my throat, another squeezing my lungs. I recoil back from the machines, Sam’s at my side. I look at him. I’m lost for words.
‘We’ve got to go through there Dom.’
‘I can’t breathe near there.’
‘But it’s the only way. I don’t want to go through either’
‘Okay, let's try again.’
We approach, Sam keeps back, I’m almost at the machine, almost there. A rumble, a deep rumble rising from the other side of the barriers, the rumble of machinery, grinding, moving like clockwork. The mechanics of mankind working deep below the surface. I can’t breathe, the whole world slows around me, blurring, pinpointing into the distance. Sounds merging into one mess, underpinned by the constant rumble. Don’t go through, it’ll be the end if you go through. Retreat back to Sam.
‘I can’t do it,’ I say quickly.
He looks from the barriers to me. ‘I know, I can’t do it either.’
We look around. No other ways of escape. The Underground and the subway, both the same evil but only one leading the way towards home, the other to the past. Neither open to us, our bodies at a loss to approach either. The final exit of the station opens out into open air. A location of nothing, no ways of walking home, we could get the bus but that would be worse than a train. Underground there is no scenery to distract, but on a bus, well, so many buildings, sights to distract, confuse. We know to get on one will be a mistake, they’re as crowded as the trains will be. Queues everywhere, people waiting to be moved at a pace decided for them.
‘We need food,’ Sam says as he looks around.
‘But we’ve already tried that.’
‘No, I mean proper food like a sandwich or something.’
Good idea. ‘One problem though.’
‘What's that?’
‘We don't have any money.’
‘Shit!’
That’s another one of our rules, no money, no phones, no items of any worth. We take nothing that is of importance, nothing that if lost would cause concern. It’s worked so far, it’s prevented us from spending on items we don’t need, from buying anymore drugs or alcohol, prevented us from ending up in situations where we could put ourselves in danger. Now however our meagre carryings of loose change are insufficient to buy the food we think will help.
So, after our scout around the station, the options remain pathetically the same. Options? More like the one option, there’s no going anywhere but into the Underground. That’s the only exit we must take to ensure this trip doesn’t descend any further into the pits of despair. The longer we leave it the worse it’s going to get. Re-enter the station, march to the barriers and cross. As simple as that. In theory.
There’s a man in the station, he’s made us stop on our important march, drawn our attention away from the task at hand. Surely our eyes are deceiving us, this must be a vision brought about by the mushrooms residing within our stomachs. Vision or not, there he stands. I have no clue as to why or what he is doing, it’s just him that has caught my eye. Stood there dressed from head to toe in pink, not a pastel pink, I’m talking florescent pink, the brightest pink I’ve ever seen used in such great quantities. He’s just there and everyone else seems totally oblivious to him, just walking past without a second glance, as though he is nothing more than a flamboyant ghost only visible to our eyes. Push forward, snatch our eyes away from him and get back to what we were doing. Which was?
A rumble from nowhere, the deep mechanical grinding from deep below, the cogs of the Earth echoing up and out through the barriers. That’s where we were headed. I look at Sam, my expression mirrored on his own. Fear. We walk through those passages without a single care virtually every time we run around London, yet now they scare us, scare us right to our core, shaking our foundations. I know what this fear is born out of, I know why it rises within us, it’s the fear of getting trapped, another afternoon off our faces and trapped underground, trapped deep within the surface of our planet.
We wanted this to be special, the two of us having a good day and here we stand surrounded by so many people, so many faces, so many possibilities. We wanted to be the centre of our attentions but once again we’re orbiting at the far ends of a universe. Here in these conditions we could be blown out of our joint orbits and spend the next few hours disconnected and distant.
I can’t breathe, phantom hands around my neck. The spectres of memories walked here squeezing at my lungs, preventing me from moving forward, forcing me to stay away, to go no further. Maybe that’s why everything seems to be forcing us to stay in the station, maybe that’s the only place where we will be safe, the sanctuary for this trip. There’s no way we can sit for hours on a station, it’s boring, looks suspicious, uncomfortable and still doesn’t deal with the need to be on our own.
Think, focus, stay calm. Sam’s standing close behind me, touching, comforting. We need to push on, to be as far away from here as possible, to try and prevent this from escalating, prevent ourselves from detours. Ignore the pressure, I’m not going to drop dead as soon as I cross over, there’s no logical reason for it, it’s irrational. Breathe. Pull the travel card from the pocket. It’s getting hotter, like I’m approaching the entrance to Hell. Push the ticket into the machine. So much noise, mechanical, constant. The barriers open. Don’t move forward. Stay out. Grab the ticket and run through.
Air. Cool air rushing into my lungs. I can breathe, the pressure has gone. Freedom. It feels like I’ve just scaled the fence of a death camp, and now undetected on the other side I can run and finish the escape. Sam at my side we continue our journey down into the depths of the Earth. Find a platform, sit and wait. When we arrive at the platform it is empty, but within seconds it fills up. People stalking us, crowds surrounding us with their noise, determined to allow Sam and I no time to ourselves. I’m sat on a bench staring at a poster, its image moving, swaying, living. A printed two dimensional world coexisting with ours, a portal to the other side. Focus, allow that hope of another world to sweep over you, if they can survive down here then so can we. Sit, watch, hope, pray. Pray for no delays, no train failures, no closed stations. Hope that the darkness doesn’t descend, that you don’t stray into another dimension. Keep yourself purely grounded in the real world.
Rumble, gust of wind, screech of brakes. The train’s arrived, we climb on. Nowhere to sit, crowded, everyone breaching everyone’s space, all trespassers on another’s private zone. Don’t think about it, just stand near Sam and wait. Block everything out. Thumb scratching the middle finger. My eyes open, I’m slumped against the train’s doors, one arm holding the weight of my body. I have space, everyone squashing together tighter so they can keep their distance from the druggy. Disapproving glares. My eyes flick to the window by my head, let them stare, I don’t give a shit what they think or do, I just want to disappear until I arrive home. Just leave me alone. Think, no don’t think, focus on the blackness through the glass. Nothing is going to happen.
Sam snatches away from me. Ripping himself free from the fingers that my hand had placed gently against him. I look at him, confusion on my face.
‘Stop touching me,’ he snaps. ‘You always grip onto my clothing. You’re dragging me down.’
I don’t know what to say, my lips can’t word the thoughts trying to make sense in my head. I look down at my hand. He broke a connection. He pulled himself away from me. Blamed me for bringing him down.
‘And stand up properly,’ he continues. ‘You look like a fucking smack-head.’
Why thank you. I don’t adjust myself. I don’t fucking care what I look like, at least people are keeping their distance. I’m cocooned in my own bubble and if Sam wants to pull away then let him, let him fight his demons on his own. There’s too much noise, too many sounds to focus on, and to make all this worse, there’s a fucking baby crying, caterwauling loudly through the carriage. Why won’t it fucking shut up? I want to scream, to cr
y, to just curl up on the floor and be alone. Why is this journey taking so long? Dragging on and on, people not leaving at any station we pass through. Why is it when you want a quiet moment one never raises its head above the surface? Silence unable to compete with noise, out shadowed and discarded by pointless mumbles and laughter. Why won’t you all shut up? Why doesn’t that mother shut her baby up? Stick a dummy in its mouth and be done with it.
‘We’re getting off.’ Sam’s voice.
‘Why?’
‘I can’t stand being on this train any longer. It’s suffocating me.’
‘Just as long as we don’t get stuck underground all night, okay?’
‘We’ll change at Warren Street for the Victoria line, we’ll be home in no time whatsoever.’
Hope, salvation, freedom. Once again all those lay at Warren Street.
III
Open air, freedom, never been so happy to see Highbury and Islington. We got here without fault or detour, didn’t allow any visions to distract us. Sat on a train we talked, talked to keep our minds off it all, the most we’ve ever talked whilst being on a train on mushrooms. Sat eating crisps, attempting to eat them at least. Helping each other, taking our minds off everything, making ourselves focus only on each other. What a thing to take my mind of everything, to