There were only two seats left on the TRAX platform this time and the seats were separated from each other by a gorgeous black man.  Hubby took the closer seat as I walked past the man to sit on his other side next to a dyed-red-headed woman.  She was about as tall as me and about my age but wore her age very hard.  She hadn't had an easy life.  She was beautifully tattooed across her chest and her eyes hinted of humor and life knowledge.   Just as I was bending into a sitting position, red-headed lady jumped up and said what I thought was, "is that your bag?"
I looked at the black man and indeed there was a backpack on the seat with him, just to his side which would be next to me also... but pretty obviously his.
  I answered the lady by saying, "no, it's not mine".
 "Oh, ok" she answered and she sat back down.
 But as I thought for a moment I began to realize maybe she wasn't talking about the bag, because it didn't fit why she had jumped up so quickly and then just sat back down.
 So, I finally ask her, "Did you ask me if that bag was mine?"
 She said, "oh no, I ask if that man was yours.  I figured you wanted to sit by him", as she pointed out my hubby.
     "Oh"  I laughed.  "He is mine but I don't need to sit by him. Sometimes it is just nice to not have to sit together but thanks so much for going to give up your sit for me".
Then we started to talk and laugh.  We talked about our jobs and that we were both heading home and yes, we were tired!

    Well, we all got on the train together and she ended up right across the aisle from hubby and I.  I said to hubby, "this nice lady was going to give up her seat so I could sit by you."  and we all introduced each other. 

 Hubby asks his favorite question, "where are you originally from?"

She answers "New Jersey" and hubby just had to ask next:

 "and what brought you to Salt Lake City?"

    "Oh, dear", she said, "you had to ask".
"Well it's ok if you don't want to say", says hubby.
"No, I'll tell you" she begins but no longer does she talk with the happy-lighthearted lilt in her voice.
"One day", she quickly throws out, "there was a very bad accident and my husband and four children were killed.  I had a boy 9 yrs. old, a girl 7, another girl 3 and a baby boy of  18 months.  All killed." 
   She had been talking to her lap but then she looked up at hubby and said, "I got in my car and decided I was going to go to California no matter what.  I drove and drove and my car broke down here in Salt Lake.  I had to get a job to pay of the car bill and I have been here ever since."

Hubby and I just sat and stared for like an eternity at her.

 She continues, "I work any job I can get, I'm not like other people who say they won't work unless they get twenty bucks and hour, I will even work for ten bucks an hour.  I clean houses.  But today I even held a picket sign for two hours in front of a Maverick Store for a lady who paid me $20.00.  I've had some bad times but they were my own fault.  No one else is to blame."
She added this bit on to the end of the story and my hubby looks at her closely, puts his hands on his knees, leans in to her and asks, "Trouble with drinking?"
She nods a yes like she hasn't been able to verbalize it too much yet.  Then she falls silent for a moment.

"But, I'm over that now and I will work doing anything."  She says, "I'm 54 and I've been in Salt Lake for 27 years.  Half my life here so it's my home and my neighbors are my best friends.  Immediately she was back up to happy again and we laughingly talked about the picket line she walked on that day until we had to part.

   This is one passenger I really want to see again.  I miss her.

We're all talking again

Nobody talks to anyone in February. 

 Nobody.  

It is quiet on TRAX. 

 People huddle in their coats to try and stay warm. 

 Some ride TRAX because the street life is too cold 

and not being able to sleep out in the cold they board TRAX early and sleep on the seats. 

 I watch as many heads nod in the rhythm of the train riding on the rails.

Everyone just stares or sleeps in the darkness of the morning as we go and in the darkness of the evening and as we return.

But it is now March and it is warmer and the sun is nearly up when we arrive at our destinations. 

 People are talking.  

People are listening in on conversations and are smiling and nodding and saying hello.  

Oh how I love that people are talking again!

Gone for another year is February.

 This last one we just endured, I won't miss Feb. 2013 a single bit.

They stepped off the "Dust Bowl" platform onto our train.

Deeply carved faces exhibiting wear above what any average life could experience, what only survivors of the 1930's dust bowl had endured.  They wore hair dried and brittle from days on end of blowing desiccant bombarding each strand. With eyes red-rimmed and unfocused, a bit too watery as if glands still wanted to quench recently parched eyeballs, the two of them searched for a seat.

Were they officially older women?  I don't know, hard to tell by the age masking effects of a severely hard life.  One wore very heavy makeup that only accentuated the lines and furrows of her forehead eyes and neck.  But it was obvious why she put so much make-up on as a deep purplish blue bruise glowed from under the pancake make-up on her left cheek bone.  The lower eye-lid on the left eye, being slightly swollen, was inhibiting her upper lid from traveling the entire distance to close the eye at each blink.  The result was a look at constantly winking at whatever she gazed at.

The talked and laughed lightly yet unconcerned about anyone who might be eavesdropping.  Their body and hand movements seemed over exaggerated, maybe all for attention as they and plopped into the seat across from hubby and I. 

But, by golly, these pair of ladies were dressed to the nines, flouncy blouses under mangy fake fur coats,  hoary calloused, disjointed feet wedged in scandals, freshly pressed and cleaned trousers - all clothing much too lightweight for a cold night like tonight. It was as if they hoped all the clanking heavy costume jewelry would ward off winter frost bite.

Where had they been? I thought.  Where had they walked from to get to this platform?

 And maybe better yet, where were they going?

If you have ridden the train, you know you hurry onto the TRAX car.  You look quickly, I mean VERY quickly for a seat.  I have to scan quickly for a seat hubby and I can sit in together, across from each other with no one else on the seats.  It is a game we play every morning.
Today the front of the car is full, dang!  I scan quickly down the center aisle.  I think I spy an empty pair of seats about midway down.  Must hurry because if the car starts up before sitting down my hubby is always thrown off balance and I don't want to have to pick him up off the floor of the train car.  (Funny, I never worry about me falling ... hmm).
Anyway, as we sit down, I notice that we are right behind the mid door off the train but there is something on the floor by the door.  I wonder if someone dropped something.  So hubby turns around, leans over the seat and stares for quite a while.

"There is a guy lying there on his bag" he says.  "Is he dead?" I ask.  

"I don't know" he hesitantly answers. 

Now other people begin to bend and look over.  But no one does much else but look.  

I do see slight movement of something, maybe an elbow so I figure he is not completely dead.

"Was there a pool of blood or anything?" 

"No" hubby replies.

Then we are at the next stop and people get on from that mid door and cautiously walk around the guy on in the stairwell slumped over his suitcase.  Everyone stares and shrugs their shoulders or takes a second harder look.  

Someone a few seats from us asks, "What is it? Did someone drop something?"  

Now hubby explains and everyone on the train listens and is now talking about it.  

"Is he dead?"  is heard up and down the car.

'No, look he is moving a bit," someone adds.

By now it is many stops later and many people have come and gone by that mid door. 

I remember thinking, "Wow, how amazing that no one really cares about this guy or wants to bother him or themselves to see if he is ok, including me."

It's our stop now. 

 "Let's go out the mid door also so I can see him", I say.

As I stepped around this slight of build, moderately well dressed young man I studied him intently trying to get answers.  

All I know is he is olive skinned, short haired with an odd hat on his head and he is lying with his head on the suitcase which he is cradling as if the suitcase were a lover.

And he seems to be deeply asleep.

photo is merely to show position of young man's body on his suitcase -this is NOT him.

What's the story? 

 Why sleeping in the stairwell and not on the seats like everyone else?

  I'm afraid it is a mystery forever.

The Oxymoron

I saw this car in the TRAX parking lot.  It was beat up very badly.  The bumper is really bashed in. I thought "boy, no wonder you ride TRAX, you can't drive!"

I scanned my eyes down the side of the car seeing how dented the side was when

I noticed a locking device on the steering wheel called "The Club".  Having owned a few in my time, I knew this one cost about $40.00.

I had to laugh.  Who would want that car?  I couldn't resist looking into the car's windows to see

if there was gold on the seats or something!  

Nope, absolutely nothing of value in view. 

Well, rest assured owner, NO one will take THAT car!

I had to ride home later in the evening on TRAX by myself the other night.  I wasn't scared or nervous... let's just say, I was "cautious".
I had my car keys threaded between my knuckles so I looked like Wolverine from the X-men movie.  If someone tried to accost me I would scrap the keys down their face then police could search for the deeply scratched man and I would recognize him as my attacker.
I kept one eye out for everyone around me even though I was pretending to read my Nook.
There were several boys, late teens or early 20's in several of the seats in front of me.  They were loud and laughing, their pants sagged, and they had ball caps screwed down tight on the top of their heads.  Worst of all, they all were wearing dark hoodies!
And yes, some had darker skin color than me...

One came around "just asking a brother for some change for some food".  I didn't know what I was going to say when he got to me.  Say "no" and then get mugged?  "Yes" and then have them all see me fumbling with money so I would just end up robbed?  Thank goodness he didn't ask me.
  Then at the next couple of stops, most of the young men got off.  I didn't look up, I just kept pretending to be reading because I noticed one larger black young man alone, sitting two seats in front of me.  He was playing his music loudly so ALL could enjoy (?) it.

 When suddenly I heard a voice say, "Ma'am?"

I let it go, I ignored it.  I am deeply reading, can't he see?  I feel my keys in my hand. I feel my heart rate  increase a bit.
"Ma'am?"  He says a bit louder this time.

I had to.. I had to look up to see if it was me he was calling to.
And he was looking right at me.  He had turned around in his seat and was looking right at me.  Dark ball cap, dark hoody jacket, loud music.
"Yes", I answered in my most sweet old lady please-don't-hurt-me-I-could-be-your-mother voice.

"Is the language in this music to harsh for you?  Sometimes they sing with some pretty bad language and I wouldn't want to offend you."

 I stared at him for an eternity before all my senses came back to me and I answered, "I teach junior high school.  That language, which I can't even hear, is probably not anything like what I hear in the halls at school".
"You're kidding", he answers.  "They get away with bad language in schools here?"
 "Well they shouldn't but when they think no one old is listening it really flows out",  I answered.

"Well I apologize if this offends but I really like the music and you have a nice day now, ma'am", he says back to me so sweetly that I carefully put the keys back into my pocket and started to really read my book.

I'm frankly speechless.  

Should I be impressed with indiviuality 

or

saddened by insanity

"self-centered"

  I am the center of the universe.  

All revolves around me. 

 If I am not aware of it, it does not exist.

There were maybe four people on this particular train car an evening a few weeks ago.  Myself, my hubby, a younger woman with a knit cap pulled tightly down over her hair and perhaps a gentleman a two nearer the other end of the car.  Oh, and there was the "self-centered" young man.  

Mr. self centered was on a call.  He had his cell phone out and was in a light conversation with someone he seemed to think we all knew and were thrilled that he was able to have this conversation with at this time. 

 I remember a time in my life when I didn't have much money but was working and felt so much more rich than I had ever been before in my life so I spent money on "wanna-be" clothes.  "Wanna-be clothes look nearly spectacular but ... not quite.  Self-centered was clearly at that stage in life as he wore a white shirt with a collar that did not fold sharply down over his ill-hanging tie.  Nice colors in the tie but poorly made so it didn't lay very well and didn't hold the fake Windsor knot well.  He had on a light fawn colored leather jacket.  Nice looking except for the knitted waist band that showed pilling and stretching.  His pants were just a bit too short and I doubt his shoes had ever seen a polish since the day they left the factory. 

But none-the-less, self-centered walked up and down the center of the car talking as loud as if he was practicing an oratory speech during his light, often humorous conversation with phone person.  Every now and then, self-centered would stop in front of the windows and stare at his refection in the window created from the darkness of the outside night.  He would fuss with his hair, turn and look at his profile, watch himself talk and laugh as he carried on this lengthy, unimportant conversation with phone person.

The girl in the tightly pulled down knit cap turned around in her seat and watched Mr. self-centered intently, staring, with her mouth open in awe.  Literally her mouth was open in an "what?" type of expression.  

This show went on from Murray to Gallivan center.  New people coming on the train were few and no one bothered Mr. self-centered.  Who would want to interrupt a show like that?  He was so oblivious to anyone else in the universe.  He was in conversation for hell's sake, he was beautiful, he was young and importanr and EXTREMELY OBNOXIOUS!

Today, I spoke to a sweet young man, obviously mentally handicapped by his lack of voice inflection or Forrest Gump speech, lack of sensitivity to personal space and lack of inhibition in talking to anyone.  He proudly wore a coat with "SBO officer" embroidered on his coat's right front panel and the the logo and name from South Valley School in Jordan School District on the left front coat panel.  I asked him if he really was a Student Body Officer.  "Yes," he said, "I was.  But I didn't learn anything."

"Oh, come on", I chided him, "surely you learned something?".
"Nope, nothing", he answered.
"Nothing to help you at all, to help you get through a day?  Nothing to help you to do the things you like to do?" I asked him.

"Well", he said after thinking a bit, "I learned all about the bus routes.  Sometimes I ride all day.  I have too much time on my hands.  And I didn't learn nothing else, nothing at all."
    After a brief laugh, he explains that he has been all the way to Daybreak and to Sandy and goes to the Center Station many times and out to West Valley and he has even rode the train all the way up to the U.  

"Right now I am going to a movie at Valley Fair and I need a green bus but I don't want to stand in the cold so I ride until I think one will be coming soon.  I have too much time on my hands."

We were pulling into Court House stop when he decided it was time to bail out and catch a green line back to West Valley. 
What happens to all those kids I have had in class that are learning disabled, low functioning, handicapped?  Where do they go?  How do the make it?  I wish I had a way of checking up on them all to see what they are doing, if they are getting along OK in life, and if they also think they learned "nothing at all"!

   Ok, this is the best picture I could find to illustrate my next experience on the TRAX train.  

Sitting across from us was an older man. 

(I thought older until I noticed he looked about the same age as my hubby!).  

Anyway, this older man had a very old transistor radio with the antennae fully extended.  

Plugged into the transistor was a likewise very old earplug.  

This is not plural: earplugS, just earplug.

 This is the old type earplug that came with the transistor radio and you only plugged it into one ear. 

 The radio had seen a better day.  

Missing was the battery cover so clear plastic tape was heavily wrapped around the radio making it all that was holding in the batteries.

  Waving his radio around like a divining rod, the older man was apparently trying to catch news from his radio as he rode.

Suddenly he speaks to us:  

"They are going to open a burger store called 'Habit Hamburgers', isn't that a name for ya". 

Hubby and I politely smile and laugh like, "What"?

   Santa brought me my first transistor radio when I was in Junior High School. 

 I got it for the Christmas right after an amazing baseball season between the Dodgers and the Yankees  in 1967, 1968 or so. 

Everyone was walking around with the transistor radios and one ear plugged in listening to the game.

 I was SO jealous, I had to have one!

 What a miracle; the transistor radio, even though you went through batteries like minutes on your cell phone.

   And, what made the scene even more odd was that in front of the man with the transistor radio was a young girl talking on her cell phone. 

Of course she talked loudly, as they tend to. 

 In front of the cell phone girl was an even younger boy with his laptop computer playing games so that we all had to listen to the pings, chimes, bongs and bubbles of the games as he played.

 One older man laughing at the news waving his transistor radio antennae around, young girl giggling on the cell phone as a young boy plays with his laptop computer game.

 

All there together, neatly in a row, all together in this split second of time on Earth.

  I saw her.  She was scanning everyone on the TRAX train with her big, smooth skinned eyes and her Mona Lisa smile.  Sitting there in her cute little tailored black wool coat and black leather gloves, soft red scarf with her hair neatly pulled into a stylish bun atop her head.  Her black widow eyes stripped each passenger clean before she carefully moved on to her next victim.
  I didn't want her to know that it wasn't her youth, beauty or poise that was making me so jealous, it was the fact that she was observing; openly, proudly, flauntingly even, observing my people on my train.  I watched her do MY job.  She was flawless except for maybe how unabashedly she was doing it.
  She caught me watching her.  She didn't flinch, she didn't look away.  Our eyes met and each of us knew exactly what the other was doing.

   I felt it noble that I gave her a half grin as I exited the train 

since I was obviously the older more experienced

 giving kind credit and appreciation

 to a novice.

Tonight I sat facing backwards on our TRAX seats and see about four rows further back from hubby and I is a young girl about 10-11 years old with a pink knit hat on.  She is looking really uncomfortable and even a bit pained.  I see someone has an arm up around her shoulders and then the arm squeezes her tighter towards... then I catch the face.  It is an older man with about a weeks growth on a buzzed head, a very tan face, intense eyes and yes, at the corner of his left eye is the tattoo of a tear drop.  In my day that tear drop tattoo meant time served in prison.  Isn't this guy maybe too old and crusty to be a father?  Why is the little girl so uncomfortable? I catch my hubby's eye and tell him what I am seeing as he is sitting across from me with his back to them.
Hubby says keep watching.
Soon the girl looks like she is going to cry.  Now I want to go back and ask her if she would like to come with me.
  (By the way, shortly after the kidnapping of Elizabeth Smart, my hubby and I went for a walk through Liberty Park and saw three strangely dressed people at a picnic table in the center of the park.  They were all dressed in white robes.  Two had their faces pretty much covered.  One of the covered ladies sat facing away from the other two and had her head down with heavily slumped shoulders.  We mentioned how odd that looked and should we go talk to them?  We decided we should just leave them alone as there are always odd people at Liberty Park.  Do you know how many times we have kicked ourselves for being so close to saving Elizabeth and we didn't do anything?  It makes me sick every time I think of it.)
   But, I kept watching the man and young girl on TRAX.  Soon the man removes his arm and the girl begins to lighten up.
  When we reach the next stop, hubby walks to the front of the train to memorize the number to call when you see something strange happening on the train.  He comes back getting a good look himself at the suspects.  We both type the phone number into our Iphones.
  "What do you do?" I think.  "Was this just a father and daughter or grandfather and granddaughter out on an innocent adventure?"  "When do you interfere and when do you not?"  I watched and watched them both catching the eye of the man more than once during the entire ride.  He knew I was watching but didn't seem concerned.  I only needed one more negative sign to convince me that I should jump in and save this girl.
 But the young girl now was laughing and the man had pulled some food out of a pack from the seat in front of them. The girl munched and talked and seemed happy enough.
 We eventually left the train but they stayed on.  And as we passed by them to get to the door, I noticed the man had his feet up on the seat like he was blocking her in but neither one seemed jumpy or nervous in any way.
I hope they have fun where ever they are going, but deep inside I have an ache sensing they are on their way to the homeless shelter.

So cold this morning, so frigidly, morbidly, horribly cold.  Thank goodness we were running a little late and got to the platform just as the train pulled up.
Hubby and I sat down right across from a well-dressed, quite handsome younger man.  Probably in his early 30's.  Quite tall, dark hair and handsome in looks as well as handsome in his dress.  He had a black wool overcoat, $250 or so pin-stripped black suit, cashmere scarf, black leather gloves, thin socks (are they called hosiery for men when they are thin and go up the calf pretty far?) and expensive shoes.  But my hubby did noticed the soles of his shoes were cracked like when he, himself, was working in New Hampshire and it was -40 degrees.  The leather on the soles of his shoes literally cracked in the cold.
Hubby says he probably works for Goldman Sachs since he had such nice clothes.  But the best was the way he sat, with his back against the window, one leg propped up onto the seat so he faced into the center of the train and on his face was an intense brooding scowl as if to say, "I'm here, see me - but don't you dare try to talk to me!"   
Then on the way home tonight, quite the opposite - there was a quite large, perhaps 350 lb. younger lady dressed nice but in obviously inexpensive clothes; a short cap-sleeved t-shirt with strings hanging from the seam of one sleeve and tight, often worn black pants.  She was not beautiful by any stretch of the imagination with deep furrows in her forehead and a large mole on her check and a slight shadow of chin hairs BUT she talked to everyone.  A handicapped lady in a wheelchair entered the train and this less than glamorous gal chatted away with her, I heard them laughing over something again and again and soon in a seats a few rows away another girl began talking with them and laughing also.  Soon some of the men joined in.  Hubby and I were further down toward the middle of the train and just sat and watched her interact with everyone.  She made me happy just to hear how everyone around her was having a good time.
  I had a theory once that less beautiful people have to develop their personalities while beautiful people did not.  I haven't disproved my theory yet.