Crossed Tracks

2

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sound track to my mornings.

A track is the journey I take.

Occasionally there will be hushed voices or in the colder months coughing for my carriage. But at barley eight o’clock on a Tuesday not much was to be expected. 

There are three trains running between the home and university. But being the person i am i prefer the rising sun silence, that only early mornings can bring. Everyone seems to look more primitive and animal like.

Over to my right is a bald overweight man, he checks his phone several times a minute. Normally this would go unnoticed but it’s the way he casts his eyes round quickly and clocks every moment from all four of us in this carriage. It reminds me of a mercat i saw once in the zoo, constantly looking for danger and approaching everything with caution. Just as this man was doing. 

With my booted feet resting on the seat opposite, i turn my attention to the pale pages of a novel in my hand. Yet again it’s another over done romance, like nearly every book out there. A breezy sigh passes my plump lips and ruffles the corner of the pages before my eyes.

Today seems to be another page in the book of my life. It would be a plane one from a distance, not giving much away and not attracting attention. But as you near the shelve you would notice small patterns running down the spine, tiny drawings scribbled in a black pen. But as interesting and detailed as the tiny drawings and patterns where, there won’t be anything worth your while. It would still be the same as the other books resting beside it, maybe a bit different, but hardly enough to be bought.

Sometimes i wish my life to be an old time novel or some unknown teenage drama.  And then i remember most of them end with some stupid cheesy line and you never hear from that story again. Where’s the after to a happy ending, the fighting and cuddling all these tiny things that make them … well them.

The clock face on my wrist reads 7:45am.

 A window reflection of my pale face scares back momentarily before i focus on the fore ground. The next station rolls out of the darkness and deathly pale faces look blankly as the step into the open carriages. My feet stay and my head dips as too put off conversation with some unknown middle aged man that probably has a body odour problem and bad coffee breath. My eyes cast over the words in front as i drown out my senses and absorbed myself within the scribbled poetry. But as soon as my mind starts to picture the seen described I’m interrupted. Cool wind brushes the exposed skin around my bare neck and fabric slides down my arm as a stranger sits beside me. 

The best way to not talk to a stranger is, don’t give them an opening. Humans and animals have to see a body movement like a smile or a quiet hello. By keeping my head down I’m telling this person that conversation wasn’t an option.                                                                                                                                                                                                   Legs come into the corner of my vision as they rest on the seat beside mine. The smell of mint and men’s deodorant waft up from the person next to me and i feel them lean over my shoulder. Either reading my book or checking out my very average cleavage. The white of my knuckles stands to attention as tension runs through my veins. People with personal space issues should be forced to take a course in it.

Just as I’m about to verbally slap this person into the next carriage when they speak.                                                                                "Have you read it before?" the deep gruff voice speaks in board interest. Rough, worn and untied boots rest on the seat next to mine, size 10 or even 11 maybe. That with the voice probably makes this a man, a young one due to the dark low hanging jeans and fashionable scuffs marking the knees. He (much like I) have a thick coat to keep the sharp wind at bay and a blue scarf slung carelessly around his neck.                                                                                                                                 

A raised eyebrow and lopsided smile questions me as I take my time finally speaking " not yet, but as you can see i was changing that fact when you interrupted." I raise the book slightly as an indication and both his eyebrows raise in surprise at my words. shaking his head in amusement he looks two blue eyes away and small chuckles shake his frame.                   

"Well you’ll love chapter 12. It’s what you would say ..." his eyes turn back to mine and there’s humour running through them as he looks me up then down "unexpected" he mutters with a sly smile.                                                            There’s a rocking motion as the carriage stops again and he pulls himself up by the pole to his left. My eyebrows pull in confusion and i watch him leave the warm carriage, followed by other sleepy faced people. The doors slide shut with a hiss, but i still keep his form in sight.

As the carriage pushes forwards again his body turns and a single hand rises into the air. A silent wave of wiggling fingers and crooked smile is what I see before the train pulls away and all I can do is reasoned to with blank curiosity.

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okay so here is the idea . im gonna just make this a simple story about only them . no home life or any of that stuff till later maybe .

but i hope you like it and if you could please Vote , share , fan and comment i would love it !