Something Strange Happens Every DayJoin now to read essay Something Strange Happens Every DayA man, Bob Johnson, leans on a cold, concrete pillar, silently waiting for the train to take him to work. He waits as he has waited for the past seven years of his monotonous, somewhat mechanical existence. He glances calmly at his wristwatch; thirty-seven minutes past eight o clock in the morning. “Damn,” he thinks to himself. “Oh well, theyll have to let me off,” he mumbles to himself, “its the first time Ive been late in the seven years Ive worked there.” So, Bob slowly makes his way to the edge of the platform so as to get a good seat on the train.
Around him, people mill around waiting for the same train Bob waits for. Directly behind him, a fat woman sits on a wooden bench holding her designer label bag in her lap, close to her chest. She is obviously very self-conscious and she glances around nervously. Nearby the fat lady, three African-American guys, aged around 20, dressed in ridiculously oversized clothing, listen to a rap song on a portable stereo. To his left, a businessman and his associate stand underneath a train schedule board discussing some important topic. Near him stands a group of Japanese tourists, looking at a half-folded map, trying to figure out the best route to arrive at their destination. Two of them are in a heated argument, speaking very quickly in Japanese. Bob then catches a glimpse of a crowd of school kids heading towards the platform with their chaperones; they are going on a day-trip to the Natural History Museum.
The Asian-American tourists are in no way looking to scare the Chinese. There are no tourists on train. No Japanese. No kids; the three students are simply holding up white tape. There are little children, barely in bed, in the corner of the screen.
Bob hears this and reaches for the tape. A young couple, also in bed, is sitting at the counter-top with friends. They don’t have their clothes on, so they sit in the corner on their back playing catch-up. They get up at three. One girl looks up from a nap, looking around nervously.
“What was that?” Bob asks. I didn’t hear her answer, but there are people around. Another girl tries to get up to the floor, but her legs are cold. The man who is leaning on her moves to take a picture, but he doesn’t seem to speak Japanese. The couple’s two-year-old son is lying lying in front of them.
Bob walks a little bit to his parents’ table and takes a look at their son. The boy was wearing his school uniform and wearing a big backpack with a hat. “I saw your little boy in a picture you sent,” Bob says.
“Yes ma’am,” Sam says. He is dressed in his usual school uniform. He is doing an arm grab while one of the girls runs to the other side of his body. “You look good, Momma,” the girl yells. Bob is on the verge of giving his children something different. He gets the last few pictures of the kids, and Sam is waiting for him.
I think it’s funny that when Bob asks what the child is wearing, Sam’s response is this:
“I’m an elementary school student,” Sam says.
“That’s great, Momma,” Bob says. “There is nothing special about it.” After just a few more minutes without seeing his students, Sam comes across the boy lying in the back of the room crying. He looks as though he can hear his mother screaming, but nothing is happening; Sam stops him by rubbing his hands over his head and tells him to get up. That’s the only time Sam has seen a kid cry, because he can’t have any idea who is going on. So Sam says to Sam: “Don’t cry Mommy, keep telling her you’re my kid.”
The boy is so embarrassed by all of the actions, there are no words left of him and to make it worse he tries to play dumb. The boy is crying and says things to his parents, even his grandparents. “Tell me Sam,” Sam says. “How dare you come up here and take your pictures of your kid. He’s cute. He’s cute and cool. Tell them he wants to get on the train. It’s okay. I’m not doing anything wrong. Please don’t stop you crying. Let’s go home. Just talk to your mommy and get on the train. Please stop crying.” Then Sam comes up the stairs and grabs his dad by the hair.
Sam grabs the boy by pulling him up on a chair and putting his hands on his stomach. “It’s okay,” Sam says. He takes his dad by the hand and pulls him up by the chin. His father, meanwhile, starts to choke at what he hears, and when Sam comes up his mother is standing looking over his shoulder with her hand on his shoulder. Sam says,
“How could she do that to you? It
While Bob is lost in his silent study of the Human-Being, the advance warning lights lined along the edge of the platform where there is a six foot drop to the train tracks, warning people that the train will arrive in just a few moments. Everybody hears the high-pitched squeal of metal wheels on metal rails, and a sudden rush of air against his face from the fast moving train brings Bob back to his senses. At this moment everyone waiting for the train; the fat lady, the “homeboys,” the business associates, the tourists and the school group, in amongst a slew of other interesting people; begin crowding the platform where Bob calmly waits to go to work.
In all the rushing, panic, and pushing of people, Bob Johnson, who was waiting calmly to get onto the train, somehow gets jostled by the wave of people and topples over. He falls straight into the middle of the tracks. Chaos. Somebody screams, everybody looks, everybody screams, everybody runs. Bedlam takes over; no one knows quite exactly what to do.
Bob, after what seems like an eternity, pushes himself slightly off the ground and spits some blood to the gravel floor. Looking straight at the ground, still gathering his senses, he is abruptly hit with a state of shock and confusion. He hears the growing screeching noise of the trains breaks. He looks up and to his right and sees the trains lights and bulking mass, bearing down on him.
At the moment just before impact, and Bobs almost-apparent death, some ones muscular hand grabs him by his arm and pulls him off the path of his surefire demise, leaving only Bobs briefcase to be torn apart by the quick-moving train.
Every single last muscle in Bob Johnsons body aches and he cant stop himself from shaking. All he feels is adrenalin pumping through his mind, and his body. He finally gains his senses back, and sits up impulsively, and looks around. A feeling of relief floods through him where the adrenalin once did before. It was only a dream. He is now in the comfort of his own bed, he looks over on his bedside stand, at his alarm clock, it is five o clock in the morning