Arms outstretched

When I get to the intersection, there’s only three other people standing there. Late in the afternoon in the middle of the city, I’ll soon be on a train home.

It takes forever for the lights to turn green, and in that time the space around me begins to fill, as a tide of humans rush in. Taking sly looks at my fellow commuters, most are distracted, glued to their phones, some holding these in two hands, like the device is an object of worship. Others need only one, but every eyeball appears captivated.

The crowd is a mess of movement but those that hurry past concern me most. They’re like me on that day and I want to tell them to slow down. That day. I’d been rushing too, trying to keep a post-work barber appointment at the mall.

I’m usually not like this. I’m usually not like this. I need to focus on getting on the train and getting home.

Bodies flood in around me on the sidewalk. I should have stood closer to the curb and more to the right. People start getting in front of me, and occasionally I’m bumped. My options are limited. What if I need to make a bolt for it?

In a crowd like this, with this many people about, the chances are higher that someone in the throng will have something spiralling out of control in their head. Or they’ll be part of a terrorist cell that’s chosen this exact moment at this precise location to strike.

I usually don’t think like this but if someone’s like that in the middle of this mob, most wouldn’t know what hit them until they lay on the ground with two or three stab wounds and blood spilling out in a red pool around them. I usually don’t think like this. Well, I do, but I had been fine until this afternoon, until I met Sam Jenkins.

Earlier in the day, my commute in had been typical, the only thing weird about it was the train being half full as it rattled slowly toward the city. I’d been snooping on people, wanting to see if any would look up from their phones to see me staring. None of them did, their instinct for self-preservation swallowed up by algorithms and blue screens.  

The journey on the tram up from the train to my office, that was without difficulty as well. The tram was packed, but I got a spot near the door, which I prefer. The doors with their windows gave me a sense of space and helped me breathe.

Even getting in the lift when I got to my building felt okay. Standing anywhere in that small, metal box with bodies around, I get waves of panic. And it only gets worse the higher in the elevator, and the more enclosed in the big grey concrete building we go. This morning I’d gotten lucky and ridden up to my floor alone.

All that was fine. It was meeting Sam Jenkins that threw me. We’d gone for an afternoon coffee, and ever since, well, everything’s gone to shit.

I am wondering how Sam is doing on his journey home. I can’t imagine him staring hard at people, worrying if any of them are about to lash out. Nor can I see him twitching if bodies rumble past or he gets boxed in on the sidewalk. Sam Jenkins, he’d be fine. His breathing totally ordinary. No freaking dread for him.

Me and Sam had met in a café equidistant from our respective offices. We’d agreed to get together once a month, every month. Today was our fourth time.

When Sam had entered, he’d taken a seat with his back to the room. I saw that he didn’t scan any of the patrons either. But what really baffled me was the greeting Sam had given. He’d come in and, seeing me, held his arms out wide. Standing there for three or four seconds like that, I’d almost fallen off my chair.