(no subject)
This was the first assignment I handed in for Creative Writing this term (Fall 07). There were no real restrictions, save that we had to make it at least 7 pages in length. It's still very rough. I wrote it in one night and didn't proof it much.
The class received it well enough and I like it well enough. Probably won't ever touch it again.
It was the rough prodding of a bony finger into his back that woke him with a start. Franklin Jones, who just went by Frank these days, focused a bleary eye on the subway worker who’d woken him. He didn’t move right away, stubbornly trying to get as many extra seconds resting on his side as possible. But the worker, who wore a bright orange vest and had piercing eyes, cleared his throat and looked about ready to pull Frank out by the collar if necessary. Frank, who’d been sleeping on the subways every few nights for longer than he could remember, could tell just by the look of the man that if he didn’t leave now he might be in trouble. The police would be called or he’d get some of his co-workers to take care of the “homeless problem”. This was almost always the case. He was a “problem” or “situation” and almost never a person. He supposed it was easier to handle a person if you belittled them so much. So Frank, inhaling deeply, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up stiffly. He didn’t move right away, deciding instead to rotate his shoulder and stretch lazily. He couldn’t tell this man in orange to piss off, but he could laze about and take his time leaving the subway car. It was his own little form of rebellion.
“Well, good morning sunshine,” Frank grumbled in a voice that was thick with sleep. He voiced his annoyance clearly, his tone snide. Inhaling, he watched the man in orange quietly, waited for him to make a move.
“Last stop,” he said, his voice a low rumble. It was the way he said it that made Frank blearily look up and meet his eyes. There was something mean about him. Just in the way he stood and the way he spoke. He’d cause trouble. Frank knew it was no good to linger here any longer than necessary.
“Gotcha.” Hauling a small, dirty backpack, Frank finally conceded. He exited the car and found himself on the platform. It was early morning. The sun was still low in the sky and blindingly bright. So much so that Frank had to raise a hand as he walked to keep the glare out of his eyes. This was the last stop of the green line. The station was elevated. It was a nice change, waking up and for once being able to enjoy the sunlight and fresh air. The past few days, Frank had woken up in transit. The stop he’d gotten off at had been stuffy and dark. It was an unpleasant way to start one’s day. But this was different. There was something energizing in the sun’s rays. It was enough to put a little smile on Frank’s face as he paced the platform. This was morning exercise. Frank stretched the legs that had been cramped and curled underneath him all night. He twisted his torso and threw his arms out, enjoying the fact that he no longer was cramped onto a two seat bench and wishing it were a king sized bed.
He did this for a solid fifteen-minute block of time. Subway workers came and went in the time, carrying dustpans and brooms while staring Frank up and down warily. No one trusted the homeless these days. They all expected Frank to snap and go crazy or pull a knife out of the blue. To his credit, he always greeted strangers (even those with wandering eyes) with a smile and a tip of his imaginary hat. He was a pleasant person, in spite of his situation. Or, possibly, because of it.
There was a soft rumble in the distance that slowly grew into a deafening roar. Another train was coming, which meant another ride for Frank. He liked the subways best. He could have cruised the streets, loitered in parks, found cheap hideaways in the city to pass the time. But there was something special about subways. Especially the morning rush. He loved the morning rush. Frank paced a bit while awaiting the train’s arrival. He felt the soft stubble on his cheeks, ran a hand through his dark and messy hair, and stretched grandly. He was well kept for a homeless man and rather young for someone of his status, as well. He didn’t have that dullness in his eyes that so many like him did. There wasn’t a slack in his shoulders as though he was carrying the weight of the world on them. His clothing, though not in the best of conditions, certainly wasn’t in dire straights. He had a University chic about him. And no foul smell clung to his clothing or body. At worst, there was a slightly stale scent of sweat that hung about him. The past few nights had been humid and the air conditioning on the subways was shut down after a certain hour. All things considered, though, he got by well enough. Or that’s what he would say when a sympathetic ear was attentive enough to listen.
The train pulled in, casting a long shadow on the platform and better shielding Frank’s eyes from the relentless sunlight. The cars were empty. The morning rush would start soon, but at the first stop on the line, things were often desolate. It lent a certain sense of peace to the thundering train cars. There was a stillness that clung to the machines when there was no one around. It put Frank at ease and made him smile a small smile. The subway worker in orange, the one that had woken Frank, took a break from sweeping a car and peeked his head out for a moment, watching Frank quietly shuffle back into the next train. He shook his head disapprovingly, feeling a certain amount of shame for the young man. But this was mixed with equal parts pity and disgust. Once Frank’s train left the station, the subway worker wouldn’t spend another minute wasting his thoughts on the life or times of the homeless young name whose name he hadn’t bothered to obtain.
Twenty minutes later and the old watch on Frank’s wrist read 7:15. He was sitting between two strangers, a little squashed, and the train was speeding down the track. It hadn’t yet gone underground but it would soon. Frank wasted his time watching the streets and buildings fly past in a blur. He enjoyed the way the world looked when in motion. Moving quickly enough, the dirt and the grime and the nastiness of the city became less noticeable. The edges lost their sharpness. The colors blended easily into one another. It was still there, of course. Everyone knew it existed. Beneath the pleasant morning rush there was a harder underbelly. There was crime. There were crying children, reluctant to get to class. There were abandoned old cars whose plates were missing. There were buildings that crumbled. And there were people, hard up and struggling to survive in a city that constantly threatened to swallow them whole. But sitting around with the straphangers, the harsh realities of the world seemed dampened and softened. It had to do with the suits they wore, the eagerness in the eyes of a few. Above all else, it was the light. Things seemed brighter and there seemed more hope when the sky was clear and the trains were alive with people from all walks of life.
The natural light was quashed when the subway went underground. Suddenly, the inside of the train was washed over in neon bright lights. It changed the atmosphere of the car, making it tighter, more claustrophobic. The faces of passengers grew slightly grimmer as their destinations - mostly work and school - loomed ever nearer. Frank had nowhere to go. There was no boss or teacher awaiting his arrival. This gave him a certain freedom. It was a tradeoff, being without a home. His lack of roots allowed him the freedom to wander and do that which pleased him most at the time. Eventually, he knew, this sort of living would catch up to him. But for now, he rode a wave of simple living and the joys that came with it. The downsides, the loneliness, the hardship of finding places to stay at night or during rainy days, the hunger, the struggle to earn cash were things he ignored to the best of his abilities. Frank wanted to live in the moment. It was all he really owned beyond the clothes on his back and the bag he carried.
The train sped along the track. The morning commute seemed blissfully free of sudden stops or long pauses between stations. There were no fights, no shouts, no preachers or singers trying to catch their break on their way into Manhattan. The movement of the train sent the two people Frank was sandwiched between dozing. The woman to his right slowly began to lean into him. The man to his left was snoring lightly, eyes fluttering open every few minutes. Feeling rather awake, Frank watched this all with an amused smile on his face. When the woman beside him was leaning heavily on him, he shifted in his seat a bit, but didn’t bump her off with his elbow like most riders would. He didn’t seem to mind the closeness. Living as he did, he’d come to find that what hurt almost as much as scrounging for food or a place to sleep was the lack of human contact. There was no work or school he could go to mingle with friends. He’d left most of his friends behind in his old town. The people he tended to meet in the city were strangers whom were gone in the matter of minutes. They all left their little impressions, but there wasn’t ever really time to make lasting connections. And most people tended to shy away from the homeless guy, either out of fear or misshapen pity.
A loud, electronic voice boomed suddenly over the PA system. It announced that the train was nearing Fifty-ninth Street. Once at the stop, a small amount of passengers left the train and a large group boarded. The subway became cramped. They were all packed together like sardines. The easy faces and the sleepiness of the morning commute gave way to irritation and commotion. Crankiness at their own situations, annoyance at other passengers who wouldn’t move into the car all the way. Frank watched them all with an odd sense of detachment. He loved the morning ride but this part of the ride, where the metropolitan atmosphere gave way to a more jungle-like dog-eat-dog feeling wasn’t something he particularly savored. It was interesting to observe, certainly, but it wasn’t fun to be in the middle of this. But it was a part of living in the city. And he didn’t begrudge the people who pushed their way into the car, even if they didn’t care when they happened to slam their bags into his face. He simply dodged the laptop bags and the briefcases while trying to keep from waking his neighbor. A newspaper hung down and brushed his forehead. He leaned back a bit. Subway dodging should have been, Frank thought, an Olympic game. It took about as much training as any other sport. And those who were good enough at the sport deserved a medal of some kind.
At the speaker’s announcement that they’d arrived at Grand Central Terminal, Frank rose, smiling apologetically as he woke the woman beside him, and crept through the crowd. He’d had his fill of the morning rush on the subways and now it was time for something new. He wasn’t quite ready to go above ground, though, so he didn’t head for the staircase that led up into the city. Instead, he stuck to the tunnels, weaving through the crowd and finding his way into Grand Central. It was a beautiful spot in the city, an in-between place. One could come to the terminal, grab a bite to eat, take a seat, and watch the bustle of businessmen coming from their homes in New Jersey to their offices in New York. There were travelers, too, passing through the station to make it to their next destination. Frank found he liked this place best out of all the possible spots in the city. It wasn’t just that there were a lot of accessible goods to be found here. Beyond the food and the cheap goods in the little stores, even beyond the benches where he could catch up on a quick catnap, there was something in the movement here. It wasn’t quite the subways. It wasn’t so much the harsh bustle that occurred during the rush hours in the most traffic heavy spots. It was crowded, but not cramped. Moving, but not rushed. And it was beautiful.
After working his way to a small shop and ordering a bagel and a coffee, Frank found a seat near the central hub. From his vantage point, he could see the high, painted ceiling if he looked up and the activity of thousands of commuters if he looked down. For a moment, as he ate and the small nagging worry about where he’d find his next meal subsided, the world around him slowed. Frank, who had no home, felt as though this place was specifically his. It belonged to those in-between. Across the way, he spotted an old bag woman shuffling through the crowd. She was removed from her setting, mumbling to herself and avoiding the commuters who had places to go. She seemed a little mad but there was a softness to her cheeks that couldn’t quite be dulled in spite of her situation. Frank wondered for a moment if he was looking into a mirror or, even, across time. Maybe he’d become the next mad person shuffling through the crowd without direction. Whatever his fate, he decided quickly that he’d get through it. Face it. Survive it. That was all there was to it. No real satisfaction, no real hope for himself. Just a grim sense of survival. New York was a city in motion, an urban jungle. It might eat him alive one day. But he had time yet.
Finishing his breakfast, Frank rose to his feet, crumpled the paper bag in his hand, and tossed it into a trashcan. He set his jaw stubbornly, took a deep breath and went on walking. He walked to the exit, held the door open for a woman in a suit and gave her a smile. And then it was out and into the city to face a new day.
The class received it well enough and I like it well enough. Probably won't ever touch it again.
It was the rough prodding of a bony finger into his back that woke him with a start. Franklin Jones, who just went by Frank these days, focused a bleary eye on the subway worker who’d woken him. He didn’t move right away, stubbornly trying to get as many extra seconds resting on his side as possible. But the worker, who wore a bright orange vest and had piercing eyes, cleared his throat and looked about ready to pull Frank out by the collar if necessary. Frank, who’d been sleeping on the subways every few nights for longer than he could remember, could tell just by the look of the man that if he didn’t leave now he might be in trouble. The police would be called or he’d get some of his co-workers to take care of the “homeless problem”. This was almost always the case. He was a “problem” or “situation” and almost never a person. He supposed it was easier to handle a person if you belittled them so much. So Frank, inhaling deeply, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up stiffly. He didn’t move right away, deciding instead to rotate his shoulder and stretch lazily. He couldn’t tell this man in orange to piss off, but he could laze about and take his time leaving the subway car. It was his own little form of rebellion.
“Well, good morning sunshine,” Frank grumbled in a voice that was thick with sleep. He voiced his annoyance clearly, his tone snide. Inhaling, he watched the man in orange quietly, waited for him to make a move.
“Last stop,” he said, his voice a low rumble. It was the way he said it that made Frank blearily look up and meet his eyes. There was something mean about him. Just in the way he stood and the way he spoke. He’d cause trouble. Frank knew it was no good to linger here any longer than necessary.
“Gotcha.” Hauling a small, dirty backpack, Frank finally conceded. He exited the car and found himself on the platform. It was early morning. The sun was still low in the sky and blindingly bright. So much so that Frank had to raise a hand as he walked to keep the glare out of his eyes. This was the last stop of the green line. The station was elevated. It was a nice change, waking up and for once being able to enjoy the sunlight and fresh air. The past few days, Frank had woken up in transit. The stop he’d gotten off at had been stuffy and dark. It was an unpleasant way to start one’s day. But this was different. There was something energizing in the sun’s rays. It was enough to put a little smile on Frank’s face as he paced the platform. This was morning exercise. Frank stretched the legs that had been cramped and curled underneath him all night. He twisted his torso and threw his arms out, enjoying the fact that he no longer was cramped onto a two seat bench and wishing it were a king sized bed.
He did this for a solid fifteen-minute block of time. Subway workers came and went in the time, carrying dustpans and brooms while staring Frank up and down warily. No one trusted the homeless these days. They all expected Frank to snap and go crazy or pull a knife out of the blue. To his credit, he always greeted strangers (even those with wandering eyes) with a smile and a tip of his imaginary hat. He was a pleasant person, in spite of his situation. Or, possibly, because of it.
There was a soft rumble in the distance that slowly grew into a deafening roar. Another train was coming, which meant another ride for Frank. He liked the subways best. He could have cruised the streets, loitered in parks, found cheap hideaways in the city to pass the time. But there was something special about subways. Especially the morning rush. He loved the morning rush. Frank paced a bit while awaiting the train’s arrival. He felt the soft stubble on his cheeks, ran a hand through his dark and messy hair, and stretched grandly. He was well kept for a homeless man and rather young for someone of his status, as well. He didn’t have that dullness in his eyes that so many like him did. There wasn’t a slack in his shoulders as though he was carrying the weight of the world on them. His clothing, though not in the best of conditions, certainly wasn’t in dire straights. He had a University chic about him. And no foul smell clung to his clothing or body. At worst, there was a slightly stale scent of sweat that hung about him. The past few nights had been humid and the air conditioning on the subways was shut down after a certain hour. All things considered, though, he got by well enough. Or that’s what he would say when a sympathetic ear was attentive enough to listen.
The train pulled in, casting a long shadow on the platform and better shielding Frank’s eyes from the relentless sunlight. The cars were empty. The morning rush would start soon, but at the first stop on the line, things were often desolate. It lent a certain sense of peace to the thundering train cars. There was a stillness that clung to the machines when there was no one around. It put Frank at ease and made him smile a small smile. The subway worker in orange, the one that had woken Frank, took a break from sweeping a car and peeked his head out for a moment, watching Frank quietly shuffle back into the next train. He shook his head disapprovingly, feeling a certain amount of shame for the young man. But this was mixed with equal parts pity and disgust. Once Frank’s train left the station, the subway worker wouldn’t spend another minute wasting his thoughts on the life or times of the homeless young name whose name he hadn’t bothered to obtain.
Twenty minutes later and the old watch on Frank’s wrist read 7:15. He was sitting between two strangers, a little squashed, and the train was speeding down the track. It hadn’t yet gone underground but it would soon. Frank wasted his time watching the streets and buildings fly past in a blur. He enjoyed the way the world looked when in motion. Moving quickly enough, the dirt and the grime and the nastiness of the city became less noticeable. The edges lost their sharpness. The colors blended easily into one another. It was still there, of course. Everyone knew it existed. Beneath the pleasant morning rush there was a harder underbelly. There was crime. There were crying children, reluctant to get to class. There were abandoned old cars whose plates were missing. There were buildings that crumbled. And there were people, hard up and struggling to survive in a city that constantly threatened to swallow them whole. But sitting around with the straphangers, the harsh realities of the world seemed dampened and softened. It had to do with the suits they wore, the eagerness in the eyes of a few. Above all else, it was the light. Things seemed brighter and there seemed more hope when the sky was clear and the trains were alive with people from all walks of life.
The natural light was quashed when the subway went underground. Suddenly, the inside of the train was washed over in neon bright lights. It changed the atmosphere of the car, making it tighter, more claustrophobic. The faces of passengers grew slightly grimmer as their destinations - mostly work and school - loomed ever nearer. Frank had nowhere to go. There was no boss or teacher awaiting his arrival. This gave him a certain freedom. It was a tradeoff, being without a home. His lack of roots allowed him the freedom to wander and do that which pleased him most at the time. Eventually, he knew, this sort of living would catch up to him. But for now, he rode a wave of simple living and the joys that came with it. The downsides, the loneliness, the hardship of finding places to stay at night or during rainy days, the hunger, the struggle to earn cash were things he ignored to the best of his abilities. Frank wanted to live in the moment. It was all he really owned beyond the clothes on his back and the bag he carried.
The train sped along the track. The morning commute seemed blissfully free of sudden stops or long pauses between stations. There were no fights, no shouts, no preachers or singers trying to catch their break on their way into Manhattan. The movement of the train sent the two people Frank was sandwiched between dozing. The woman to his right slowly began to lean into him. The man to his left was snoring lightly, eyes fluttering open every few minutes. Feeling rather awake, Frank watched this all with an amused smile on his face. When the woman beside him was leaning heavily on him, he shifted in his seat a bit, but didn’t bump her off with his elbow like most riders would. He didn’t seem to mind the closeness. Living as he did, he’d come to find that what hurt almost as much as scrounging for food or a place to sleep was the lack of human contact. There was no work or school he could go to mingle with friends. He’d left most of his friends behind in his old town. The people he tended to meet in the city were strangers whom were gone in the matter of minutes. They all left their little impressions, but there wasn’t ever really time to make lasting connections. And most people tended to shy away from the homeless guy, either out of fear or misshapen pity.
A loud, electronic voice boomed suddenly over the PA system. It announced that the train was nearing Fifty-ninth Street. Once at the stop, a small amount of passengers left the train and a large group boarded. The subway became cramped. They were all packed together like sardines. The easy faces and the sleepiness of the morning commute gave way to irritation and commotion. Crankiness at their own situations, annoyance at other passengers who wouldn’t move into the car all the way. Frank watched them all with an odd sense of detachment. He loved the morning ride but this part of the ride, where the metropolitan atmosphere gave way to a more jungle-like dog-eat-dog feeling wasn’t something he particularly savored. It was interesting to observe, certainly, but it wasn’t fun to be in the middle of this. But it was a part of living in the city. And he didn’t begrudge the people who pushed their way into the car, even if they didn’t care when they happened to slam their bags into his face. He simply dodged the laptop bags and the briefcases while trying to keep from waking his neighbor. A newspaper hung down and brushed his forehead. He leaned back a bit. Subway dodging should have been, Frank thought, an Olympic game. It took about as much training as any other sport. And those who were good enough at the sport deserved a medal of some kind.
At the speaker’s announcement that they’d arrived at Grand Central Terminal, Frank rose, smiling apologetically as he woke the woman beside him, and crept through the crowd. He’d had his fill of the morning rush on the subways and now it was time for something new. He wasn’t quite ready to go above ground, though, so he didn’t head for the staircase that led up into the city. Instead, he stuck to the tunnels, weaving through the crowd and finding his way into Grand Central. It was a beautiful spot in the city, an in-between place. One could come to the terminal, grab a bite to eat, take a seat, and watch the bustle of businessmen coming from their homes in New Jersey to their offices in New York. There were travelers, too, passing through the station to make it to their next destination. Frank found he liked this place best out of all the possible spots in the city. It wasn’t just that there were a lot of accessible goods to be found here. Beyond the food and the cheap goods in the little stores, even beyond the benches where he could catch up on a quick catnap, there was something in the movement here. It wasn’t quite the subways. It wasn’t so much the harsh bustle that occurred during the rush hours in the most traffic heavy spots. It was crowded, but not cramped. Moving, but not rushed. And it was beautiful.
After working his way to a small shop and ordering a bagel and a coffee, Frank found a seat near the central hub. From his vantage point, he could see the high, painted ceiling if he looked up and the activity of thousands of commuters if he looked down. For a moment, as he ate and the small nagging worry about where he’d find his next meal subsided, the world around him slowed. Frank, who had no home, felt as though this place was specifically his. It belonged to those in-between. Across the way, he spotted an old bag woman shuffling through the crowd. She was removed from her setting, mumbling to herself and avoiding the commuters who had places to go. She seemed a little mad but there was a softness to her cheeks that couldn’t quite be dulled in spite of her situation. Frank wondered for a moment if he was looking into a mirror or, even, across time. Maybe he’d become the next mad person shuffling through the crowd without direction. Whatever his fate, he decided quickly that he’d get through it. Face it. Survive it. That was all there was to it. No real satisfaction, no real hope for himself. Just a grim sense of survival. New York was a city in motion, an urban jungle. It might eat him alive one day. But he had time yet.
Finishing his breakfast, Frank rose to his feet, crumpled the paper bag in his hand, and tossed it into a trashcan. He set his jaw stubbornly, took a deep breath and went on walking. He walked to the exit, held the door open for a woman in a suit and gave her a smile. And then it was out and into the city to face a new day.