“Hold the doors” I yell as I run across the tracks to catch the train. I can’t seem to wake up on time since daylight savings sprung the clocks forward one hour. I’m a mess. My hair looks like it had attempted to be a bun but failed miserably. My coffee is spilling from the sides of the cup as I speed walk to the train.  The train is delayed and waiting for me to board. As I run through the doors I smile apologetically to the conductor. I try to use my bright blue eyes for flirtatious effect so he is not overly angry with me for the hold up. He smiles back. One point for me this extremely early morning. I pick my favorite seat on the practically empty train and put my coffee down on the floor while I make myself comfortable. As the train takes off, there is a slight jerk before it accelerates.  In slow motion I watch my coffee topple over and start to leak through the rows of seats in front and behind. Great job, Sophie, you did it again I say to myself. My clumsy self can never let a day go by without a mishap. I see a few people in the front rows start to stand and shuffle away as they lift their bags from off the floor. I watch mortified as the coffee begins to encompass the entire side of the compartment. Rummaging through my bag, I find some tissues and napkins and pile them up over the spill before it has a chance to do any real damage. When the worst is finally over, I sit and begin to relax.  My morning can only get better from here.  Thirty minutes later and we have finally reached Penn Station. I decide to stay on and wait for the train to clear out.  I want to pack up my now empty coffee cup and stained tissues so nobody notices that I was the one that made the mess.

When the train finally empties I stand up to leave and notice a lady asleep on the seat diagonally behind mine. I suddenly begin to have an awful memory of the last time I fell asleep on the train and woke up to closed doors. Poor lady, I think, I should give her a nudge so she doesn’t find herself trapped on the train.

“Excuse me” ... no answer. “Miss, we’re at Penn Station. I don’t want you to get stuck in here when they close the doors”.  Still no answer.  I try to get a peak at her but she is sitting sideways and her face is practically smashed into the window. I nudge her a bit and realize that she isn’t breathing.  I put my hand by her nose and try to feel for sounds but I feel nothing.  I grab her hand to find a pulse but she’s colder than I expected.

“Help”

“Help”

I run out looking for a conductor and see one by the next cart. “Help, the lady in the cart isn’t breathing”. I grab for my cell phone and start calling 911 as the conductor dispatches for help. I begin to hyperventilate as I realize that I just probably witnessed a death without realizing it.  Now I want to stay and speak to the police but I am already late for work.  This would be my second warning this month, one more and I am on probation. But I am surprisingly drawn to this anonymous lady. Who is she? What happened to her? Did she fall asleep on the train and simply die in her sleep? Does she have a family? Children? Who is the first person they will call to give the news to? I decide that I will stay around and help the police since I am the first witness on the scene and I did find the body.  Naturally it is my responsibility to be here when they arrive. The police and ambulance come down the stairs within a minute.  I show them to the coffee stained cart with the dead lady.

I am told to stand back as the first responders get to the woman and attempt to wake her and feel for her pulse in the same manner that I did. They turn her over and I realize she can’t be any older than me, actually she seems even younger, probably in her late 20s. Her dark brown thick hair is covering her face but I can still visualize it. She has this almost angelic look. Her eyes are closed, and she has mascara on with a perfect black eyeliner and double flick on the wing. She has nude lipstick and slight bronzer applied to her already high cheekbones. She’s almost glowing and I can’t stop staring. It’s 7am now and this young woman that has a full face of makeup is lying dead on the train. Is her makeup on from last night or did she spend so much time this morning applying it? If it was this morning, was it at home or was it on the train? If it was on the train, how long ago did she pass away since the entire ride doesn’t take more than 47 minutes (even if she got on at the first stop)? All these thoughts are running through my mind and I am in shock at myself. How can I be thinking all these things at a time like this? How can I be thinking about when this poor girl applied her makeup instead of freaking out about a dead woman on my 6:12 train to Penn Station. But I can’t help it. My mind races a mile a minute. I want to know more.  I see the officers opening her purse to look for an ID of some sort and her cell phone. I quickly grab my phone and zoom in on the name and picture and snap a quick photo. I can’t help it, I must know more about her.  Suddenly I’m jolted back to reality by the EMT personnel. Yellow police “DO NOT CROSS” tape now barricades the bottom of the stairs preventing people from getting onto the track.  I am now being escorted away and asked for a statement. While I try to concentrate and give my account of the events all I could think is... “did this poor girl know that she would die this morning?"