Me at 20's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

I had my own car and a job downtown. Every morning I took the train from Oshawa to Union Station, then walked through the underground shops to King and Adelaide. The routine felt like proof I was doing it right. This was what normal people did. They had cars and jobs and commutes. They didn't stand out. The train was packed most mornings. I stood near the doors with my bag pressed against my side, watching other commuters read newspapers or stare at nothing. Some of them wore suits. Some carried briefcases. I tried to match their posture, their blank professional faces. No one looked at me. That felt like success. The underground tunnel stretched from Union Station all the way to my building. I walked past shop windows and benches, past people buying coffee or waiting for someone. The fluorescent lights made everyone look tired. I kept my eyes forward and my steps even. If I walked like I knew where I was going, maybe I looked like I belonged there. But every morning at the elevator, I felt it. The moment when I had to step into the building with everyone else who worked there. The women in good shoes and the men with watches. They all seemed to fit. I pressed the button and waited, trying not to take up too much space near the doors. No one said hello. No one said anything. I told myself that was fine. That silence meant I wasn't doing it wrong.