The Train Man

I wait in the icy station, solitary with no one around to affect my thoughts. The station is in a village and it feels old, I stand there wondering how many people have passed through here, how many last goodbyes or first hellos. It’s late on in the evening; all the shutters are down and there’s a sick yellow light coming from the waiting room that isn’t fulfilling its purpose. It’s empty… it’s like looking into a window of a museum occupied by relics of a bygone age of train travel. It definitely needs an upgrade. I think to myself that it would make a great photo, and then the silent air was broken by local revelers. Burly men with fermentation running rife through their veins, going back in time…I can almost hear the beating of chests. I smile. It reminds me of coming from a small place, though I never have or never will never be one of them. I’m a traveler, I feel like I will always be on the move. Not much of a settler.

I embark the train choosing the door furthest away from the revelers…but alas…sods law means that of course they all decide to come into the same carriage as me. I bring out a book, escape to another world and manage to shut them all out of my brain. They disembark at the next stop and the carriage is silent, apart from the steady duh-dum duh-dum duh-dum of the tracks.

Then a phone goes off, I had no idea anyone else was there but a curly haired man in his late forties replaced the revelers of before. He looked tired as he was speaking. I couldn’t help but eavesdrop. From what I gathered of the conversation to ‘Gareth’ was that something must have not been completed at ‘the site’. All sorts of things were running through my head as to what ‘the site’ was; but I continued to listen. The man seemed to be a pathetic character, not in a horrible way, more in the fact I felt sorry for him. This person higher above him on the proverbial food chain was prolonging his plight more than I think was necessary. The man came up with ways to fix the problem, even going back to work at the late hour, but in the end it resolved to ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then’.

As he put his phone away he mouthed angry words that I couldn’t make out and bashed his bag in frustration. There was a look in his eye of a sort of longing and sadness. The train came to a halt. As we were lining up to get off I was behind him, I wanted to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and ask if he was ok, but I think that years of cultural influence refrained me from doing so. Thinking back, I wish I had done because sometimes you need a stranger’s ear, a distant reassurance. It gives you a sort of freedom of emotion.

I enjoy these little snapshots of people’s lives; I think I just enjoy observing. I wonder what happened to the man? I will never know but I think there’s a beauty in that.