A Short Story — A little help, please

As the train pulled into the station, Alice felt a wave of exhaustion. This was not anything new; she’d had a baby boy3 months earlier and her life was a lesson in tiredness. The immense joy she felt looking into his eyes was coupled by a weariness for which she could have never prepared. The city she lived in, a vibrant hive of culture and opportunity years before, was now a maze to be traversed in search of a better step count and a tamper to her constant mom-guilt.

It was quiet as Alice manoeuvred her stroller onto the platform. Rush hour had come and gone from the commuter station near her home. Counterintuitively, she missed the bustling crowds and now dreaded the off-hours. Being alone on a quiet platform held less mystique now, and all she just wanted was to get home and feed her rustling baby. A few people left the train in carriages behind her as she made her way through the familiar tunnels to the exit.

Alice paused as she approached the stairs leading to the ticketing barriers She could smell the hint of Autumn air through the station’s musk and longed to get out of the dark, artificially lit tunnel. She had a choice, one she made regularly. Did she use up her leftover strength to awkwardly carry her stroller up the stairs, or did she wait for some good Samaritan to assist her? She opted for speed and bent over to scoop up the baby carriage, only to feel a sharp pain in her lower back that stopped her short. She mumbled a few choice words and saw her son staring back at her, lovingly oblivious to the world outside of his mother.

So she waited, hoping a passerby would see her distress and lend a helping hand. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a young man approaching. He was moving quickly and with the purpose she remembered having when a shift ended and she wanted to hurry home. She tried to catch his eyes to signal her need, and for a brief moment he met her gaze. But, as with most interactions with strangers in the city, he looked away from her, passed the scene, and hustled up the stairs.

Alice sighed and made a silent promise that she’d never leave a mother in need ever again and hoped some almighty power would present her with some help. It was then that her son started to cry. He was hungry and could smell his mother’s milk. As he cried, she felt her own weariness win. Using what energy she had left, she scooped him up and kissed him on the forehead, then settled down, pulled up her shirt and fed him. Looking around her surroundings, she now prayed no one would meander down the corridor and see her. As she thought it, she heard another train pull into the station.

Steve was a mix of drained and energetic. This odd combination was a common state for him; opening shifts at the coffee shop meant a cruel 4am alarm but as many espressos as he needed. As he ventured home, he set his music to a volume aimed at keeping him awake on the train, played on his phone for a while and longed for a nap.

It was quiet as the train pulled into the station, with only a few people traipsing on the platform. Steve sped his walk up to a canter and made his way to the exit. As he approached the stairs, he saw a woman standing there with a stroller. Steve was a seasoned professional at this city; he tried his best to avoid strangers around trains. You were never sure what state someone was in, so it was wise to keep to yourself and move. This woman looked very tired, even from afar, which triggered something in Steve. She’d probably ask him for money, having used this highly trafficked location during the rush hour just gone.

Steve caught her gaze and instinct took over. He sped up slightly, passed the woman, and took the stairs two-at-a-time to avoid the awkward interaction, hoping that no one else would fall prey to her scheme. For a brief moment he felt a care for the other travellers and thought to tell the staff about the begging woman, but the station attendant was speaking to someone at the ticketing machine. It felt too unimportant to wait and tattle on this woman, so he carried on.

Steve arrived at his house 1 minute earlier than if he had stopped at any point on the journey. It felt silly to know that, but he’d stomped on this path enough times to know that it usually took eleven minutes from the train to his house. Happy with himself, he dropped his bag and jacket at the entrance, kicked off his shoes and pulled a beer out of the fridge. Though it was only late morning, he’d be up for ages and felt he deserved a few sips to see him off.

Gingerly, he sat on his couch, his lower back and legs stiff from standing all morning. As he sipped his beer, he mindlessly flicked open his social media to scroll through his feed of content, most of which was from people he didn’t know but had been served by the algorithm. He watched a story about the upcoming election, another story from a popular podcast he listened to, another about latte art, and one about a woman breastfeeding in a train station. He felt a flare of annoyance at the last video; people were more inclined to pull out their phones and film this intimate moment of someone in need rather than help.

He watched the video finish with a station attendant coming to the woman’s aid, and he quickly flicked to the next video, his dopamine hit absorbed. A few minutes later, with his beer half finished, Steve drifted asleep as his phone screen played a scene from a movie he’d watched years ago, then dimmed from inactivity.