Jaywalking with Strangers

Chapter One

"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken." 

Fyodor Dostoevsky

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I have a grave feeling there's something wrong with me. Nothing life threatening, of course. Just a feeling that I don't quite fit in anywhere, and that somehow this life I've built just isn't for me.

It's Friday night, and as usual I feel totally void of any joy this weekly occurrence should bring. People bustle around me, ecstatically proclaiming proudly to workmates about their plans. The middle-aged businessman in front of me is talking enthusiastically on his phone, making arrangements for golf and 'beers with the boys'. A towering brunette glides past me, a glittering vision in mile-high stilettos that I'm sure she is going to regret at about three in the morning. A group of tanned athletic-looking boys are arguing good naturedly about which beach to next catch a wave at.

And then there's me, getting pulled along aimlessly amongst the tide of weekend worshipers. I think ahead to what the next two days hold. My planned schedule consists mainly of Netflix and procrastination. As a second year university student studying finance and accounting I know should be studying hard, but bingeing on Shameless till the early AM is definitely the more exciting option in my anti-social plans.

I shrug the dull brown canvas bag over my shoulder and push my brain back to the matter in hand. Ambling forward I swipe my prepaid gocard and hop onto the the noisy tram that has jerked to a stop in front of me. I desperately need to be getting back home and cuddling up on the couch with Uber Eats and the Gallagher family for entertainment. Stifling a yawn I climb aboard the crowded tram and settle in for the thirty five minute trip towards my side of the city.

Coming from a single-parent family having a second car just wasn't an option for my mum and I. We barely scraped together the money for university, helped along with a generous scholarship. I work as many shifts as I can waitressing at a cafe to try and pull my weight, but there's never been enough left over to splurge on another vehicle so I make do with using public transport in the form of trains, buses and trams to get around on a day to day basis. I'm not complaining though, public transport is so entertaining and people watching has become a rather favourite pastime of mine.

My seat tonight is a good one, near the door and easy to scope out my fellow travel-mates. I unconsciously glance out the window. It's pointless, the windows are thick and double tinted and offer none of the enticing views of the Gold Coast's glittering night skyline that I know is just out there behind the glass, twinkling and beckoning.

The tram rattles forward with a jolt as I sneak a view of my fellow travel mates. Australia itself is a melting pot of cultures, and the Gold Coast is no exception to the multicultural fusion. Crammed with an eclectic mix of people of all nationalities and professions, anywhere you go there's many interesting faces.

Some of the passengers around me are clearly finishing work or university for the day. Others are dressed to the nines, like the stiletto girl, ready to head out for to Cavill Avenue for a night of debauchery. The third type of commuters look around in wonder and excitement, most likely tourists exploring the city via one of it's cheaper methods of transportation.

I'm continuing the quiet internal observations of my fellow travellers when I happen a glance at the seat opposite me, and my eyes abruptly meet deep hazel ones. The distinctly male eyes looking back at me flicker with mischief, dancing with amusement. In his eyes I somehow see a strange mixture of confidence and insecurity. He's unsure yet totally in control of himself all at once.

I've never seen such expressive and open gaze before and the magic of it all draws me in. The spell only breaks as he nods in my direction and his face cracks into an easy grin. I blush quickly at the thought of being caught staring so openly and duck my head down to look at my hands, as if my chipped fingernails are the most intriguing thing I've ever seen.

I breathe in deeply while picking at invisible dirt on my hands, musty air and unfamiliar smells filling my lungs. Looking at the floor, nestled at my feet is the bag I carried in with me, containing uni books, calculators and most importantly - a sketch pad. My fingers itch, uncontrollably begging to draw on the crisp white sketch pad, to sketch those unfamiliar hazel eyes onto paper before I forget the way they sparkled in the fluorescent lighting. Drawing has always been my way of immortalising memories. Of preserving those precious moments into something physical and something I can look back on and remember. And I definitely want to remember those eyes.