Anthony Palma’s work attempts to bridge the gap between poetry, music, and other forms. He teaches writing at several universities in the Greater Philadelphia area. He resides in West Chester PA with his wife and family.
Service
James slept better than he had in weeks, which was probably why he overslept. With the train leaving in 20 minutes, he’d have to move. He grabbed a protein bar and a banana, washed his face, threw on gym clothes, hid the mess of his hair under the first hat he could grab, and 12 minutes later he was out the door.
The train that he took was a later one than usual, and the car was already full of commuters from the suburbs. However, his seat was still empty. It was turned sideways near the front of the car and had a clear view of both exits. He settled in and embraced his anonymity. The woman sitting in the row next to his seat didn’t even look up. Her attire told him she was on her way to an office. Someday, he’d get there.
Two stops later, it was standing room only. It was then he noticed the man staring at him. He was about 4 rows towards the back of the car on the aisle, facing James. The man’s travel partner, maybe his daughter, played on her phone in the window seat. Every time James looked over, the man looked away. The man made James uncomfortable. He was, after all, sitting in a seat reserved for the physically disabled. Would the man confront him? James tensed. The train suddenly felt crowded, and he felt exposed. His eyes darted from exit to exit. The train slowed, and the man got up.
“Sir…”
James leapt into the current of people, spilling him out onto the platform. In his anxiety, he headed towards the wrong escalator. When he realized his mistake, he turned around and there the man was, girl beside him. The man reached out his hand.
“Sir, I just wanted to say thank you for your service.”
How…?
The hat. His friend had gotten it for him when they were discharged.
The man stood there, hand outstretched. Everyone around the two men stopped. They, too, were waiting. Without a word, James pushed past the man. He went through the doors and rushed up the escalator, up the stairs, and into the street.
Back on the platform, the man stood bewildered, his hand still outstretched. Passersby apologized for James, said he had been rude to the man, and scurried on their way. The man’s daughter sighed and looked at her phone.
James didn’t stop until he reached the gym. According to his self-appointed schedule, he was four minutes late. He passed the desk and the treadmills. Amidst the exercise bikes he came to a stop. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to become lost and forgotten among the whirring machines, and the sound of the weights that dropped to the ground like bombs.