Compassion

First day at work on a new train. Huey is the conductor. I like Hubert. We begin our day at 3:30 with a forty mile taxi ride from Mimico to Oshawa. The ride takes about an hour. I dozed most of the way. 3:30, Ms J. What an ungodly hour to begin the day!

At Oshawa, we found our train and prepared it for departure. As I strolled along the platform toward the operating end of the train, I noticed a solitary figure sitting on a bench bathed in the harsh light of overhead lamps. As I approached him, he spoke to me.

“Are you a crew member on this train?”

I thought it was an odd question until I noticed the photo I.D. card he was wearing.

“B*****dier Observer”

I decided to ignore him as I found my key and opened a door on the train.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Are you the engineer?”

“Maybe,” I said and stepped up into the train.

He was suddenly beside me with his hand out.

“My name’s Richard. I’m the observer today.”

Who’s here to take my job, I thought, although I didn’t say it. Instead, I turned and walked away from him and left him standing there with his arm extended.

“I’m thrilled, Richard,” I said with all the smarmy sarcasm I could muster. “I’m fucking elated.”

And so began a morning that was stressful and difficult and emotionally painful for both of us. There was little, if any conversation. I twisted and squirmed in my own misery and pulled my righteous indignation around me like the red velvet robe of a monarch.

I thought, Who the hell is this clown? He’s here to watch me, to learn how to do my job so he can take it from me. We’ve held these jobs for forty years and I’m not about to give it up to someone who’s not even a railroader. These people know nothing about trains, or about tradition, or history. They don’t even care. Well I do, dammit. I care. Screw him. Screw all of them. They have no right to work these jobs. They’re OUR jobs.

And on and on and on.

I worked hard at keeping my thoughts negative, Ms J, because every time I stopped, my conscience allowed a few rays of compassion to seep in. And I didn’t want that. I wanted to hate this guy, to resent him. And so I went to war against my conscience and against Truth, and stayed quiet and sullen all morning. By the time the afternoon arrived, I was losing the battle.

He was just a man, an innocent man who wanted nothing more than to earn a living. He hadn’t come to “take my job.” It wasn’t a malicious or spiteful act, Ms Journal. He was simply a man who needed a job. It must be hard for him. He probably gets the same cold shoulder from every crew he meets. I glanced over at him and watched as he studied a sheet of paper, furrowing his brow and concentrating as though he intended to memorise its contents verbatim. I had behaved badly. I felt ashamed of myself. I owed him an apology.

“Richard?” I said softly.

He didn’t raise his eyes but continued to study his paper.

“Yeah?”

I hoped suddenly that he wouldn’t look at me because I really felt as though I wanted to cry. My eyes filled and a tear rolled silently down my cheek. I wiped it away quickly and shook my head. Stupid tears. Why does this happen to me? Why must I cry like a helpless woman?

I took a breath and plunged in.

“I’m sorry for the way I treated you this morning. It’s really a difficult time for us. Both of us. All of us. We’re scared, Richard. We’re all just really scared. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

He said he understood and thanked me for being honest with him. We began slowly to talk about ourselves and to share our feelings. I learned he was recently divorced. He is the father of a six-year-old girl and loves her very much. He understands the fear that is intrinsic in major Life transitions. Change is painful. We’ve both known our share of suffering.

I found compassion for this fellow, Ms J. In listening to his story and learning of his hopes and fears and struggles, my heart was laid open and I found compassion. Through compassion, a day that began badly was saved and transformed into something good and pure and right.

I wonder if compassion might somehow transform me in the same way, and I wonder if that change might become permanent?

***