1
Stuck
It was 5:08 in the afternoon and if Shannon hurried she would make it downtown on
time. The next three minutes were spent dipping and weaving through hoards of people on the New York City sidewalks. Most of the men and women were in business attire like her, but the occasional homeless man in loose-‐fitting rags and construction workers in sweaty tee shirts were a reminder that not everyone earned their living under fluorescent lights. Her beige pumps were not making running easy and her pencil skirt hindered her even further. Construction on the subway line had been making her late all week and Shannon was determined to break the habit immediately, and with as few sweat stains as possible.
At 5:11 she hovered at the top of the stairway leading down into the subway. For a
brief second she felt the humidity rolling up from the depths of the underground. There was a distinct smell of sweat and urine and Shannon thought about the pimples this mixture would most likely cause to sprout up on her nose and chin. She ran down the stairs two at a time and by the time she reached the bottom she was astonished to have not twisted an ankle. The low rumblings of the train reaching the track began to echo around the tunnel. Shannon swiped her Metrocard and shimmied through the turnstile in one smooth motion, doing her best not to touch and surfaces with her hands—it was flu season after all.
Standing at the edge of the platform the subway train greeted her, right on time.
After letting several people got off the train, Shannon stepped on, pushing against the rush hour crowds. There was only standing room and the train grew more and more crowded. She held onto the pole in the middle of the car with the inside of her elbow and clasped her hands in front of her. People continued to squeeze around her until the dinging of the bell
© Alison Coolidge 2015