By: Gabriela Yareliz
The train does not smell good. Reminds me of clients who would come to court on drugs. Their hot breath on your face as you try to reason a decision with them. There is a large husky dog approaching a terrified man playing Kendrick Lamar on his phone (doing his own half-time show on the commute). He freezes, eyeing the dog suspiciously.
A woman sits by the window with a small rose gold compact. She is engrossed with her image in the mirror. She pours liquid foundation onto her fingers and starts dabbing. She pulls out a spritz bottle from her bag and spritzes her caked fingers. She pulls out a tissue and wipes her hand. She closes the compact, but a split second later, she pulls it back out. She starts trying to curl her bangs away from her face with a mascara wand. She repeats this obsessively for a good stretch. She will put the compact away, and then, pull it back out and keep curling. The curl is just not good enough.
The dog gets off the train, and the Kendrick speaker man calms down. I am feeling nauseated because I didn’t eat breakfast and took supplements on an empty stomach. I have been standing the whole time, swaying, unable to grab a poll because the train is so packed.
The woman getting ready keeps curling. She then stands triumphantly feeling very Farrah Fawcett. I feel the AC. Suddenly, a seat opens up. I plop down. Kendrick gets shut off. I am approaching my stop. I make eye contact with the girl who has to move to let me out of my seat. She gives me a half smile, understanding, as she grips her enormous coffee cup.
Monday begins.
GABRIELA YARELIZ 