Without Incident

It's cold. No in fact it's freezing. Tomorrow I'll remind myself to
wear my Umbro coat and Thermal gloves. Not that I'll need reminding, my
hands have gone orange with the cold. This is one cold I could never
forget. My stomach is tied in knots. I've had no breakfast, never do,
so it can't be hunger. Last exam today. English. Have I got my
anthology? My stomach twists an extra knot. I look at the ticket in my
hand. Yellow, four edges, sharp card against the palm of my hand.
I bought the ticket at 7h55 states the ticket. Then where's my bloody
Metro? There's one due, should be. I look down the track, see an orange
light come rushing down the corner. I step back from the platform,
having images of myself being pulled onto the track, under the rush of
the train.
I wait for it to stop, we all crowd in. I say 'we'. I know none of
these people.
There are no seats, the train is crowded. I settle for a spot by the
door. My leg aches, I feel queasy.
"Stand clear of the doors please," announced a nasal voice. The doors
hiss and close, but they don't shut out the cold. I look around,
recognise not one face. My fingers close around the yellow bar, next to
the door.
Scenery passes me by, but it's too dark to see. I know there's a house
with a swimming pool nearby.
The train rushes on into the next station. I glance eagerly to my
right, hoping to see an old ally on the opposite platform. No such
luck, she isn't there, and before I can search further, another Metro
rushes into the station, obstructs my view.
More people board, but no-one leaves. I'm crushed into my corner, my
orange numb hand gripping tighter to the yellow bar. I want to read my
anthology, check everything through before the exam. I'd have to do it
on the bus. That would make me feel worse, I can't read on the bus. But
it had to be done.
I check my watch and smile, although my lips feel swollen and sore
from the cold. I'll make it to my bus in time, won't even have to
run.
More black, shapeless scenery whizzes by, small, leafless trees
standing like cannon fodder, marching through no man's land. I count
how many stations to go on the Metro map above the door. 10. It'll take
20 minutes, technology these days is good, isn't it?
More people board at the next station, two people get off. There's a
spare seat next to me. I concede it to an elderly gran. She looked
colder than me.
I look at the floor, grey, with round raised circles, mud embedded
between the gaps. One of my hands is numb, I tuck it up my sleeve. I'm
glad the real exams are in the summer, my hands won't be numb in the
exam.
We leave another station, West Jesmond. Stage 1 of the journey is over
for me, the next stage is underground, into dark roller coaster-like
tunnels. Only the lights of the train illuminate the dark caverns - but
then there's nothing much to see, except bland walls, occasionally
dotted with white, scrawled graffiti. I wonder who would do that, risk
their life, just to paint their name somewhere no-one will ever see
clearly enough to read what it says. The train stops, a few more people
get off this time, as many cram back in. The phrase 'sardines in a can'
springs to mind.
Each station is a minute apart, lighted yellow stations packed full of
people, followed by dark, gloomy tunnels, home only to the scrawled
tags of some adolescent tearaway.
We reach the last station of the underground. They all get off,
leaving seats free, scattered with free morning newspapers and litter.
I sit down next to the right window, so when we leave the network of
dank, grimy tunnels, I'll get a view of the river, to see how high the
tide is.
The train rushed over the bridge, I look down, see banks of mud
showing. I look to my left, see the green arched structure of the Tyne
Bridge, adorned with white lights.
Another few seconds and I'm back underground, stage 3 of my journey,
over the river now.
The clock in the station reads "8:11", only 3 more stops now, then I
catch my bus. It comes at 8:27 - or it's supposed to. It's been bad
traffic lately, I suppose I'll be late for my exam...again. The train
pulls out of the station and I'm back outside. It's lighter now, I can
see. Not that there is much to see, other than a car scrap yard and a
mass of brown bricked council houses.
The next station, with its bright red staircase is the next stop. I
suppose it was built before the council decided to turn the majority of
the Metro system sunny yellow. Two kids board, sit at the back, they
ignore me as I ignore them. I fold my hands in my lap. Two more stops
now.
As I approach the next stop, I desperately try to read the white
scrawl left by some kid with a can, but alas, it still won't come
clear. We stop again, I eagerly wait, anticipate that savoury walk up
the station staircase. It's not often I have the time to take things at
a laid back pace you know.
We pull away, I glance at my watch then stand. The train shudders to
an ominous stop. I frown questioningly at a grey-haired man with a
black briefcase. We wait. My stomach scrambles, racing to re-tie those
loosened knots. The train lets out a cough and chunters down the
track.
I glance at my watch, that stop has cost me. I wait by the door,
finger poised over the button, pressing it when the green light shows.
I race up the stairs, take advantage of the unbarred disabled gate and
race through the doors, ignoring an outstretched hand offering a free
morning paper. I spot a green bus waiting patiently just right to the
entrance, the digital readout on top reads '163'. I jump on the first
step, grabbing my ticket and pass from my pocket and showing them to
the driver. With a smile he nods me through and I smile back, before
walking down the aisle and slumping into a free seat, third from the
back. My journey had passed, almost, without incident.