May’s mother ushered her one way, closer to the edge of the platform, closer to where the train would come, so she could stand at the yellow line, peer past and around, maybe hoping to see the light of the train, though there was no sound.

Just off to one side, a taller homeless woman had approached the group of friends, her tone urgent, angry.

May didn’t want to stare, and with a lack of people to look at, met the eyes of the man who was the homeless woman’s friend or boyfriend.

She could remember how, the last time she was sick with the flu, she’d longed to be well again so much that she’d promised herself she would cherish the days when she wasn’t sick. She had done the same thing when she had a toothache.

Did the homeless man have days like that? Was his every day like that, filled with longing to not be… that? Was she supposed to be happy she was where she was?

Because she couldn’t. Happiness was by accident only. Happiness was when the tutors got the times wrong and there was a break in the schedule, and Mom just so happened to be busy with something. Or when Mom had just bought the violin and cupboards and fridge were running empty, and Mom messed up the timing on the preheating for the chicken kiev, so it was raw on the first bite, and there had been money only for a dollar burger and side salad.

The homeless man had a bottle in the pocket of his ankle-length jacket, and all she could think was that he was free. Free to make all the bad decisions. Free to dress like that, free to eat whatever, if and when he had the money. She would rather go hungry six days out of seven if it meant eating what she wanted on the seventh.

The shouting got louder, and it got louder because it was closer. Hand at fun-girl’s shirt, the homeless lady drove her toward the edge of the platform. Flailing, reaching out for help, fun-girl ended up pulling at her friend, who was moving forward to help. She groped for May’s mother, of all people.

May’s mother toppled, because she was leaning forward and totally unaware of what was happening in reality.

And in toppling, she pulled May down, because there was no reality where she would let go of May.

All of the emotions that had been brimming inside of May were left standing behind her like a cloud of dust after a cartoon character was whisked away, they had to be, because they were gone in an instant, replaced by the feeling of falling, and then the feeling of pain, as she landed, a few feet down. A springing feeling in one hand, like a sprain or a twist.

“Are you okay?” her mother asked.