Train of Thought
I take the blue spearmint chewing gum and study the little man behind his make-shift counter. I haven’t actually ‘looked’ at him in quite a while. On some mornings, I buy little bits and pieces from his little store, perched on the narrow bridge, above the twin-twins, the rapid-rails of human transportation. He’s looking a little older, a little greyer and his head seems to be revealing more and more, of his head.
I turn and sprint, I have to make this 7:32am train. I heard the hiss of the train’s park brakes earlier. I had even caught a glimpse of the train approaching, before I went to get the chewing gum. I love a challenge. My palm squeaks along the railing as I glide down to the platform. The station-guard blows his short, sharp ‘clear’. I jump the last few stairs and run towards the nearest opening to this herding device. The train hisses and releases it’s hold on the doors. The doors show no mercy, forcefully pressing me between their dirty rubber and grabbing my shoe before shutting closed. I squeeze in, next to all sorts of commuters, staring at me, eyes only centimeters away, some sparkling with glee and others squinting in disgust. I hear my thoughts and contemplate the fact that every person in here has these personal and strange, supposedly ‘normal’ thoughts bobbing around their heads too, right now - all their hopes, visions, ideas, concerns, suggestions and plans, all colliding in their minds.
The smell inside the carriage hits me every time – the essence of an automobile workshop with a gentle, vinyl, stale yet perfumed, cross-breeze. Upstairs - the only way to travel. Who is this weirdo in front of me? He’s so slow! I can feel those others climbing the stairs on the opposite, opposing side and taking all the good seats - the window seats on the right and facing forward. I can feel them filling up right now. Man! Hurry up! So slow! I peek up and around, there is seat here at the back on the right, window-side and facing forward. No one seems to have noticed it, yet.
“Excuse me”.
I push past the weird guy and give him a silent nudge on the leg with my briefcase as I pass. I clamber over and through the three occupants already in the six-seater and slide into the worst of the good seats - at the back of the carriage where two seats are facing each other but I’m on the right, window-side and facing forward. Whoah! Just realised this young lady next to me is an absolute honey. I wonder if she’s with that guy next to her. I can’t really see him. Her perfume is a sigh of relief. I can feel my heart radiating throughout my body. I can relax on the train, I’m going somewhere.
The other lady facing me has parked herself over two spaces. That weirdo from the stairs is wandering back over towards us and scanning for a seat. I don’t think he’s ever won a game of musical chairs in his life. My briefcase still hasn’t fully recovered from it’s ‘accidental’ knock and I fear that he might not have fully recovered either. He goes through a series of hand gestures, grunts and facial expressions to negotiate with the lady in front of me as to where, and if, he will sit with ‘us’. He mumbles something and she shifts towards the aisle, leaving a space for the weird guy to sit right in front of me, only a kneecap away.
A kid of about fifteen pops up the stairs in his regulation uniform. He glares around the carriage for a seat and sees nothing, except for the slip of space, aisle-side of the larger woman. All motherly qualities flow from her at once and she requests that the boy have a seat. The boy stands there awkwardly and without the experience to diffuse the situation. He contemplates taking the seat while the weird guy is gradually being pinned, shuffled and pushed into the side wall of the train, suffocating under the squelch of the great, purple sweater.
Her motherly trance overwhelms the schoolboy and he slides his ironed, grey pants in next to her. We are now full, a packed half-dozen.
The wheels of the cabin squeal as they roll along the rails and gently reduce speed. The driver lands the train with near precision at the next station and makes his announcement like a truck-driver on a C.B. radio:
“This stop, Beach Corner”…
“Stand clear, doors closing”
This big bitch is killing me! Why the hell did that little geek sit down anyway? Couldn’t he see that there wasn’t space for even his skinny little arse?
Here I am, on display for the rows of audience members behind me, and I’m being squashed by this great purple elephant.
What a wanker in front of me, a real jack-arse-in-a-box. I saw you before you loser. I watched you get slammed by the doors. Trying to impress someone were you?
Show off! And the way you hit that alligator briefcase of yours into me before - you bastard. I saw you and I’ve seen your type before, of the upstairs persuasion.
I prefer it downstairs, window-side right, facing either way. Nothing beats the heat of summer when I look to the heavens for cotton-candy-short-skirts and slip-on shoes that parade around the platform. Unfortunately, none of those seats, or any seats, were available down there today. When I was turning around to go and look upstairs, I saw this slick pink guy, the one in front of me, who is now eyeing me up and down; he ploughed cheek-bone first into the centre-pole. What a crack-up. The doors pounded shut on him. I saw him, all ruffled in his pink suit, and I knew he was heading upstairs so I spun around the hand-rail just in front of him. I gradually made my way up the stairs, watching all the seats filling up and I decided to catch my breath on the stairs, no rush. I could feel his pet alligator breathing fire, but I was happy to take it slow. I wandered around and there were no other seats. My ears are still ringing from our jam last night. It’s still early. I’m tired. I can’t believe Miss Piggy over here. I can’t even move my arms. One, two, three… she eventually feels my elbow jabbing into her side and turns to me as if to say, “Are you okay”, and I look back with a “What the fuck do you think? You’re killing me here!” expression. She misreads me and quietly sings to herself, “Oh good”, with a chuckle that leaves wobbles on her face. She diverts her attention back to her book and, unfortunately, breaths in. I feel like my upper arm when it’s being squeezed by a doctor’s arm cuff and whooshing bulb pump.
I wonder if this cutie in front of me would date a guy like me? I slide my leg slowly towards hers just to touch, slightly. I would love to paint her, to capture her and display her. I must look a bit ridiculous all squashed and smothered by this purple sweater.
I wonder whether this girl would fall prey to a guy of the Mister Pink variety. I’ve been married twice but she needn’t know. Shit, I forgot to feed the cat, and the fish. My keys! I left them on the couch. Oh man.
“This stop, Bold Head”…
“Stand clear, doors closing”
Please oh mightiness give me the power not to feel bad for irritating the gentleman next to me. He seems so angry now but I just wanted to offer the young boy a seat. He looked so handsome, standing there in his uniform and reminding me so much of, I shouldn’t think about it, not here, not on the train. Oh, help me, please help me, I need your help and guidance. It was nine years yesterday and he could have been, like this boy here, going to school. They may have even been in the same class. His glasses look a little dirty.
“Oh, those glasses could do with a good wiping and I’ve got a good cloth. May I?”
Oh, how cute. He looks a little shy but he hands over his glasses. I give the glasses a sparkling wipe, polishing away all the grime. I wipe the frame clean too and hand them back to him. He looks absolutely delighted.
Oh I pray for this young boy, his family, my family, my family’s family and all of our friends, and every other living creature. Oh greatness, do not judge me harshly. I have so much I appreciate here: my kids, my husband, my family, my job, my friends; all thanks to you. I know you have your grand plan and everything that happens, happens because you want it to happen. Please consider all the good I’ve done, even the little things, like offering this young boy a seat, wiping his glasses, looking after my family, offering my services at work and dedicating myself to my faith, your faith, to ‘you’. I always pay strict attention to your guidelines and help others who don’t to try a little harder. I follow your words and the words of our past, wise, disciples. I know what is right and what is wrong.
I’m quite in the mood for a tasty little treat. Maybe a doughnut. Six? A dozen? No, just one. Oh, I’ll wait and see.
Ooh, my stop is just ahead. Book in the bag, all zipped up, ready to go.
“Excuse me, please”. “Sorry”. “Ooh”. “Thanks”.
Oh! What was…? What? No, it couldn’t have been. I step through the vestibule area towards the door. What a beautiful day.
“This stop, Riverside”…
“Stand clear, doors closing”
Far out. Room to move. I shoot a glance at this strange guy next to me who is also spreading out. He’s taking these short, sharp breaths trying to re-inflate himself. The poor guy was getting majorly squeezed.
Maybe I should leave school and tour the country in a camper-van. I’m old enough, almost. Perhaps that lady with the big knockers, who was sitting next to me before, would tour with me. I think she liked me. She cleaned my glasses, how weird. I couldn’t resist a final touch as she left. She was carefully waddling out and I just wanted to reach out and grab her. I eased my hand down and let it brush her. I hope she didn’t notice.
I really should buy a camper-van and tour. How big were her tits! Massive. Wait till I tell the boys about those purple pillows.
Look at these people here. Two scum-buckets, a pink poser, and this absolute stunner. Her body is tight and her face is beauty queen. I bet she’d be impressed with my sleight-of-hand tricks. I can make things disappear, like that! I practice for hours, I love it.
There’s a spare seat. Jetsson sometimes gets on this train at Riverside. It’s only one stop for him though. I wonder where he is? I still can’t believe his dad’s name is Jet.
I love the rush of a morning grab. Me and Jetsson are masters of deception. It works better with a few more guys. A minimum of two and we can take on the Newsagency near school. It takes one person to distract the attendant and at least one other to collect stock and fulfill orders.
After the final bell, behind the big hill, we have clearance sales: pens, pencils, erasers, markers, highlighters; all half-price. In winter, when we wear our school jackets, we can get calculators, rulers, pencil-cases and almost anything really.
All of us reinvest some of the profits back into the newsagency, buying varying quantities of different types of lollies each time, to avoid suspicion.
I think that’s Jetsson down there, I hope he’s ready.
I grab my bag and take one last look at the babe - a true, natural blonde beauty. I move into the aisle and see everyone looking at me. This guy jumps out of his seat on the other side and knocks me and my backpack into an elderly businessman behind me.
“Sorry”.
I keep moving and feel a little rush of adrenaline as the train stops.
“This stop, Murky Waters”…
“Stand clear, doors closing”
So the little schoolboy is off to school. Then there were four - three men and a lady. Me, Mister Pink, some weird-looking guy and Madam Baywatch. She is just so gorgeous, sitting there quietly enjoying her newspaper.
That boy had a weird presence; I felt it as soon as he squeezed in next to that big lady who was busy indoctrinating herself. There was something hovering behind those circular schoolboy rims, something cunning. I bet he fools his teachers though, with good grades and witty contributions in class. I saw the young fellow glaring at the woman in the purple sweater. He was captivated. The ceiling crackles and the cabin shrinks quiet.
“Good morning passengers. This is your driver. We would like to remind all passengers to please refrain from attempting to board the train when the doors are closing. Trains depart frequently during peak hours and your patience is appreciated. Thank you for riding with us”.
It’s such junk that Miss Baywatch next to me is filling her mind with: that great rocker, only a bit older than me, whose body, yesterday, finally found it’s limit in an alleyway outside a club; some stuntman ‘great’ who ended up seeing his past when he snapped his neck right around in a diving accident, photos included; two die in a highway accident, a fourteen year old male student seduced by his teacher and mother of three; a special finding that obesity and illness are linked. A world full of stories, filtered into a few pages. I wonder if people really know what they are doing to their minds with all of this ‘reading’. Like the praying lady, filling her mind with perceived purpose. I see lots of people reading these different kinds black books, some from the Western World, some from the Far East and some from the Middle East. It would be interesting if they were all in a big game together and they were all following their different rules. I wouldn’t want to be the umpire.
I like to try to imagine ‘nothing’ sometimes. It helps me to tune out. As if life had never existed on our planet. It is difficult to imagine: no life, no earth, no planets, no space, no black, nothing.
“This stop, Princess Way”…
“Stand clear, doors closing”
I hate it when people read my paper over my shoulder. I don’t really even read it myself. It’s my shield. Right now it’s shielding me from at least three sets of shady eyes. The guy next to me in pink is sort of alright but these other two: freaks!
Why isn’t Andrew here? He is, without a doubt, the one for me. We arranged it yesterday - front carriage, upstairs, in or around the back six-seater. He is so warm, intelligent, caring and he butters my toast right to the edges when he makes me breakfast.
Why do I keep punishing myself with all this false, delusional hope? I am single, thirty-two… one… thirty. I am looking uglier everyday and the pounds seem to keep piling on no matter what I do. I was always known as the one with the fairytale life and now it seems that I am just left with my own embellished, dull, fairytales. I need my coffee. 8:45am – meet Robert about website, 10am – meet Steve to discuss new premises, 11:15am – discuss packaging with marketing, 1pm – lunch with Bill from Plazo, 3pm – brief design team, 4.30pm – plan launch; it’s going to be such a busy day.
I’m moving, these guys are giving me the creeps. I could handle the colour of his pink suit but there’s something a bit strange about him. I’m out of here.
“This stop, York Harpton”…
“Stand clear, doors closing”
There’s no way I could sit all day in one of those little stores up there. In my twenty-three years of service I have never missed a day of work and I’ve never even missed a stop. I like to keep moving and the twins keep me set in motion. My grand-dad used to drive steam trains. I look at his photo, perched over the accelerator in my cabin, and feel my purpose.
I can’t believe the old ‘Sonic Tones’ guitarist, Mazzy Reynolds, died! I’ve still got their first record. Two teenagers killed, obesity causes illness, boy has sugar-mummy, age of marriage on the rise. Crickey! Look what happened to that guy’s head! That’s the last stunt he’ll ever pull, poor fellow. He is literally looking backwards; what a cracker of a photo!
I love these days. Nice and hot, skirts are short and all the ladies are passengers on my big rig. All the more cotton-candy for me to enjoy.
I wish the first carriage was all mine. I’d pull part of the roof off and drive the train while sitting on a deck-chair upstairs. I could rip out the seats behind and maybe put in a spa.
I have to remember to get some cat-food. Jetsson finished the last can yesterday.
I have to call up and get a quote to fix the campervan too. The wife wants to getaway for the weekend.
I’m hungry. Maybe a doughnut? Six, a dozen? The boys will definitely help me finish them.
Here comes the next stop. I pull the train in, as always, with precision.
“This stop, Maize Top”…
“Stand clear, doors closing”.
I only needed to travel seven stops. I have been highly successful in palming my blue chewing gum, along with a fifty cent coin, in my hand for the whole trip. It’s part of my sleight of hand training to keep items held out of sight. This morning I took a shower, ate some breakfast and brushed my teeth, all while concealing a coin in my hand. I first started palming with a dice. I like having my own little secret and the dice has powerful decision-making properties.
The dart had chosen the 7:32am train when it pierced the timetable last night. The coin told me to dress like a businessman in pink for the day. If it was ‘tails’, I would have been dressed up like a hippy in yellow. I had the beard, wig and everything else ready just in case. It was my pack of cards, the seven of hearts actually, which persuaded me to travel seven stops.
I look at the book I’ve been posing with. I designed the cover myself: ‘How To Find $100 Bills Up Your Arse While Getting Paid to Look’, by Happy Lee Berried. I rolled a two on the dice at the time, so that book-cover was chosen as my prop. I don’t even know if anyone noticed it.
I spin my coin spin in the air again. I propose that my book will be going either onto the next bench or into the nearest bin… ‘heads’ - onto the next bench. Hopefully someone will enjoy it. I have to remember to get Jetsson’s food before I go back home.
I’m hungry. I walk, with the hoard of bobbing heads who go up the stairs towards their various duties and destinations. There is another one of those guys with a little shop on the bridge. I roll the dice in my hand and peer down at it: four.
“Thanks”.
I take my blue chewing gum and change. This guy doesn’t even notice. I have four of his chocolate bars, two in each jacket pocket. It reminds me of being back at school.
I wonder what all these people are thinking. They could be thinking the same things as me but I will probably never know. It’s fun to imagine what they could be thinking sometimes, the possibilities are endless. That guy looks like he could also be palming a dice and that lady’s dress almost had to have been decided by the toss of a coin. I think the rest of them need a bit more excitement in their day. I reach into my pocket where, besides the chocolate bars, there are ten little marbles. One of them is white and the other nine are black. My fingers prod and probe at the marbles. If I pull the white one out now, I’ll do it.
I turn and sprint, I have to make this 7:32am train. I heard the hiss of the train’s park brakes earlier. I had even caught a glimpse of the train approaching, before I went to get the chewing gum. I love a challenge. My palm squeaks along the railing as I glide down to the platform. The station-guard blows his short, sharp ‘clear’. I jump the last few stairs and run towards the nearest opening to this herding device. The train hisses and releases it’s hold on the doors. The doors show no mercy, forcefully pressing me between their dirty rubber and grabbing my shoe before shutting closed. I squeeze in, next to all sorts of commuters, staring at me, eyes only centimeters away, some sparkling with glee and others squinting in disgust. I hear my thoughts and contemplate the fact that every person in here has these personal and strange, supposedly ‘normal’ thoughts bobbing around their heads too, right now - all their hopes, visions, ideas, concerns, suggestions and plans, all colliding in their minds.
The smell inside the carriage hits me every time – the essence of an automobile workshop with a gentle, vinyl, stale yet perfumed, cross-breeze. Upstairs - the only way to travel. Who is this weirdo in front of me? He’s so slow! I can feel those others climbing the stairs on the opposite, opposing side and taking all the good seats - the window seats on the right and facing forward. I can feel them filling up right now. Man! Hurry up! So slow! I peek up and around, there is seat here at the back on the right, window-side and facing forward. No one seems to have noticed it, yet.
“Excuse me”.
I push past the weird guy and give him a silent nudge on the leg with my briefcase as I pass. I clamber over and through the three occupants already in the six-seater and slide into the worst of the good seats - at the back of the carriage where two seats are facing each other but I’m on the right, window-side and facing forward. Whoah! Just realised this young lady next to me is an absolute honey. I wonder if she’s with that guy next to her. I can’t really see him. Her perfume is a sigh of relief. I can feel my heart radiating throughout my body. I can relax on the train, I’m going somewhere.
The other lady facing me has parked herself over two spaces. That weirdo from the stairs is wandering back over towards us and scanning for a seat. I don’t think he’s ever won a game of musical chairs in his life. My briefcase still hasn’t fully recovered from it’s ‘accidental’ knock and I fear that he might not have fully recovered either. He goes through a series of hand gestures, grunts and facial expressions to negotiate with the lady in front of me as to where, and if, he will sit with ‘us’. He mumbles something and she shifts towards the aisle, leaving a space for the weird guy to sit right in front of me, only a kneecap away.
A kid of about fifteen pops up the stairs in his regulation uniform. He glares around the carriage for a seat and sees nothing, except for the slip of space, aisle-side of the larger woman. All motherly qualities flow from her at once and she requests that the boy have a seat. The boy stands there awkwardly and without the experience to diffuse the situation. He contemplates taking the seat while the weird guy is gradually being pinned, shuffled and pushed into the side wall of the train, suffocating under the squelch of the great, purple sweater.
Her motherly trance overwhelms the schoolboy and he slides his ironed, grey pants in next to her. We are now full, a packed half-dozen.
The wheels of the cabin squeal as they roll along the rails and gently reduce speed. The driver lands the train with near precision at the next station and makes his announcement like a truck-driver on a C.B. radio:
“This stop, Beach Corner”…
“Stand clear, doors closing”
This big bitch is killing me! Why the hell did that little geek sit down anyway? Couldn’t he see that there wasn’t space for even his skinny little arse?
Here I am, on display for the rows of audience members behind me, and I’m being squashed by this great purple elephant.
What a wanker in front of me, a real jack-arse-in-a-box. I saw you before you loser. I watched you get slammed by the doors. Trying to impress someone were you?
Show off! And the way you hit that alligator briefcase of yours into me before - you bastard. I saw you and I’ve seen your type before, of the upstairs persuasion.
I prefer it downstairs, window-side right, facing either way. Nothing beats the heat of summer when I look to the heavens for cotton-candy-short-skirts and slip-on shoes that parade around the platform. Unfortunately, none of those seats, or any seats, were available down there today. When I was turning around to go and look upstairs, I saw this slick pink guy, the one in front of me, who is now eyeing me up and down; he ploughed cheek-bone first into the centre-pole. What a crack-up. The doors pounded shut on him. I saw him, all ruffled in his pink suit, and I knew he was heading upstairs so I spun around the hand-rail just in front of him. I gradually made my way up the stairs, watching all the seats filling up and I decided to catch my breath on the stairs, no rush. I could feel his pet alligator breathing fire, but I was happy to take it slow. I wandered around and there were no other seats. My ears are still ringing from our jam last night. It’s still early. I’m tired. I can’t believe Miss Piggy over here. I can’t even move my arms. One, two, three… she eventually feels my elbow jabbing into her side and turns to me as if to say, “Are you okay”, and I look back with a “What the fuck do you think? You’re killing me here!” expression. She misreads me and quietly sings to herself, “Oh good”, with a chuckle that leaves wobbles on her face. She diverts her attention back to her book and, unfortunately, breaths in. I feel like my upper arm when it’s being squeezed by a doctor’s arm cuff and whooshing bulb pump.
I wonder if this cutie in front of me would date a guy like me? I slide my leg slowly towards hers just to touch, slightly. I would love to paint her, to capture her and display her. I must look a bit ridiculous all squashed and smothered by this purple sweater.
I wonder whether this girl would fall prey to a guy of the Mister Pink variety. I’ve been married twice but she needn’t know. Shit, I forgot to feed the cat, and the fish. My keys! I left them on the couch. Oh man.
“This stop, Bold Head”…
“Stand clear, doors closing”
Please oh mightiness give me the power not to feel bad for irritating the gentleman next to me. He seems so angry now but I just wanted to offer the young boy a seat. He looked so handsome, standing there in his uniform and reminding me so much of, I shouldn’t think about it, not here, not on the train. Oh, help me, please help me, I need your help and guidance. It was nine years yesterday and he could have been, like this boy here, going to school. They may have even been in the same class. His glasses look a little dirty.
“Oh, those glasses could do with a good wiping and I’ve got a good cloth. May I?”
Oh, how cute. He looks a little shy but he hands over his glasses. I give the glasses a sparkling wipe, polishing away all the grime. I wipe the frame clean too and hand them back to him. He looks absolutely delighted.
Oh I pray for this young boy, his family, my family, my family’s family and all of our friends, and every other living creature. Oh greatness, do not judge me harshly. I have so much I appreciate here: my kids, my husband, my family, my job, my friends; all thanks to you. I know you have your grand plan and everything that happens, happens because you want it to happen. Please consider all the good I’ve done, even the little things, like offering this young boy a seat, wiping his glasses, looking after my family, offering my services at work and dedicating myself to my faith, your faith, to ‘you’. I always pay strict attention to your guidelines and help others who don’t to try a little harder. I follow your words and the words of our past, wise, disciples. I know what is right and what is wrong.
I’m quite in the mood for a tasty little treat. Maybe a doughnut. Six? A dozen? No, just one. Oh, I’ll wait and see.
Ooh, my stop is just ahead. Book in the bag, all zipped up, ready to go.
“Excuse me, please”. “Sorry”. “Ooh”. “Thanks”.
Oh! What was…? What? No, it couldn’t have been. I step through the vestibule area towards the door. What a beautiful day.
“This stop, Riverside”…
“Stand clear, doors closing”
Far out. Room to move. I shoot a glance at this strange guy next to me who is also spreading out. He’s taking these short, sharp breaths trying to re-inflate himself. The poor guy was getting majorly squeezed.
Maybe I should leave school and tour the country in a camper-van. I’m old enough, almost. Perhaps that lady with the big knockers, who was sitting next to me before, would tour with me. I think she liked me. She cleaned my glasses, how weird. I couldn’t resist a final touch as she left. She was carefully waddling out and I just wanted to reach out and grab her. I eased my hand down and let it brush her. I hope she didn’t notice.
I really should buy a camper-van and tour. How big were her tits! Massive. Wait till I tell the boys about those purple pillows.
Look at these people here. Two scum-buckets, a pink poser, and this absolute stunner. Her body is tight and her face is beauty queen. I bet she’d be impressed with my sleight-of-hand tricks. I can make things disappear, like that! I practice for hours, I love it.
There’s a spare seat. Jetsson sometimes gets on this train at Riverside. It’s only one stop for him though. I wonder where he is? I still can’t believe his dad’s name is Jet.
I love the rush of a morning grab. Me and Jetsson are masters of deception. It works better with a few more guys. A minimum of two and we can take on the Newsagency near school. It takes one person to distract the attendant and at least one other to collect stock and fulfill orders.
After the final bell, behind the big hill, we have clearance sales: pens, pencils, erasers, markers, highlighters; all half-price. In winter, when we wear our school jackets, we can get calculators, rulers, pencil-cases and almost anything really.
All of us reinvest some of the profits back into the newsagency, buying varying quantities of different types of lollies each time, to avoid suspicion.
I think that’s Jetsson down there, I hope he’s ready.
I grab my bag and take one last look at the babe - a true, natural blonde beauty. I move into the aisle and see everyone looking at me. This guy jumps out of his seat on the other side and knocks me and my backpack into an elderly businessman behind me.
“Sorry”.
I keep moving and feel a little rush of adrenaline as the train stops.
“This stop, Murky Waters”…
“Stand clear, doors closing”
So the little schoolboy is off to school. Then there were four - three men and a lady. Me, Mister Pink, some weird-looking guy and Madam Baywatch. She is just so gorgeous, sitting there quietly enjoying her newspaper.
That boy had a weird presence; I felt it as soon as he squeezed in next to that big lady who was busy indoctrinating herself. There was something hovering behind those circular schoolboy rims, something cunning. I bet he fools his teachers though, with good grades and witty contributions in class. I saw the young fellow glaring at the woman in the purple sweater. He was captivated. The ceiling crackles and the cabin shrinks quiet.
“Good morning passengers. This is your driver. We would like to remind all passengers to please refrain from attempting to board the train when the doors are closing. Trains depart frequently during peak hours and your patience is appreciated. Thank you for riding with us”.
It’s such junk that Miss Baywatch next to me is filling her mind with: that great rocker, only a bit older than me, whose body, yesterday, finally found it’s limit in an alleyway outside a club; some stuntman ‘great’ who ended up seeing his past when he snapped his neck right around in a diving accident, photos included; two die in a highway accident, a fourteen year old male student seduced by his teacher and mother of three; a special finding that obesity and illness are linked. A world full of stories, filtered into a few pages. I wonder if people really know what they are doing to their minds with all of this ‘reading’. Like the praying lady, filling her mind with perceived purpose. I see lots of people reading these different kinds black books, some from the Western World, some from the Far East and some from the Middle East. It would be interesting if they were all in a big game together and they were all following their different rules. I wouldn’t want to be the umpire.
I like to try to imagine ‘nothing’ sometimes. It helps me to tune out. As if life had never existed on our planet. It is difficult to imagine: no life, no earth, no planets, no space, no black, nothing.
“This stop, Princess Way”…
“Stand clear, doors closing”
I hate it when people read my paper over my shoulder. I don’t really even read it myself. It’s my shield. Right now it’s shielding me from at least three sets of shady eyes. The guy next to me in pink is sort of alright but these other two: freaks!
Why isn’t Andrew here? He is, without a doubt, the one for me. We arranged it yesterday - front carriage, upstairs, in or around the back six-seater. He is so warm, intelligent, caring and he butters my toast right to the edges when he makes me breakfast.
Why do I keep punishing myself with all this false, delusional hope? I am single, thirty-two… one… thirty. I am looking uglier everyday and the pounds seem to keep piling on no matter what I do. I was always known as the one with the fairytale life and now it seems that I am just left with my own embellished, dull, fairytales. I need my coffee. 8:45am – meet Robert about website, 10am – meet Steve to discuss new premises, 11:15am – discuss packaging with marketing, 1pm – lunch with Bill from Plazo, 3pm – brief design team, 4.30pm – plan launch; it’s going to be such a busy day.
I’m moving, these guys are giving me the creeps. I could handle the colour of his pink suit but there’s something a bit strange about him. I’m out of here.
“This stop, York Harpton”…
“Stand clear, doors closing”
There’s no way I could sit all day in one of those little stores up there. In my twenty-three years of service I have never missed a day of work and I’ve never even missed a stop. I like to keep moving and the twins keep me set in motion. My grand-dad used to drive steam trains. I look at his photo, perched over the accelerator in my cabin, and feel my purpose.
I can’t believe the old ‘Sonic Tones’ guitarist, Mazzy Reynolds, died! I’ve still got their first record. Two teenagers killed, obesity causes illness, boy has sugar-mummy, age of marriage on the rise. Crickey! Look what happened to that guy’s head! That’s the last stunt he’ll ever pull, poor fellow. He is literally looking backwards; what a cracker of a photo!
I love these days. Nice and hot, skirts are short and all the ladies are passengers on my big rig. All the more cotton-candy for me to enjoy.
I wish the first carriage was all mine. I’d pull part of the roof off and drive the train while sitting on a deck-chair upstairs. I could rip out the seats behind and maybe put in a spa.
I have to remember to get some cat-food. Jetsson finished the last can yesterday.
I have to call up and get a quote to fix the campervan too. The wife wants to getaway for the weekend.
I’m hungry. Maybe a doughnut? Six, a dozen? The boys will definitely help me finish them.
Here comes the next stop. I pull the train in, as always, with precision.
“This stop, Maize Top”…
“Stand clear, doors closing”.
I only needed to travel seven stops. I have been highly successful in palming my blue chewing gum, along with a fifty cent coin, in my hand for the whole trip. It’s part of my sleight of hand training to keep items held out of sight. This morning I took a shower, ate some breakfast and brushed my teeth, all while concealing a coin in my hand. I first started palming with a dice. I like having my own little secret and the dice has powerful decision-making properties.
The dart had chosen the 7:32am train when it pierced the timetable last night. The coin told me to dress like a businessman in pink for the day. If it was ‘tails’, I would have been dressed up like a hippy in yellow. I had the beard, wig and everything else ready just in case. It was my pack of cards, the seven of hearts actually, which persuaded me to travel seven stops.
I look at the book I’ve been posing with. I designed the cover myself: ‘How To Find $100 Bills Up Your Arse While Getting Paid to Look’, by Happy Lee Berried. I rolled a two on the dice at the time, so that book-cover was chosen as my prop. I don’t even know if anyone noticed it.
I spin my coin spin in the air again. I propose that my book will be going either onto the next bench or into the nearest bin… ‘heads’ - onto the next bench. Hopefully someone will enjoy it. I have to remember to get Jetsson’s food before I go back home.
I’m hungry. I walk, with the hoard of bobbing heads who go up the stairs towards their various duties and destinations. There is another one of those guys with a little shop on the bridge. I roll the dice in my hand and peer down at it: four.
“Thanks”.
I take my blue chewing gum and change. This guy doesn’t even notice. I have four of his chocolate bars, two in each jacket pocket. It reminds me of being back at school.
I wonder what all these people are thinking. They could be thinking the same things as me but I will probably never know. It’s fun to imagine what they could be thinking sometimes, the possibilities are endless. That guy looks like he could also be palming a dice and that lady’s dress almost had to have been decided by the toss of a coin. I think the rest of them need a bit more excitement in their day. I reach into my pocket where, besides the chocolate bars, there are ten little marbles. One of them is white and the other nine are black. My fingers prod and probe at the marbles. If I pull the white one out now, I’ll do it.
posted by Darren Jaye at 6:11 pm
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