Not Just Another Rat

It was still dark outside, and my breath floated like a frosty
cloud in the cold air. I was feeling sorry for myself again. There was
a reason they called it a rat race.
Day in and day out, the same old thing. Up and out of the house
before daylight. An hour and a half commute to the office. Eight to
nine hours at work, and then the same commute home, still dark outside.
The short winter days made me wonder: Did the sun ever come out during
the day? I wasn't sure anymore - if it did, I certainly missed it.
I made my way to the train station on that bleak Monday morning.
My week stretched out before me like a deep black hole. The week might
be new, but I was feeling old and worn-out. The brief weekend respite
hadn't provided much relief, what with the laundry that had piled up,
not to mention the supermarket and the dry cleaners and the myriad other
errands that ate into what was supposed to be our family time together.
We barely had a chance to play a quick game of Scrabble before it was
time to set the alarm clock and start the week once more.
The train was late again. Any attempt at relaxing thoughts was
quickly replaced by memories of the piles of paper sitting on my desk.
So much to do, and the days were never long enough. I tuned out the
crowd around me and began to mentally sort through the priorities that
would beckon as soon as I arrived at the office. E-mails and faxes,
reports and meetings. The day would be full, more so because it was the
beginning of the week. I cringed as I remembered how often I had put
things off "'til next week." Well, "next week" was here. Note to self:
thinking about things "tomorrow" may have worked for Scarlett O'Hara,
but it only created grief for me.
The shifting crowd brought me back to the moment. The train was
pulling in, and the army of commuters was of one mind: Grab an empty
seat at any cost. Men and women were equal-opportunity pushers,
propelling each other to the edge of the platform. Even as I allowed
myself to be swept along, I also resolved to seize the first available
seat I could find. With a firm grip on my briefcase I pushed along with
the best of them, and landed my prize. Sitting would allow me to get a
jump on some paperwork, perhaps a memo or two. Any head start would
help.
Was this what my life had deteriorated to? The highlight of my day
was that I got a seat on the train? Surely my aims were loftier than
that. We were working so hard, my husband and I. Our goal was to pay
off the mortgage, and set aside savings to prepare for retirement. We
were almost there. Just another year or two of my imitation of
superwoman, and then I could relax. Just another year or two . . .
That's when I saw her. The young woman looked vaguely familiar.
Had I seen her at the train station before, or did I simply recognize
the look on her face? The look that reflected resignation at having
missed out on a seat again. The look that said, ever so clearly, "I
don't have the energy to do this anymore." I knew just how she felt,
but I also knew that I had work to do. Memos to answer, reports to
write. I had a seat, and she didn't. Nobody said life was going to be
fair.
But there was more than just her face. Even under her bulky winter
coat, I could see that she was expecting a baby. Her pregnancy was
rather far along, and it was all that she could do to hold on to the
metal bar as the train lurched into motion. I felt a pang of guilt, and
then argued with myself. Surely there were enough men on the train who
could see her condition. Chivalry wasn't dead yet, was it? But no one
moved. It seemed as if everyone on the train was studiously avoiding
the view of this young woman as they buried their heads in their
newspapers, or pretended to be deeply engrossed in their conversations.
I put the memos and the legal pad back in my briefcase, stood up,
and motioned to get her attention. The work could wait. There
certainly was enough of it, and one or two more memos wouldn't make much
of a difference in my schedule. If I had any second thoughts, they were
wiped away by the look on her face. A new look - one of relief and
thanksgiving. Words didn't need to be exchanged, but as she said thank
you I realized that this small act of kindness was as much for me as it
was for her. A reminder that even though I was part of the rat race, I
didn't have to become a rat.
It was still Monday morning, but the emerging sunrise told me it
was going to be a beautiful day.
By Ava Pennington