November 1st, 15:01
Nov. 2nd, 2006 12:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
secret_historyA woman shrieked as the lights went out, then subsided into embarrassed silence. A murmur ran through the metro car as people turned anxiously to each other to ask what was going on, as though somehow their neighbours might be privy to some secret information that they didn’t possess themselves.
“What the hell?” Marco sounded more annoyed than worried.
“They probably had to cut the power so that the paramedics coud get on the tracks,” Mickey said uncertainly.
Gradually the voices subsided, and the car became strangely silent. The whole train was plunged into darkness, the only source of illumination the faint orange emergency lights in the tunnel, which serve only to enhance the gloom rather than cut through it. Michaela wondered whether it was worth it to pull out the Maglite she carried at the bottom of her purse. Marco was always teasing her about carrying the equivalent of a hardware shop in her large black purse, but she felt better for knowing that she was prepared for most eventualities. She decided against it. After all, it wasn’t as though she had to go somewhere right now. If they had to evacuate the train, then an STM official would come and open the doors, and they would have much more powerful flashlights than her own anyway.
Before she could say anything else, the lights flickered and came back to life. A whirring sound told Mickey that the ventilation system was back online as well, which was reassuring. She hadn’t been aware of the constant humming in the background until it stopped, but now that it was back she was acutely aware of just how dependent they all were on the fresh air being circulated by the fans in the metro. If the ventilation system failed for a longer period of time, they might have a problem.
She shook the thought away. There was no reason for such morbid thoughts. The paramedics were probably already on the scene helping whatever unfortunate soul had tried to end their life, and the power would be restored to the track within the next hour or so. There was more than enough air to last until then. No need whatsoever to feel claustrophobic.
“Mickey, you okay?” Marco was looking at her curiously, his brow furrowed in concern.
She looked up at him, startled, and realised that she had been clutching her purse so hard that her knuckles had turned white. She laughed a bit shakily. “Yeah. It’s stupid. Just feeling a bit claustrophobic all of a sudden. I’ll be fine in a minute. For someone who works in constant crisis situations in a cubicle, I’m awfully jumpy,” she joked lamely.
He reached over and patted her knee. “No worries.”
She checked her watch: it was a quarter past three now. Fifteen minutes before the promised return to normal. If all went well she’d be home in less than an hour. She leaned back in her seat, forcing herself to take deep breaths and to relax all her muscles. She was surprised to find that her shoulders had tensed almost to her ears and that it took an effort of will to put them back down. Around her the low hum of conversation started up again in hushed tones, as though a weight had settled over everyone in the train car. She sat very still, listening to her breathing echoing in her ears, impossibly loudly, it seemed to her, but no one else appeared to notice.
“When I get home,” she told Marco, “I’m going to take a bubble bath and cuddle my cat, not necessarily in that order. I might even have a glass of wine, or maybe three. I think I’ve earned it today.”
He nodded. “I hear ya. I’m going to crack open a brewsky myself when I’m home. It’s been a long day, and this little adventure isn’t helping.”
“I have a stew in the slow cooker,” Marlene mourned. “I wish I hadn’t left it on, now. It might burn before I get home.”
“I thought that was the point of slow cookers.” Mickey glanced at her. “That they don’t burn food, I mean.”
Marlene shook her head. “No, you can burn things if you leave them for too long. Dinner’s going to be a mess,” she sighed.
“You’ll just have to go out to dinner,” Marco said kindly. “Get your husband to treat you. After all, it sounds like everyone’s having a bad day today.”
The older woman smiled wanly. “Yes, I suppose I could do that.” Michaela thought she detected a faint undertone of —what? Irony? Resignation? Marlene wasn’t telling them something, but then, her private life was really none of their business. There was no good reason why she should confide in them. She might be widowed, divorced, hell, she might be a lesbian and understandably cautious about outing herself to strangers on a metro.
The yuppie sitting behind Mickey was yelling into his Blackberry again, earning himself a number of glares from the other passengers, to which he remained blissfully oblivious. Marco shot him an annoyed glance, then shrugged.
“Actually,” he admitted, as though finishing a thought he hadn’t voiced aloud, “I wouldn’t mind having a cell phone handy so I’d be able to call Sarah. She’ll start to worry eventually.”
“Your girlfriend?” Marlene inquired sollicitously, and Marco nodded.
“Yeah. She’ll be waiting for me to get home.”
Michaela couldn’t help but smile at that. “Come on, Marco. She’s not going to worry if you’re an hour late. You’ve been delayed more than that in the past and she’s never phoned the cops to declare you missing.”
Marco shrugged a bit diffidently. “Yeah, I guess. We were just supposed to do something special tonight, you know?”
She frowned. “It’s not your anniversary, is it?”
“No, it’s more important than that. She presented her thesis this morning, and I was caught up in a massive server problem and didn’t have time to call her to ask how it went.”
Mickey smirked. “Man, are you in trouble if you don’t take her somewhere fancy tonight.”
“I know,” Marco gave her an agonized look. “I’m taking her to this place in Outremont that does mussels.”
“La Moulerie. Good choice. Pricey, but the mussels are fantastic. I used to go there with my parents.”
“No, look! I don’t know when the metro’s going to start up again. Just cancel the damned meeting, would you? I won’t be getting there anytime soon, and I’d rather just reschedule the whole thing. I know the client doesn’t want to wait, but there’s nothing I can do about this, all right? Jesus!”
Marco glared at the back of the accountant’s head. “I wonder if a Blackberry has ever been administered rectally,” he said loudly, to no visible effect.
“Marco, I don’t want to have to bail you out of jail for performing a Blackberry enema.”
“Sorry, it’s just that some assholes think they’re the only people in the universe!” Marco said even more loudly. This earned him a glare from the yuppie, who put a finger in the ear that wasn’t attached to his Blackberry and proceeded to talk louder in order to drown out Marco’s voice.
“Congratulations, big shot. You just made him more obnoxious.”
Marco shrugged. “I tried.”
“Attention: une intervention des services d’urgence nous oblige à interrompre le service sur la ligne verte, entre les stations Angrignon et Honoré-Beaugrand. Le service devrait reprendre à seize heures. La STM vous remercie de votre compréhension. D’autres messages suivront.”
“Aww, shit. I’m never going to get home on time!”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure Sara will understand. I mean, shit happens, right? And it’s not like you’re going to miss your evening out, it’ll just be delayed for a bit.”
“Yeah, but I hadn’t planned on arriving stressed out of my mind and rushed because the damned metro broke down.”
“Technically the metro didn’t break down,” the punk kid pointed out. “Someone committed suicide and they shut down the metro on purpose.”
“You don’t know that someone committed suicide,” Michaela insisted, though somewhat lamely at this point, but no one seemed inclined to argue the point with her.
The girl who’d been asleep in the seat across from them was awake now, looking blearily about her. “Uh, excuse me?” she said a bit diffidently. “Did you catch how long it would be before the metro starts up again?”
“About half an hour,” Paul answered.
The girl checked her watch, then pursed her lips. “Thanks.”
Paul sighed. “I suppose I can kiss my class goodbye. It started at three.”
“Is attendance mandatory?”
“No, but it’s a hard class, and I didn’t want to miss the lecture today. By the time we get out of here it’ll be two-thirds over, if I’m lucky.”
Michaela shrugged. “My cat is going to pissed off that I’m late, but otherwise, I have no place to be. Don’t fret, Paul: maybe today is your lucky day.”
“What the hell?” Marco sounded more annoyed than worried.
“They probably had to cut the power so that the paramedics coud get on the tracks,” Mickey said uncertainly.
Gradually the voices subsided, and the car became strangely silent. The whole train was plunged into darkness, the only source of illumination the faint orange emergency lights in the tunnel, which serve only to enhance the gloom rather than cut through it. Michaela wondered whether it was worth it to pull out the Maglite she carried at the bottom of her purse. Marco was always teasing her about carrying the equivalent of a hardware shop in her large black purse, but she felt better for knowing that she was prepared for most eventualities. She decided against it. After all, it wasn’t as though she had to go somewhere right now. If they had to evacuate the train, then an STM official would come and open the doors, and they would have much more powerful flashlights than her own anyway.
Before she could say anything else, the lights flickered and came back to life. A whirring sound told Mickey that the ventilation system was back online as well, which was reassuring. She hadn’t been aware of the constant humming in the background until it stopped, but now that it was back she was acutely aware of just how dependent they all were on the fresh air being circulated by the fans in the metro. If the ventilation system failed for a longer period of time, they might have a problem.
She shook the thought away. There was no reason for such morbid thoughts. The paramedics were probably already on the scene helping whatever unfortunate soul had tried to end their life, and the power would be restored to the track within the next hour or so. There was more than enough air to last until then. No need whatsoever to feel claustrophobic.
“Mickey, you okay?” Marco was looking at her curiously, his brow furrowed in concern.
She looked up at him, startled, and realised that she had been clutching her purse so hard that her knuckles had turned white. She laughed a bit shakily. “Yeah. It’s stupid. Just feeling a bit claustrophobic all of a sudden. I’ll be fine in a minute. For someone who works in constant crisis situations in a cubicle, I’m awfully jumpy,” she joked lamely.
He reached over and patted her knee. “No worries.”
She checked her watch: it was a quarter past three now. Fifteen minutes before the promised return to normal. If all went well she’d be home in less than an hour. She leaned back in her seat, forcing herself to take deep breaths and to relax all her muscles. She was surprised to find that her shoulders had tensed almost to her ears and that it took an effort of will to put them back down. Around her the low hum of conversation started up again in hushed tones, as though a weight had settled over everyone in the train car. She sat very still, listening to her breathing echoing in her ears, impossibly loudly, it seemed to her, but no one else appeared to notice.
“When I get home,” she told Marco, “I’m going to take a bubble bath and cuddle my cat, not necessarily in that order. I might even have a glass of wine, or maybe three. I think I’ve earned it today.”
He nodded. “I hear ya. I’m going to crack open a brewsky myself when I’m home. It’s been a long day, and this little adventure isn’t helping.”
“I have a stew in the slow cooker,” Marlene mourned. “I wish I hadn’t left it on, now. It might burn before I get home.”
“I thought that was the point of slow cookers.” Mickey glanced at her. “That they don’t burn food, I mean.”
Marlene shook her head. “No, you can burn things if you leave them for too long. Dinner’s going to be a mess,” she sighed.
“You’ll just have to go out to dinner,” Marco said kindly. “Get your husband to treat you. After all, it sounds like everyone’s having a bad day today.”
The older woman smiled wanly. “Yes, I suppose I could do that.” Michaela thought she detected a faint undertone of —what? Irony? Resignation? Marlene wasn’t telling them something, but then, her private life was really none of their business. There was no good reason why she should confide in them. She might be widowed, divorced, hell, she might be a lesbian and understandably cautious about outing herself to strangers on a metro.
The yuppie sitting behind Mickey was yelling into his Blackberry again, earning himself a number of glares from the other passengers, to which he remained blissfully oblivious. Marco shot him an annoyed glance, then shrugged.
“Actually,” he admitted, as though finishing a thought he hadn’t voiced aloud, “I wouldn’t mind having a cell phone handy so I’d be able to call Sarah. She’ll start to worry eventually.”
“Your girlfriend?” Marlene inquired sollicitously, and Marco nodded.
“Yeah. She’ll be waiting for me to get home.”
Michaela couldn’t help but smile at that. “Come on, Marco. She’s not going to worry if you’re an hour late. You’ve been delayed more than that in the past and she’s never phoned the cops to declare you missing.”
Marco shrugged a bit diffidently. “Yeah, I guess. We were just supposed to do something special tonight, you know?”
She frowned. “It’s not your anniversary, is it?”
“No, it’s more important than that. She presented her thesis this morning, and I was caught up in a massive server problem and didn’t have time to call her to ask how it went.”
Mickey smirked. “Man, are you in trouble if you don’t take her somewhere fancy tonight.”
“I know,” Marco gave her an agonized look. “I’m taking her to this place in Outremont that does mussels.”
“La Moulerie. Good choice. Pricey, but the mussels are fantastic. I used to go there with my parents.”
“No, look! I don’t know when the metro’s going to start up again. Just cancel the damned meeting, would you? I won’t be getting there anytime soon, and I’d rather just reschedule the whole thing. I know the client doesn’t want to wait, but there’s nothing I can do about this, all right? Jesus!”
Marco glared at the back of the accountant’s head. “I wonder if a Blackberry has ever been administered rectally,” he said loudly, to no visible effect.
“Marco, I don’t want to have to bail you out of jail for performing a Blackberry enema.”
“Sorry, it’s just that some assholes think they’re the only people in the universe!” Marco said even more loudly. This earned him a glare from the yuppie, who put a finger in the ear that wasn’t attached to his Blackberry and proceeded to talk louder in order to drown out Marco’s voice.
“Congratulations, big shot. You just made him more obnoxious.”
Marco shrugged. “I tried.”
“Attention: une intervention des services d’urgence nous oblige à interrompre le service sur la ligne verte, entre les stations Angrignon et Honoré-Beaugrand. Le service devrait reprendre à seize heures. La STM vous remercie de votre compréhension. D’autres messages suivront.”
“Aww, shit. I’m never going to get home on time!”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure Sara will understand. I mean, shit happens, right? And it’s not like you’re going to miss your evening out, it’ll just be delayed for a bit.”
“Yeah, but I hadn’t planned on arriving stressed out of my mind and rushed because the damned metro broke down.”
“Technically the metro didn’t break down,” the punk kid pointed out. “Someone committed suicide and they shut down the metro on purpose.”
“You don’t know that someone committed suicide,” Michaela insisted, though somewhat lamely at this point, but no one seemed inclined to argue the point with her.
The girl who’d been asleep in the seat across from them was awake now, looking blearily about her. “Uh, excuse me?” she said a bit diffidently. “Did you catch how long it would be before the metro starts up again?”
“About half an hour,” Paul answered.
The girl checked her watch, then pursed her lips. “Thanks.”
Paul sighed. “I suppose I can kiss my class goodbye. It started at three.”
“Is attendance mandatory?”
“No, but it’s a hard class, and I didn’t want to miss the lecture today. By the time we get out of here it’ll be two-thirds over, if I’m lucky.”
Michaela shrugged. “My cat is going to pissed off that I’m late, but otherwise, I have no place to be. Don’t fret, Paul: maybe today is your lucky day.”
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no subject
Date: 2006-11-10 06:59 am (UTC)For when you clean this up, eventually:
She shook the thought away. There was no reason for such morbid thoughts. The paramedics were probably already on the scene helping whatever unfortunate soul had tried to end their life, and the power would be restored to the track within the next hour or so. There was more than enough air to last until then. No need whatsoever to feel claustrophobic.
“Mickey, you okay?” Marco was looking at her curiously, his brow furrowed in concern.
She looked up at him, startled, and realised that she had been clutching her purse so hard that her knuckles had turned white. She laughed a bit shakily. “Yeah. It’s stupid. Just feeling a bit claustrophobic all of a sudden. I’ll be fine in a minute. For someone who works in constant crisis situations in a cubicle, I’m awfully jumpy,” she joked lamely.
Claustrophobia is a word that is difficult to repeat in such a short space without drawing notice. I don't think the first eference is necesary in view of the second.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-15 04:17 am (UTC)BTW,
no subject
Date: 2006-11-15 04:20 am (UTC)I didn't even realize you were reading! *bounces excitedly*
I'm glad you're finding the reading compelling, and thanks for the cleanup suggestion. When December rolls around, I'm going to be attacking this puppy with a giant blue pen.