Walter

I looked around a few times to make sure that my observation was correct: there were no women in this train car. I'd never seen anything like it but part of me was surprised I had noticed so quickly. Still I wonder why that was.

The seats around me were occupied by a group of lively and puckish teenagers whose music, though not anything I would have chosen to listen to, was a welcome addition to the journey. Strains of rap songs accompanied what was usually a quiet, smooth ride. This time it was neither. The train, obviously experiencing difficulties, whined to a stop between stations.

"Damn, y'all, the light rail stopped." The rest of the group laughed at the commentary of the kid I assumed was some sort of leader. He looked like he was the oldest and he seemed to have final say over what song they would listen to next. Obviously. After I'd chuckled at the politics of juvenile social groups I stopped to consider whether the groups of friends I spent time with had such leaders. Obviously, was the answer. I began paying closer attention.

The conversation seemed to center on their individual and collective plans for the rest of the day and it became clear almost right off the bat that no one had any. So, the question became one of how to fill the day.

"I just don't wanna go home, my mom is pissed."

"Your momma's always pissed."

"My brother said come over sometime."

"He don't want all of us to come over."

"He don't care."

"I bet he does care when he sees our ugly ass over there."

"I got that party tonight."

"Dude. She don't even want you at that party."

"She said she did, man, what the hell?"

And so on. All these plans were dependent, of course, on that train starting up again, a possibility none of us was going to take for granted at this point. Sure, it had only been ten minutes, but it was hot.

Most interesting of all, though, was the man sitting on the bench next to me. The only other person nearby that wasn't a part of the prevailing group. My fellow outsider. He busied himself reading what looked like an unbelievably sterile company newsletter of some kind. I checked more than once to see if he was awake because I couldn't believe that he was.

The group's negotiations continued in much the same vein. I concentrated on the man. He was obviously old enough to be the grandfather of anyone in the vicinity, including me. He wore a t-shirt tucked into the elastic waistband of his pants and the crook of his cane rested on his wrist. The wrist that held the newsletter. The newsletter I couldn't believe anyone was actually reading.

But was he? The more I concentrated on the man who I'd now decided was named Walter and who had been riding this train since before any of us were born, the more I noticed him react along with me to the activity in the car. He chuckled with me as one kid told another who sounded like his brother how to properly wear a beanie (a ridiculous hat in that weather). Walter rolled his eyes with mine when one boy assured another that his cousin could buy them some beer. And we shuddered in unison as one of them alluded to a sexual encounter with another's big sister.

Walter was listening as keenly as I was. Or maybe he was trying as hard not to listen as I was trying to appear casual through my eavesdropping. Walter had grown old on this train. He had seen his children and, in turn, grandchildren grow, walk, talk, laugh, deceive, break laws, break hearts, cry, hurt, change, and love. That, coupled with his own experience with all of the above, gave him every right to look tired and to escape into the solace of very, very boring reading.

Maybe he wasn't amused. Maybe he saw the sacrifices he'd made passing by like the stark South Sacramento landscape through the window. But maybe he was laughing at all of us. Not just the band of scrappy up-to-no-good teenagers but also the uptight always-in-a-hurry recent graduate who wondered how much longer this delay could possibly be.

Walter's life was probably a simple one. And he probably knew much more than any of us. As hard a pill as it is to swallow, old people know stuff. The train soon got moving again and the kids got off at the next stop. They laughed and shoved each other, looked at something in the trash can, laughed some more, and sauntered into moving traffic, expecting cars to stop while they made their way across. Cars stopped. The kids smirked, in no hurry. I really wonder what happened with them next.

I wonder too what happened to Walter. Why didn't I see him get off the train? It reached the end of the line and I hurried off to catch my bus. I looked back at the congested crowd of passengers clustered outside the now closing doors of the train. No Walter. I tend to think he hadn't quite finished his newsletter and wasn't getting off that train until he had. He wasn't in any hurry either.