Peter Masconi walks onto the subway with his eyes darting about. He carefully maneuvers his business-suited shoulder around the people around him. The suit itself is a pure black, without a hair or even noticeable stain on it. A few people on the train notice this, as their clothes were lucky to have a clean spot amongst the wear. A tense lock in his shoulders silences the always uncomfortable quivering of his back. He grips the soap in his hand tightly.
This soap he always would carry. Of course, it wasn’t the same soap his entire life, but this bar of Ivory soap was ever present in his hand. He held it as a child, learning how to fish with his patient father. He clutched onto it during his first kiss. He carried it to his brother’s wedding, ring in one hand, soap in the other. They even later found traces of the soap chips when they found his body, completely bleached. It was nearly impossible to prepare him for funeral, as his natural look was unnatural in itself.
He stands sideways in the aisle, keeping balance as best as possible. Those on the train watch him closely now; their eyes shoot back from the seats around him, and then back to him. Those who are riding with company turn to the one next to them, and both notice that the other is about to tell them the same. They then shake their heads and recommence staring. Those who are alone do not flinch, in order to absorb the oddity as a story for their friends when they meet them later.
Peter only moves when he needs to keep balance. He would notice the complete silence of the train, if he were not already preoccupied with staying untouched. The train begins to scream as it slows down. Peter takes a tall step to hold his balance. His foot lifts straight up from the ground, and lands carefully on the ground again without dragging. Those close enough to him notice the minimal amount of dirt on the bottom of his shoe. Be it dirt, it is still unnaturally clean for the bottom of a shoe. Peter’s eyes grow wide as an endless crowd of people pass by the windows of the train as he it nears stop. He whips his head around to find an open spot to stand, and quickly walks to a nearby opening, hoping it will stay open. His walk is the same as his step earlier, his knees rocket upward and the rest of his body compensates for this jerking action.
Peter reaches his spot and begins to tremble. No one leaves the train, but many enter. The amount of people rushing in continues until every seat is taken, and most of the standing room is filled. Peter measures the exact amount of space around him with his eyes, and cringes as it becomes less and less. It stops at an uncomfortable point, but enough to where he can tolerate it. He grips the soap tighter and kicks himself for forgetting to refill his oil tank. He could be in his own car right now driving safely and cleanly. He could be in control.
This mental escape does not last long as the train jerks into action, and the feet of space he counted turn into inches. A large woman with a filled paper bag nearly falls into him. She apologizes, but he is still shaken. The woman is about to ask him where he is headed, but notices something in his hand. It is white and seems formed around his hand. It isn’t until she smells the scent when she realizes it is soap. She turns around quickly and prepares her words for telling the story to her mother later.
Peter spends his next few minutes examining and reacting to every thing that moves around him. A hand comes near him, a head by his waste, a bottle rolls by him, and the metal of the seat behind him is cleaner than the man in front of him. Shoes shuffle about and he fears his shoes will be stepped on. He somehow managed to pull his feet in closer, and then froze at a horrific sound.
A man a few feet behind him began singing. Peter turns around quickly and sees a pale fat man with a filthy beard. The man’s hat is torn and some shiny hair is shown through. On the man’s jacket is a torn inscription that reads “Jack.” This same jacket is covered in random filth, and his lips are lined with a similar filth. The man stares out the window and sings as loudly as he can. The words come out with a pop from his lips, and each word throbs on Peter’s back. The train is silent and all are forced to listen to this drunken man sing. He sings a blues song about abandoning parents, thieving friends, and bad women. Peter tightens even more the grip he has on the soap.
The train breathes in for another shout as it slows down for the next stop. This time it is he who falls on the woman. He was under prepared for the stop, and was distracted by the man singing. He apologizes callously, and the woman repeats his original silent reply. He is unable to turn to face a window to anticipate this stops load of filthy commuters, and he begins to panic. The train finishes its stop, and quickly large amounts of people enter the train. As they flood on Peter sees that he is forced backwards, and now is in contact with something in every direction. He is pushed back even further, and though no one is touching his chest, he feels a great pressure on it. His stomach clenches as well, and soon all this internal complaining is voided by a physical sensation.
Peter feels a hot breath reach the back of his neck. The breath comes in time with every line exhaled from the homeless man’s mouth. The hot breath melts his neck hairs and they dissolve into his skin. The sensation travels into the back of his neck and down to his spine. It travels faster and faster, and with each movement increases in warmth. The feeling turns forward and jumps into his stomach. Peter frowns with the new nauseous feeling and feels his stomach expanding. Whatever was in his stomach before now is multiplying and putting pressure on all sides of his stomach. Peter’s eyes open wide from pain. The whole train disappears and all that is there is a filthy man-that-might-be- named-Jack’s mouth spewing words in the form of stench onto Peter. He notices something else as well. Tiny balls of spit are flying from the man’s mouth, and spraying in random directions. A major formation of saliva forms at the corners of his mouth, and Peter focuses on this. A piece of spit hits the window, the seat in front of him, and even the woman next to him. The ball of dried spit grows greater and greater. Peter watches this while being completely still. The ball is slightly loosened by the next line of the song, and it slowly crawls to the front of his dried lower lip. The ball fires forward, and splatters loudly onto Peter’s suit.
Before he can react, the ball of saliva soaks into his sleeve. The droplet goes through his shirt, and enters his skin. His skin absorbs it and places it into his vein, where it travels with incredible speed. The spit is launched nears his heart within a short amount of time. The second it enters his heart, the spit spreads in every direction. It spills out to his torso, to every major organ, to his legs, to his arms, and finally to his head. His mind explodes into a panic.
“Marked! Marked! I’m dying!” he shouts through the silence. The soap in his hand is so tightly gripped it breaks into two pieces, and smashes into the floor. On the floor sand sticks to it, and little pieces of dirt are forever borrowed into its insides. Peter sloppily pulls out a lighter and lights his suit coat on fire. He screams as he pulls it off, and then throws it to the floor. He doesn’t even react to the burnt spots in his skin.
The people on the train shuffle their feet and somehow find room to have a three-foot opening around Peter. Peter looks up and screams, “Now you give up comfort? Now you make room for me? I’ll have to remember this for later!” The crowd reacts to him by giving him yet more room to be himself. The man singing even stops to watch Peter. Peter grips the lighter in his hand tightly, where it shoots out into the air from the dissolved soap that coats his hand. He catches it wildly in his other hand and rushes towards the crowd, holding it like a weapon. Women scream, and the crowd shrinks in the same way, but Peter stops.
He takes the lighter and slams it onto the floor. He stomps his foot onto the lighter carelessly and shatters the outside. He picks it up and pours the liquid inside onto his short black hair and twitching face. Struggling with the lighter he tries to create a flame. He clicks it on and off holding it to his nose, barely creating a spark. Realizing the fluid for a needed flame is on his head, he turns towards the fearing crowd, now on the ground desperately trying not to inhale smoke from the burning jacket. “Does anyone have a light?!” he asks as loudly as possible. His wild eyes create stillness in the crowd. A raspy voice behind him answers “yeah.”
Peter turns around to see the spitting homeless man standing up holding a lighter in his hand. Peter laughs wildly as the man approaches him. The man walks drunkenly and nearly falls over with each turn of the train. He presents the lighter to Peter, but Peter does not move. “Do you have a smoke?” Peter asks calmly. The homeless man smiles and says, “yes” as he hands Peter the last of the cigarettes in the pack. Peter places it in his mouth and remains still.
The homeless man stands patiently in front of Peter, still offering lighter to Peter. “Could you?” Peter asks as politely as possible. The homeless man holds the lighter out towards the cigarette with a shaking hand. His thumb creates a spark that turns into a flame that turns the end of the cigarette black. Peter inhales slowly and exhales the smoke into the already-formed smoke coming from the burning jacket on the floor. “Thank you.” Peter says, as he stares directly at the homeless man.
The train screams once more as it slows down. The crowd rushes for the door, and someone pulls the emergency open lever. The door opens and people jump out at dangerous speeds. Most people are forced out. The trains slowing down makes Peter fall directly onto his back, with the cigarette still in his mouth. The homeless man remains motionless, still holding the lighter outward. The train finishes its stop and the crowd flees the car as quickly as the smoke.
When everyone leaves Peter rolls over onto his stomach. He whips his arms around to his chest and pushes upwards. His legs bend and he slowly stands up. The homeless man with the jacket labeled “Jack” asks “Sir? Are you ok, Sir?” Peter turns sharply towards him and states, “I fell over.” The homeless man stares at him with squinted eyes, shrugs his shoulders and exits the train. Peter walks towards an opposite door and hears people screaming outside of the train. He drops the cigarette on the ground, stomps it out with his foot, and exits the train. He looks about for the location of the stop, and in reading a sign he realizes it is his own. He smiles and walks up the cold concrete steps, while men in bright yellow and blue uniforms rush by him with hoses and guns.
