Better luck next time
Next time you’re rushing home, spurred on by that Netflix series you didn’t quite gobble up the night before, take a minute to look around. Who’s sitting next to you?
Have you ever sparked a conversation with a stranger, only for it to finish without time to tie the knot at the end? Next time you’re rushing home, spurred on by that Netflix series you didn’t quite gobble up the night before, take a minute to look around. Who’s sitting next to you?
She’s running, striding up the stairs two at a time. There’s a train about to leave, and I assume that’s the one she’s got to catch; the whistle blows, and now the doors are beeping. To her, I imagine those beeps sound like a high-pitched ‘hurry, hurry, hurry.’
Her pass is faulty, or there’s no money left on it. She's jumping the gate. Now she’s really going for it. But it’s unnecessary, the doors are already closed, and all she can do is watch the faces of those crammed inside slide away from her, heading to wherever she wants to be. The chase really took it out of her. Each exhale's a new cloud, and every inhale's life support. Maybe she’s not the running type. For a few seconds, she’s doing what they all do, checking the board for the next ride out, typing frantically on her phone and pacing the few metres surrounding her. I’m watching her, of course. Otherwise, I wouldn’t know any of this. But it’s not until she slips her phone back into her pocket that she notices me. There’s a pause on her face. She’s a loading video, waiting for enough data to continue. It’s only a few seconds before a signal finds her, and she’s moving again, this time towards me.
“Mind if I sit here?” she asks, already on her way down.
“Of course,” there’s another pause, but this time not from her. I’m wondering whether or not I want to talk. Her phone’s in her hands again, but only for comfort. “You almost made it,” I say.
“Sorry what?”
“I said, you almost made it. Maybe if your card had worked, you might have.”
“Yes, I know. Usually, I fill it up enough for both ways. But this morning, I was in a rush.”
“That’s a hell of a day. Rushing from start to finish.”
“You could say that.”
“You jumped the gate pretty well.”
“Ha, you think? I’ve never done that before. I guess there’s a first time for everything.” She says and sends her phone screen to black. I’ve won her attention. “Have you done it before?”
“When I was younger. Nowadays, I try not to rush around, so I’ve had no need to.”
“Sounds like a good life.”
“That’s up for interpretation. But it’s certainly not…” What’s the word I’m looking for? Bad? No, that’s not it. There are certainly lots of bad things left. Boring? That doesn’t work either; I mean I’m here, aren’t I? “Predictable.” I say, settling.
“Sounds cryptic. What’s the most unpredictable thing you did today?”
“Again, it’s a matter of perspective.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, if I’m an avid pole vaulter, then not pole vaulting might be unpredictable.”
“And are you?”
“A pole vaulter? Do I look like one?” I say, looking down at the three small tires hugging my stomach.
“You never know these days. Most people can’t guess what I do.”
“Is that true?” I ask, gearing myself up to have a go. She’s wearing knee-high boots with little silver tips, and her hair's long but mostly hidden under a beanie. A gold necklace hangs from her collar, caught between stray hairs. Her face is pretty but plain and natural.
“So,” she says. I’ve been looking at her for too long, and still, I have no idea.
“A firefighter?”
“No.”
“Close?”
“About as close as I am to the train I’m supposed to be on.” Funny.
“A comedian.”
“You’re sailing into the distance.”
“A marine biologist?”
“You know we live in a landlocked country, right?”
“But is it closer than a comedian?”
“That’s a matter of perspective.”
“A yoga instructor?” I say but don’t believe. She doesn’t smell like incense, nor is she in her uniform of tie-dye.
“I can’t even touch my toes.”
“A professor?”
“Of what?”
“Secrecy? Hurdling? Marine biology?”
“I’m not a professor of anything. Technically anyway.”
“This is hard enough. Don’t bring technicalities into it.”
“Fair enough. But I’m neither a professor of secrecy, hurdling, nor marine biology. You better start thinking. The next train's almost here.”
I shouldn’t be, but suddenly I’m a little desperate. If there’s one thing I hate more than anything, it’s not knowing. If she gets on a train without telling me, she’ll be stuck with me, and I haven't had a chance to discover whether or not that's a good thing. She’ll sit in my brain on a bench like the one we’re on now, repeating the same answer to my thoughts. No, no, no.
“You’re a train driver. That’s why you ran so hard for the train you missed?”
“Okay, but in that case, who’s driving the train?”
“I don’t mean… Am I right, though?”
“No."
The train's pulling in now, and she’s arranging her things to make a swift exit.
“Banker, bartender, barista…”
“Boring.”
“Doctor, flight attendant, pilot?”
“Oooh, you’re getting close, but no.” She's standing up.
“Diplomat, scientist, engineer?”
“You give me too much credit… Anyway, I have to go. It’s a shame you ran out of time.” She says, turning and walking away. Her phone’s back in her hand. I try to follow her as she moves through the carriage, but it’s seven pm, and every inch of it is covered in bodies.
There’s a whistle and beeping, and then like the train she missed, the sea of faces slides into the distance. I decide to do the same and board my train heading in the opposite direction. My phone buzzes in my pocket. There’s one new message, and the number's withheld.
Better luck next time.
See you in the same place in a week(ish).
Love, Luke.