Creative Writing: Commute

As soon as the 7:00 a.m. alarm blares, get up. Yes, get up, now. Push yourself out of your cocoon of a bed and sleepwalk down the hall, as quietly as possible as to not wake up one of your three sleeping roommates. Wonder what time they’ll manage to get up this morning. Enter the kitchen and observe the four empty bottles of red wine. Probably not for another two hours, think to yourself. Grab one of the chipped hand-me-down mugs from the cupboard and fill your cup to the brim with coffee. Splash in a little bit of milk - either almond or oat milk, either are still acceptable - and walk back down the hall, as lightly as possible, avoiding the loose boards in the ancient hardwood floor to the bathroom you share with one of your roommates. Allow yourself to feel relief as you realize you’ve won the never-ending morning bathroom shuffle and take what you know will be the first and only hot shower in the apartment. But don’t take too long, because the 8 o’clock train waits for no one. Step out of the shower into the steam and walk back into your dark room. Close your eyes and turn on the lights. Yes, all of them. Spend two minutes - no more because of the aforementioned train but no less because looking polished at your PR firm is an unspoken requirement - blow-drying your hair. Twist it into a clip on the back of your head. Smudge on some blush, eyeshadow, and lipstick. Do you look awake enough yet? Assess. Put on more blush. There, okay. Better. Button up your black blazer and stuff on a pair of sensible yet on-trend leopard print flats and make your way back down the hall to the door. Mumble good morning to your roommate standing in the kitchen clutching her own coffee and dash out the door, down the hall, down the five flights of stairs to the street. Curse yourself for not wearing a scarf when the crisp morning air wraps its icy hands around your bare neck. Trot down the three city blocks as quickly as possible to the entrance of the train station. Fight the urge to duck into your favorite bodega to buy a buttery croissant. No time for that today. Fall in line behind the other commuters. Fight the urge to elbow your way past the slow tourists towards the turnstiles. Get to the train and leap on, shoving your way towards the middle, and find one of the few remaining overhead handles. Grip it, try not to think of the petri dish of germs now making their way onto your palm. Pride yourself on making the train, another morning victory. You have to take these victories as they come in this city. Shove your airpods into your ear and search your podcast library. Decide nothing looks appealing but leave your earbuds in so no one talks to you. Exit the stopped train, finally, and make the familiar climb to the top of the station, your concrete ascent. Take a deep breath once you’ve reached the top. Tell yourself that It’s Monday, only four more morning commutes left this week.