One Stop Before

She was wearing the brightest, orange jacket I’ve ever seen. Brighter than one of those reflective vests worn by construction workers spotted on the side of the highway or road. It was painfully bright and oddly shaped. A single-width puffer jacket with roughly 16 crevasses that started just under her armpits and stopped at the end to her shins. It had no hood so its only purpose was to keep most of the upper and at least 75 percent of the lower extremities warm while acting as an unintentional traffic deterrent.

“Who would buy that intentionally?” I thought to myself.

This poor woman was in dangerous proximity to my silent judgement – I could see her in the reflection of the plexiglass sitting three rows behind me. She was sitting in the aisle seat with her bags on the interior and the right side of her body leaning just enough that her head was sticking out into the aisle.

“Does she know how uncomfortable it looks?” my judgmental mind continued.

She got on at the Ferry Avenue stop and off at 8th & Market. I stayed on for one more stop, going my usual route to the office. I could not stop thinking about that orange jacket.

About a week goes by, and there she is again. Same day. Roughly the same time. Same train car. Same jacket. Same seat. This time, I’m sitting right behind her.

It looks puffier and brighter up close. The giant marshmallow was almost too big for her seemingly petite frame and it engulfed her even more when she sat down. All I wanted to do was poke one of the etched pillows in her jacket. I didn’t let my intrusive thoughts win.

She gets off at 8th & Market and I don’t wait for the next stop. I get off too.

Don’t worry. I didn’t go out of my way to follow her. 8th & Market is about the same distance from my office. Unless she walked in a different direction. Spoiler: She didn’t.

I kept my distance. After all, I’ve seen plenty of cop shows to know to stay as far back as possibly without risking detection from who you’re tailing. I was about three people behind her on the steps. Watching her walk up was also painful. The jacket was so long, it restricted her leg movement. For every step, she swung her stiff leg in a circular motion to clear the riser and make it onto the tread. It was less of a waddle and more of a skit out of a silent film (minus the four-piece tuxedo, top hat and wooden cane).

I’m still following her through the pedestrian concourse, hoping she doesn’t get onto the Broad Street Line. She doesn’t. We make it up to street level, and she heads toward Chestnut. It’s still on my way to work, so I “follow.” All the while, the swishing of her jacket rattles my teeth and makes my eyes twitch. That is one of the reasons puffer jackets are banned from my winter wardrobe. Between the noise and the vibrant color of her jacket, I would be in sensory overload.

We keep walking past Sansom Street and make a left onto Walnut. We’re still heading toward my office but I had a feeling she was about to go off the route. We walk about a half a block before I see her walk past my office building and she keeps walking.

I have a decision to make. Do I end it here? Or do I keep following her? Maybe another block or two.

They say curiosity kills the cat but what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. I think my chances are 50/50 and it might go in my favor.

Continuing down Walnut Street, she then turns onto 4th. Guess where I go? Down 4th. I’m still a decent distance behind her but that coat she’s wearing is like a radar beacon blaring its light on a responder.

There’s an old Catholic Church on 4th. She goes in it and I follow. It’s not Sunday but the pews are packed. It’s standing room only. All I see are backs of heads. I scan the room and she’s gone. I walk to find a seat and as I pass a few of the pews I notice a distinct similarity between the woman I was following to the others in the church. Resting on their laps or stuffed behind their lower backs and the seat of the pew, were bright orange puffer jackets.

My eyes grew big. My heart was racing and I could taste whatever incense they lit burning in my lungs.

“What did I just walk into?” I thought to myself. I didn’t know whether to feel frightened, mildly disturbed or disappointed in so many strangers due to their poor taste in jackets.

No one looked up as I stood in the middle aisle, standing out like a sore thumb in a room of sore thumbs. Their gaze was fixated at the dais so I didn’t think they would notice if I turned to leave. I didn’t have time to take my next breath when a familiar woman walked up to the dais. With her hands resting on the wooden podium, the flock of bright orange wearing parishioners turned their gaze toward me in unison.

I continued to stare at the woman, determined to remember how I knew her petite stature. Then, I saw the bright orange coat resting on the chair behind her.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” said the woman from the train.

To be continued….

---

Ready for part 2? It’s ready for you! Check it out now.