Please Stand Behind the Yellow Line Until the Train Comes to a Complete Stop Before...Fainting?!

“The 8:06 to downtown, the 8:06 to downtown…” floated in repetition through my mind as I stood on the middle platform waiting for the train to come whizzing in to the station. While sweating through my “first day of work” outfit that I had laid out the night before, I contemplated bolting. I considered running away to the library and reading all day, not for fear of my first day of work but fear of the train that was pulling into the station.

I had taken the notoriously packed commuter trains before and I thought I was a tough enough Chicagoan (almost-Chicagoan) who could handle it. That sunny July morning though, every inch of me was shaking with nerves.

I don’t like being in enclosed spaces where I feel I can’t leave; trains, planes, traffic jams, elevators etc. But, this job, this really great job, was only reachable to me by train commute so there I was getting on that train.

After arriving early to the station I waited under the sun as herds of people joined me on the platform. The mass of humanity reminded me of the groups of antelopes I had seen in elementary school textbooks. Except, these antelopes were holding coffee cups.

The urge to run was so strong when the train began to arrive, but I couldn’t just not board a train that I had been waiting for. So, with a deep breath I said a prayer and climbed aboard.

Images of Japanese subways filled my mind as I looked at the overwhelmingly crowded car. I seemed to be the only one even shocked by this. I knew it was going to be full but this was oh so different.

As I leaned on the metal staircase that led up to the upper seats, I felt the heat of someone standing behind me and someone standing in front me. As always, I scanned the train for someone who looked like a mom. “Just in case,” I thought, "Just in case something bad happens." 

After finding multiple bob haircuts and reading glasses, I noticed two girls from high school. One of the girls was standing adjacently to me. Of the two of them, the girl closest to me was the one I knew the least, but her presence become a quick bout of comfort as my face began to heat.

In all my double-checking of the train schedule it didn’t dawn on me that express trains, like the one I was on, skip all the stations from mine to the city. Even though downtown was only 20 minutes away I felt the heavy feeling I felt so many times before—stuck.

Hot cheeks, like I had in that moment, were the first signs of a panic attack. Next, my heart started racing, my legs got wobbly, and then my vision got blurry. Oh no. Just like I had repeated which train I was getting on earlier, I now repeated to myself, “You’re not gonna faint, you’re not gonna faint…” as the train scooted along the rails.

As my heart continued to race, I knew fainting wasn’t a real possibility, but standing in that hot and packed train made it feel real. Music was too much stimulation and I couldn’t reach out to my backpack to get my book. In desperation, I pulled up Instagram but it wouldn’t load—oh no.

I glanced over to the girl from high school and opened my mouth only to shut it again. The train was silent apart from a few snores, but talking is one of the only things that calms me in panic attacks of this caliber.

The girl from high school was reading a book that I loved and I saw my opening. In a whisper, I reached out asking her if she liked the book. She had already given me the polite Midwestern smile and wave on the platform so I knew she knew I was on the train with her. She whispered back, “Yea, it’s really good!”

I thought “Yes! Maybe she’ll chat with me.”

“Where are you working?” I asked, she told me but I didn’t quite catch it. I nodded enthusiastically to demonstrate I was excited for her.

“How about you?” She said, book still open in her hands.

“I’m a journalist.”

“That’s so cool!” She said returning to her book not wanting to chat anymore.

I checked the clock, still fifteen minutes to go before the train pulled into the station. Anxiety was racing in my blood but determination was now coursing with it.

I stared at the people around me, each of them tired but unscathed by the commute. If they could do it, I could do it, right?

Pressing myself up against the metal staircase I put on the playlist I had made especially for this day. I the counted minutes while staring at the pregnant lady in front of me who was inexplicably holding a Juul and breathed.

When the train pulled into the dark and oppressively humid station, I followed the herd off the train and walked with anxious speed to my office.

I did it. I had taken the first train in my long road of my journalistic career.

I felt the need to toss my beret in the air, thinking I’ll make it after all like Mary Tyler Moore. Instead, I bought an iced coffee and walked into the office doe-eyed.

Since that day I have transferred to taking a 7 am train that goes to each station on the way to the city. I always get a seat and read a few chapters.

I have even made a friend. We’ve never spoken but understand each other. She sits next to me each day.

Lilith at Starbucks as memorized my order (Grande iced coffee, no classic, with a splash of 2%), and I’ve written and published four articles.

I always stand behind the yellow line until the train comes to a complete stop before…not fainting but…living.