Speeding Backwards

a story about transit.

I am sitting backwards on a forward moving train.  I’m speeding down a railway through new jersey cities and spaced-out land; passing by a lot of cars, some trucks, and all those forward moving people.  Half an-hour ago, when I walked onto this train, I chose to flip the back of my seat, because it seemed like a nice idea–especially since the train was not full of passengers.  I knew if ever wanted to sit the wrong way in my seat, now was the time.

Turns out, sitting backwards on a train feels so different, so strange. It’s a feeling like everyone on board might actually be going back in time; but only the passengers who sit that way go back in time, if you sit forwards you won’t, and the people sitting backwards are not allowed to tell the people sitting forwards about the time traveling secret; otherwise, everyone would be talking and flipping the seats and the conductors would have a fit, because it would make their job so much harder.
Today I am only riding with 6 other people in my train car and this one guy, sitting 3 seats ahead of me, is making me curious.  He seems to be about 24 or 29 years-old and something tells me he is either a little bit sleepy or a very kind business man, wearing business glasses and reading a business paper–in only his undershirt and pants.

He makes me curious because, two minutes after leaving Penn Station he’s jumping out of his seat like a clutzy mess, and flipping the back of it specifically to avoid sitting backwards on the train.  I wished to know why he cared so much–it seems more awkward to be the one person facing forward in a row of seats facing backwards.
Now he is directly in front of me.  I can really see him now, so I know he isn’t tired, he’s kind. Sometimes our eyes meet in the window reflection and I want to go sit closely beside him. Tipping my knees against his and resting my head on his shoulder I speak softly into his ear, “Excuse me sir, why did you flip your seat so suddenly?”
He doesn’t mind that we don’t know each other from ever before, “I didn’t want to be facing backwards while this train moves forwards.”
He places his hand comfortably on my knee and I get real close to his ear and whisper so the conductors don’t know what I am doing the passangers can’t tell what I am saying, “But if you put your seat back how it was, it feels like you’re back in time.” I look at him and wait for his reaction.
“I know,” he says.
“You do?” I say.
“Yes,” he says.
“Oh,” I say.
After a quiet minute, I start trying to find the right words so I can ask the kind business man beside me, why he wouldn’t want to travel back in time, but he cuts me off, “–-I don’t need to go back in time, I’ve been there already, I’m happy reading my paper.”
“Oh, okay. Well, do you really think that’s better?” I sincerely want to know.                                   “I think so,” he says.
I smile at him,”Well, in that case, may I do your crossword?”
He smiles, handing me the crossword from his business paper, and I thank him.
Then, just before getting up, I say, “May I ask you something else? Why are you just wearing that undershirt?”
He smiles, kisses me kindly on the forehead, and says, “It’s a long story.”
I smile at him and thank him again for the crossword, walk back to my seat, and just before sitting down I flip it so I’m not going back in time–-just back to Princeton Junction.