FEAR

On Saturday afternoon, my eastbound subway train pulled into Chester Station and a man got on. Actually "got" isn't the right word. A man stormed on. Wearing large, black shades, army boots, and a big, bulky, black coat. A coat that looked like it concealed more than just his body. A coat that looked like it hid secrets. The hood of it, with shaggy dirty fur around the edge, was pulled over his head. He walked onto the train like a person on a mission. He began walking the entire length of the car, shoulders slightly hunched forward, glaring at each passenger through the huge shades. Although his eyes were not visible, there was no doubting that he was staring right at you, in deliberation, in judgement, in anger. His face was stone cold.

As he passed me and looked at me, I literally felt a chill go through my entire body. A surge of electricity that said "This isn't right. Get out of here." He reached the end of the car furthest from me, his back to me. I calmly got up and headed to the door. As I waited to pull into the next station, I saw him turn around and glare back in my direction.

I cannot put into words what I felt as I saw him notice me and begin walking back the entire length of the car. It seemed as if he was walking in slow motion and so, so fast at once. Standing in front of the door waiting to pull into the next station, I began to feel fear like I have only felt twice before. Fear for my life. He was ominous and terrifying and his pores leaked animosity. That big hood and those huge dark shades hid a face which, even partly covered, you could see contained rage. And he didn't say anything. He just glared at people, one at a time, as if contemplating something. As if contemplating who would be his target, or maybe who would be his first target.

He continued walking, all the way down the car, his hand rubbing one area of his jacket. I imagined a gun appearing at any moment. Then he stood right behind me.
 

My immediate thought was "He's not going to let me out. He's not going to let me get away." I felt my heart beat through my chest and every muscle tense. Everyone in the car was silent, and I could in the glass that he was behind me but I couldn't tell what he was doing. He was breathing heavily. All I could think was that I was about to be punished for trying to leave. I tried not to think about being shot in the back, or the head, or grabbed from behind and having my throat cut, but those thoughts were loud as I stood there trapped in front of him, his chest less than a foot behind my back. I was terrified that the doors were not going to open in time for me. I thought about my family, my friends, our dog, my career that has barely started, the true love I haven't found yet, the good I haven't done yet, the two men in my life who move me deeply but do not know it, the songs still unwritten, the roles unportrayed, the birthdays uncelebrated, the difference unmade. I thought about leaving my niece before she even turned two. I stood there, not daring to turn around, and not knowing what was happening behind me. And then I heard his voice for the first time, raising the hairs on my neck, gravelly and cold.

"The spy. The SPY."

At that moment, I realized that he was probably insane. Was I the spy? Was that what he had decided? Or was he schizophrenic? I knew what that could mean. I knew that he could be listening to voices that only he could hear. And I felt like I was going to vomit as I braced for whatever was going to come next.

"I WILL find the fucking spy."

Those last few metres into Pape Station felt like miles.

We pulled in and the doors opened. I got out quickly. Before I could exhale, I realized that he had gotten out behind me. My heart jumped again. But he did not follow me. Instead, he bounded into the next car with the same wall of anger and began walking down the length of it, I presume continuing the hunt for the spy. A woman who was obviously frightened by him ran off the car with her little boy just as the doors closed. I worried about the others in that car. The train pulled off. A few seconds into the tunnel, it stopped. Had someone pulled the alarm? Had he done something to somebody? I didn't know. I just knew that I needed to get out of there. But I couldn't walk. I couldn't move. It was like I had been frozen with fear and needed to thaw before my body could function again. Eventually the train continued on into the tunnel. I sat on a bench on the platform for about twenty minutes, mildly spaced out. When I finally did get on another train, I found myself full of fear at every station, thinking that he would be there again.

It took several hours before I found myself breathing normally and I watched the news holding my breath, waiting to hear about something horrible that had happened on the TTC. I have a feeling that someone did pull the alarm on the train and he was taken by security officers at the next station. But even now, days later, when I find myself thinking about it I tremble. It left me very shaken and more aware than ever of how vulnerable we are and how quickly our time here can be done; it left me thinking about how much time we waste. The fear is subsiding, slowly, and now I ask myself if I will learn from it and do the things which, in that moment, I regretted not having done. Will I take the big risks or brave the scary choices? Will I make bold moves for the sake of my work? Will I tell those two men what they make me feel? I don't know... maybe yes... maybe no. Why does it take fear of no more tomorrows to make us ponder these things? Why does an "I will" turn back into an "I might" once the fear ebbs? Why don't we learn? I want to be braver in my everyday life. I want to have taken from this. I need to have learned something.