disperse. People began to back away from the edge of the platform. A group of women in matching teal scrubs and puffed winter coats huddled inside a glass enclosure, pressed together like cigarettes in a pack. Many of the grumbling commuters began to shuffle back into the station alongside the brown suited man where they could hide from the cold. Tucker felt a misplaced sense of pride and camaraderie with the few people who remained on the platform. Maybe they would freeze, but they would freeze together, first in line for the train.

There was some kind of commotion beginning at the far end of the platform. Amidst the flurry of snow Tucker could hear the rise of unintelligible voices. Curious, he walked towards them, backtracking occasionally to try and seem as though he were trying to keep warm rather than eavesdrop. He could feel the sting of snow slipping into the collar of his coat, momentarily burning before running coldly down the back of his neck. The treads on his winter boots were beginning to wear down from salt and ice and Tucker slid slightly with every step. He was almost at the end of the platform when he saw the source of the noise.  An Asian man in a navy suit was pacing back and forth at then end of the platform. He was shouting something about a government conspiracy, waving his arms every few seconds to emphasize whatever he seemed to think were his key points. Onlookers, too polite to openly flee, edged sideways away from the man until he was given a wide venue in which to rant.

“They’re running your fucking MINDS,” the man shouted.

No coat, thought Tucker, that’s how you know he’s crazy. If it weren’t for the man’s apparent immunity to winter and his monologue on government control, Tucker would have mistaken him for an average businessman. As the man shook his head furiously with every word, his perfectly gelled hair did not move. His suit appeared to have been recently pressed and below the hem of his trousers peeked a pair of matching crimson socks. Rather than boots, he wore shoes that were so polished they shone. For a few moments he fell silent, as though lost in thought, and for the briefest second Tucker thought he may have imagined the whole scene. Then the man pivoted suddenly and his arm knocked into a middle-aged woman who was pretending to focus on the free transit newspaper. She yelped and scurried back towards the voyeurs, a few checking to make sure she was alright.

“That’s him,” a woman said as she passed Tucker. Two Transit Officials hurried after her. Tucker was momentarily taken aback. In six years of riding the train he had never seen anyone respond to any disturbances on the platform. The group stopped several feet short of them man, watching his performance but keeping a far distance. Eventually one of the men ambled forward and muttered something to the yelling man.

“FUCK OFF,” yelled the man, refusing to look at the office, “These people have a right to know!”

“You have to calm down, sir, you are upsetting people,” the officer looked back towards the crowd at his partner and the woman, as though searching for some kind of confirmation.

“Or what? Or you’ll call the pigs in on me? The whole lot of you are in on –“

“Or ELSE,” interjected the officer, “I can’t allow you on the train.”

“What fucking train? There’s no train, didn’t you hear them? They can spending billions of dollars locking us all up but they can’t spend money on shit that actually helps people, like a train that fucking runs on time. Even Mussolini managed to get working trains and he was almost as bad a fascist as the ones we have now!” The man was growing louder, though his pacing had stopped. Tucker hoped he might be wearing himself out, a thought that appeared to be shared by the officer.

“Very well. Just, uh, settle down then, and we’ll see what happens. I uh, know you’re agitated about the train, sir, we all are. Just. You know, if you could keep it together please.” The officer looked pleased with himself and began to head away from the man in the suit, who continued to rant, though without the same level of gusto. The two officers left the scene, leaving behind the woman who began to chase after them. The snow swallowed their conversation but by the time group reached Tucker the officers were several paces ahead. The woman was only a few paces away from Tucker when he finally saw her clearly.  Jessica, he thought. Her copper curls were wet and limp, half tucked into the collar of her emerald felt coat. Her face was pale, barely visible through the snow, but her cheeks burned pink from the cold. Inside red wool mittens Tucker could see her fists curl in agitation.

Jessica, focused on the officers, marched down the platform towards them. Tucker watched her closer and she drew near. Both of them were so focused on other people that no one noticed the man in the suit break into a run. He began to sprint down the platform as though he were being chased. Tucker spotted the man just as his elbow caught Jessica’s shoulder blade and caused her to tumble forward. Tucker’s heart leapt and he inhaled sharply as he thrust his hand out towards her. He did not exhale until he felt his fingers lock themselves around her wrist and pull her back towards him.

“Are you ok?” Tucker gasped.

“Fine. I was, like, three feet from the edge of the platform,” Jessica laughed, though as her eyes met Tucker’s he could see fear.

I wanted to protect you, thought Tucker. What he said out loud was, “Sorry. Just worried with all the ice and everything.”

“It’s totally ok. Not ok, sorry, thank you. Thank you for grabbing me. I’m being obnoxious, I’m just annoyed at them.” She waved one of her mitten-adorned hands towards the transit officers as they faded into the snow farther down the platform.

Tucker nodded. The two were silent for a moment before he realized that he was still holding her wrist. He lightly released his fingers, hoping she may not have noticed through all her winter clothes. He felt a blush rise into his cheeks in mortification and stared intently at the ground in the hopes she wouldn’t see.

“You know they can’t do anything?”

“What?” Tucker was still busy thinking about his lingering grasp.

“Those officer men. They’re note allowed to do anything. I told them this guy is raving and shouting because I figured he might cause a panic, hurt someone, push someone, blah blah blah, and they told me they aren’t allowed to do anything! They can ask him to leave or not to get on a train but if he ignores them they’re just screwed. It’s not their job. How utterly stupid is that?”

“I thought they were cops,” said Tucker.

“They’re train cops. Closer to mall cops, I think, than anything else.” There was laughter in her voice, though Tucker could not see her face. His focus was still on the tips of his boots and the pattern of the tiles below his feet. They spiralled out into filthy mosaics that disappeared under grey sludgy footprints. Tucker glanced over at the tips of Jessica’s boots. They were black and blunt, as though steel toed.

“I’m – “ Tucker began to introduce himself but was cut short by the chirp of an overhead announcement.

A chipper, pre-recorded man’s voice said, “Here at MetroRail, safety is our top priority! If you see something suspicious, report it to our nearest uniformed Transit Enforcement Officer. Safety starts with you.”

Jessica laughed rolled her grey eyes and shaking her head so that her wet curls escaped her collar and stuck to her cheeks.

“Think they planned that,” Tucker asked.

“I doubt it. There have just been so many lunatics lately. I swear, I can’t remember the last week I went without someone on my train shouting something. Though that’s the best dressed conspiracy theorist I’ve ever seen.”

Tucker nodded his head in agreement. Jessica began to speak again but her words were drowned out by a loud, repeated thudding noise. As the noise grew louder, Tucker found himself quickly growing warmer, unable to feel the snow.

That was strange. The train wouldn’t even come for another ten minutes. The crowd on the platform was still too thin; the ranting man had not yet begun to sing about police oversight; they hadn’t even introduced themselves yet. Tucker tried to look around but was unable to see anything past Jessica’s face.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

Jessica was fumbling in her coat pocket for something. Her phone. She wasn’t going to find it.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

“Call yourself on mine, see if you can hear it ring,” Tucker heard himself saying the oldest pick-up line he knew.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. TUCKER!

Jessica was nodding, her red mitten reached out towards him in anticipation. The noise was growing louder.  Tucker tried to concentrate on the sound of Jessica’s voice. He focused on the feeling of his fingers brushing against loose threads in his pockets as he dug for his phone. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

The feeling of winter air in the station had entirely disappeared. The feeling of excited, nervous anxiety that had rested high in Tucker’s chest began to fade. Jessica opened her mouth to speak but she froze. The train platform began to flicker as the voice calling Tucker’s name grew more clear and he realized that he recognized it.

TUCKER! THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

Jessica’s cool grey eyes met Tucker’s for a brief second before she disappeared. Tucker was plunged into darkness. There was someone at the door.