Subway Sounds

The old man with the accordion was gone. Instead of the lilting warble of "La Vie en Rose," echoing through the halls of the subway station, there were two young boys shouting unintelligible rap lyrics. Their voices squawked through the blown speakers of a dusty boom box that sat where the old man's accordion case used to lay open, glittered with coins.

Every day, on my way to the city to see her, I stood and listened to the old man and tossed some change. I found it so relaxing, a moment to step outside the commuter cacophony. Disappointed, I adjusted my grip on my backpack and moved on. I had somewhere important to go, anyway.

Inside the train, the windows were open. Over the sound of the wind, the other passengers' voices were just a buzz broken up by the occasional laugh.  The woman sitting across from me opened up her newspaper. She didn't seem interested in reading anything. She shook the paper, flitted through the pages, making dry, crispy fluttering sounds. She flapped paper too quickly too read anything. I wrapped my fingers tighter around my backpack to restrain myself from snatching the paper and beating her with it.

I had somewhere important to go. I didn't want to open my bag just yet. I was saving this for someone special and I couldn't wait to see her face when I showed it to her.

It was the man sitting next to me who ruined everything. His snorting and coughing. The wet, choking gurgles coming from him as he spat something thick into a tissue. I gripped my bag tighter as he sniffed and snuffled, filling my ear with the noise of his sick, slimy insides.

I opened my bag and removed the knife. I heard the paper crinkle and tear as the lady drew it closer to her as though it offered protection. I stood up. The sick man dropped his tissue. When I shoved the knife into his throat, there was a slurping and sucking, like pulling a boot out of the mud.

The screeching caused by the wheels on the track was unbearable when the train suddenly came to a stop. I lost my balance and was thrown down, back into my seat. The handle of my knife stuck out of the sick man's throat.

I felt so let down. First, the accordion player and now this. I'd been saving that for her. I looked at the slack-jawed faces around me. Shocked, too frightened to move.

Too afraid to speak.

I closed my eyes, and tried to enjoy a brief moment of silence.