Different Paths
My sister and I have lived together for more than seven years. We take the same journey to the tube from our home. Door-to-door, it takes no more than ten minutes.
I listen to music on the way. I walk quite quickly, so I try and give other people space as I overtake. I’m six foot seven and not in the business of startling people. That happens enough already.
I stand in my usual spot on the platform. Seats are a rare commodity, so I’m focusing on finding a place in the corridor. If I get caught in the curvature of the train, I won’t be able to stand up straight. I might get neck ache or find myself breathing directly into a passenger’s face. Ideally, I’ll stand between the rows of seats, holding onto either rail. Occasionally I get claustrophobic and experience a mild degree of panic. Otherwise, it’s usually fine.
It’s the same on the reverse journey, though spaces in the centre are harder to come by. I bite the bullet and hope that someone takes pity and offers to swap places. Some do, others don’t. I extend my frame when the tube doors open, ducking when they close to avoid my head getting stuck. I notice a few laughs.
Regardless of what time of day it is, I’ll walk home. I put my headphones on and am more conscious of giving people room as I pass. When I do, I increase speed, trying to show that I have a place to go. The road is well lit, but I know that my shadow looms large. I might take the opportunity to call a friend or relative to pass the time. I plan what I’m going to cook.
My sister doesn’t like to walk home from the tube, so she’ll usually take the bus, though events often prevent her from doing so. Regardless of which option she takes, she’ll call our mum, should anything happen. If she walks, she’ll have keys in her hand, the sharpest ready in case a man attacks her.
Sometimes we walk to the tube together. There are horns and yelling from the road. It’s pretty startling, and I nearly drop my phone. Drivers are lowering their windows and shouting at us. What’s going on? I ask. It happens again, and it’s obvious they’re yelling at my sister. Does this happen a lot? Yep, she says.
She likes to wear earphones on the tube, though not for the same reasons as me. They are a layer of protection, a signal for others to leave her be. That doesn’t stop some people from removing them and talking to her. They tell her off sometimes for not smiling or welcoming their advances. Men will put their arm around her when she’s sitting down. She’ll get off a few stops early or swap carriages if she’s uncomfortable.
She prefers the bus. I would too, but I feel you’re more likely to be late, so I stick to the underground. There’s not much legroom, either.
A man once sat on the row behind my sister despite the top deck being mostly empty. She heard some strange noises and turned her head. She saw he was masturbating, so she ran off the bus.
We usually visit family every couple of months or so. There’s a short walk through a park on the way to a parent. I take that route whenever I return, day or night, but they don’t like my sister doing the same. She doesn’t think it should be any different for her. If something happens, it’s not her fault.
I agree, but I worry when she heads out after dark. One weekday evening I asked her not to — I knew I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t say anything. I doubt she thinks twice when I leave home.
August will mark eight years of living together. Our experiences have been vastly different. It doesn’t seem all that fair to me, when I think about it.
