I peered down the subway tunnel. There was no sign of the train, and I leaned against a pillar to wait. A young woman crouched with her back against the next pillar; a small backpack lay on the platform beside her. She was petite, with short-cropped hair and an asymmetrical arrangement of earrings. She wrote carefully on a small yellow pad balanced on her knee.
She reached the end of the page, slipped the top over the nib of her pen, tore the sheet off, and put the pen and pad in the backpack. Her head remained bent; she stared at the page she had written, frowning slightly.
I leaned over the edge of the platform again. Nothing yet. Her hand snapped out. The page fluttered down to the tracks, landing face-up in a puddle, next to candy wrappers, beer cans, and nameless trash. It lay in the water, its ink spreading slightly.
She rested her hands on her knees, and stared down at the platform.
Presently, I heard a train rumbling. She stood up as it arrived. I got on, and turned to look for her. Through the closing doors, I saw her walking towards the exit.
Copyright 1995 Edward Gaillard. All rights reserved.