on being human

From inside the dorms, it seems that the green line trains fly by nearly constantly. Tonight, as I was waiting on the platform, their arrivals seemed less frequent. Checking my cell phone to see the time, I peered down the tracks, looking for the tell-tale headlights of an approaching train. A PA announcement momentarily raised my hopes, but it was only heralding the impending arrival of an outbound train, "from the loop". I resumed waiting. 

Just before 7, the automated voice brought happier news: "Attention, customers. An inbound train, for the loop, will be arriving shortly." 

****

There are stairs to the L platform located directly behind the building where I live. The main terminal is a block further south, but anyone who already has a farecard can enter via this back stairway. Trying to be a savvy Chicagoan, I had in my wallet an unexpired farecard from last summer, which I had saved for just such a time as this. Feeling quite happy with myself about this fact, I cheerily fed my card into the turnstile and made my way up to the platform. 

The stairs are located at the extreme north end of the platform. I walked a few paces south, stopping when I came upon some other people waiting for the train. 

****

"Attention customers. An inbound train, for the loop, will be arriving shortly." This was the second announcement, so it seemed that the computerized voice was serious; the L was in fact about to arrive. A familiar vibration in my feet lent support to the mechanical words of wisdom. To my right, a college-age pair discussed whether their college friendships would last longer and be more meaningful than their high school ones. I smiled inside as I remembered the growing-up that occurred for me and for my friends during our college years.  

****

When the train arrived, my back stairway plan failed me; the cars pulled up well short of where I had stopped on the platform, and the two college kids and I high-tailed it for the front of the train under the conductor's watchful eye. I scrambled to a forward-facing seat on the east side of the car. 

As we traveled north, I took note of a mother and her three daughters, all seated just ahead of me. The mother and the youngest daughter sat side-by-side, facing east. The oldest faced them from directly across the aisle, and the middle one sat in a rear-facing seat on the west side of the car. Halfway to the Roosevelt stop, the oldest girl wanted to know if they were in downtown, because she saw skyscrapers. Her mom smiled, and said no, not yet. The mother looked up, and I caught her eye and smiled. She smiled in return - not the awkward "waiting for an elevator" smile, but a real smile. Her daughters asked if they could have ice cream. Distracted by her children's requests, the mother asked another passenger if Roosevelt was next. The oldest daughter said that yes, it was; the passenger confirmed it. "You really know your way around," she said to the child. "That will serve you well!" The mother and I exchanged another smile. 

The family exited at Roosevelt. As they left, I could only smile in wonder at this crazy shared human experience.