Riding the commuter train along the eastern edge of San Francisco Bay on Sunday night was sort of like watching a play where the actors come and go to the tune of clicking rails, clanging bells, doors opening and closing, a muffled voice uttering indistinct instructions, the squeal of brakes, murmured conversations and the unsteady drumbeat of my beating heart.
Maybe I feel my heart at times like that because I’m afraid it’s going to seize up for the last time, somewhere out there along the tracks, far from home.
Then again, what would it really matter, where that happened should it happen? We are all going to die somewhere and sometime.
The best you can hope for is that someone is with you at the end. Someone who cares.
But back to my story. Starting out before sunset at the bottom of the line, in San Jose, only a few stragglers entered the train to begin our journey north. The first thing you notice is the diversity of the travelers — race, gender, age, shape, dress and manner.
Most people travel alone, a few as couples or small groups, the occasional larger group like a sports team or a cluster of tourists clutching their bags.
An old black man with few teeth, sitting in a wheelchair, somehow gets on at one point and starts talking loudly, asking for someone to help him. Various younger people come to his aid. This makes me happy.
It appears that he wants two things — a match for his cigarettes and for someone to alert him when he arrives at his station.
A younger Indian-American man assures him he’ll call out the station, while a younger black man explains to him there is no smoking allowed on Bart.
He nods at both of them and seems satisfied.
When we get to his station, the Indian-American man tells him he’s arrived and the younger black man pushes him off.
Two girls with rosy cheeks, college students, get on with backpacks and travel bags. It’s the airport station.
Other travelers onboard as well.
The sun has long since set to the west and passIng lights twinkle in the night to the sound of click, click, click as we go on and on.
I begin to nod off, comfortably in my seat, though I know I shouldn’t. I’ve got an obsession to never go to sleep on my back or sitting up with my hands crossed in my lap.
I think that would make me look like a corpse. You know what sucks? Meeting someone special who doesn’t think you’re special too. Love unrequited. That sucks.
No problem with dying on this night, however, because we soon reach the downtown bustle of Oakland and then Berkeley, where most of the airport travelers de-train.
As we proceed northward into the night, I uncross my hands and shake myself awake.
This definitely won’t be the night that I die of a heart attack.
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TODAY’s LYRICS:
“When I Call Your Name”
Vince Gill
I rushed home from work like I always do
I spent my whole day just thinking of you
When I walked through the front door my whole like was changed
Cause nobody answered when I called your name
A note on the table that told me goodbye
It said you'd grown weary of living a lie
Your love has ended but mine still remains
But nobody answers when I call your name
Oh the lonely sound of my voice calling
Is driving me insane
And just like rain the tears keep falling
Nobody answers when I call your name
Oh the lonely sound of my voice calling
Is driving me insane
And just like rain the tears keep falling
Nobody answers when I call your name
Oh nobody answers when I call your name
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