Last Car

It was a long day at the hospital and I am fried. I step onto the Number 7 at 82nd street and am relieved that I’m alone in the last car. I have some time before we arrived at the last stop, Jackson Avenue, so I turn my music down on my earbuds and prop my head back on my backpack. Lil Nas X’s latest track starts playing and a wry smile crosses my lips as I close my eyes. I’m tired since I fall asleep after the second or third verse. I’m jolted awake by the train jumping the track with a violent crash. Panicking, I pull the buds out and open my eyes right as the lights blink out. The train keeps moving with the familiar metal-on-metal screech before it levels out. I breathe a sigh of relief, despite my heart trying to eject itself through my ribs. Deciding to pay more attention, not that my mini heart attack was going to let me doze off again, I put my earbuds back in their case and wait out the rest of the trip listening to the rhythmic click-clack of the train. Several minutes later the train comes to a stop, and the doors to my platform open. The lights are still out and the platform is dark. I fumble with my phone for the flashlight as I step out. The train screeches away moments before I realize I had stepped into the void, the stars of infinity the only lights I can see.

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