incident at san andres station, 10:59 a.m.

I like to imagine that something more pleasant happened. Some do-gooder hauling me back by my collar, maybe, or the offset of my bag stopping me an inch shy of the edge. Instead, I was launched forward by the crowd, loose bags of groceries flying through the air. Felt the rush – a summery breeze, grinding steel, and coffee – just before the impact.

I wish, at that moment, that someone yelled my name. Wouldn't have made a difference. Two inches away from steel going ninety miles an hour – who was anyone to save me? It was a dying wish: notice me, notice me, notice me, not the girl with the groceries about to be decimated by a train or the tragedy of a crowded station, but me, Pia –

But the moment ended, and I was gone.

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