Unusual Love Story

Unusual Love story

I have always found the movement of the train relaxing. The fast clacking of the steel wheels crashing into the rails, as if playing a game with each other but no one ever wins it, making the game to have no end. I enjoy the noise and it is so monotone that it helps me get my thoughts together; just close my eyes and let the train do its thing as I wait here and think.

It is not long until my peacefulness is interrupted, yet again. It is the same woman from the station. I open my eyes and look at her as she moves along the narrow path between the seats, pushing other travellers along the way. She is carrying a single bag. Her short, yet slim figure completely leaves her out of place.

Earlier, she was having a heated argument with the cashier at the ticket window. The woman was upset about her first-class seat. I couldn’t, nor did I care to hear, what the annoyed cashier said but seeing the middle-aged woman here, it can be assumed she didn’t get her way. The train was packed full of people and the smell of the crowd can be felt so much, a few people had placed their hands to cover their noses. It was rather boring looking at her any longer, so I moved my attention to some green fields we were passing by. The fields are stretching as far as my eyes can see. It is beautiful. I close my eyes again and rest my head back. Trying to tap into the fountain of serenity I was previously in…

“How can this be?” a grumpy, raspy, yet feminine voice interrupts my thoughts.

I open my eyes again and sit myself up, realizing that the woman is trying to sit in the empty spot opposite me. I crack a polite smile at her and follow as she struggles to put her bag on the luggage rail over our heads. After a short struggle, and absolutely no help from the other passengers who seem to find her just as amusing as I have, using the palms of her hands, she straightens out the back of her skirt and as gently as the train allows it, she sits down.

Suddenly, the chatter of others resumes as if everyone else was waiting for the woman to sit down. I catch a glimpse of her lips moving quickly, as if she was mumbling something to herself. Her eyebrows are almost touching each other as she looks around and straightens out the rest of her dress. I look away.

I try to go to my happy place again as my watch shows I have another 1hour until I reach my destination. I let my head relax back and close my eyes. I leave myself to the synchronised movements of the train and the peace it brings me. My mind immediately drifts off to the green field and clouds and all quiet and relaxing things my brain can come up with.

Sometimes after, I feel my body shake. Startled, I open my eyes to find the conductor staring at me with his little perforating machine.

“Ticket, please!” the surprisingly young man says with a smile on his face.

“Sure” I say and quickly hand him the ticket. As he clicks and hands me the ticket back, I notice my neighbour has fallen asleep.

“Here” he says and hands it back to me with its two new wholes. He looks at my companion and calls her, but she seems to have really drifted off.

“Her ticket”, I suggest. “That must be it!” I see the familiar little piece of paper on her lap. She must’ve held it before she fell asleep, I think to myself.

The conductor smiles and carefully takes the little paper, clicks it and puts it down on the table between me and her. I smile back politely, and he walks away; I focus my attention to the sleeping lady.

Her face is still tensed from her argument earlier or maybe there is another reason for it. But as I look at her, I realise there is something familiar about her. The hundreds of small wrinkles all over her face and neck, and her hands; as well as the red lipstick that has now faded. Judging by the big necklace on her neck, it can be almost certain she has money. Her dress is the same red as her lipstick and she has way too much eyeshadow on her eyelids. The blonde hair is clipped behind, yet some of it is now loose and falling gently on her face. She has a thin, pointy nose and numerous cracks in her foundation. Her head is tilted to the side, so I notice a big smudge of make-up on her lapel. The arms are rested in her lap and her nails must have been recently done as she has not one crack on her shiny red manicure.

Something about her reminded me of my grandmother. Nana Lydia must have been the only person who has always been as amazing and kind, as she was scary. She was always trying to look and act sophisticated when she was out and about, but whenever she got annoyed with dad’s constant talking about work, she would turn into a middle-aged old trucker, swearing at everyone and everything. Nan was always different with me. She was the sweetest and kindest person anyone has ever met. Her dress style was like the woman across from me. The high-heeled shoes, the great, yet unnecessary amount of jewellery and the matching make-up… The hair, contradictory to the rest of the image, looked plain and boring. My grandmother was not like that. She was always going big with the most ridicule hairdos there were. There isn’t a thing I can say to fault my grandma. She was fun, generous and always made the best pancakes. Nan would let me stay at her house almost every weekend, so we sit at night, over a cup of tea and discuss my boy problems and she will mention her annoying neighbour, Janet. And then we will laugh, and cry and it all was happening so easy; no judgment, just love. No one can fill the space I keep for her in my heart.

My whole family has got a bit of weird or crazy in them and I wouldn’t dare to exclude myself out of that list. From talking to myself and conversing with my mirror on occasion, to participating in the most absurd activities with my dysfunctional family. My father, William, died of pancreatic cancer 2 years ago, which broke my mother, who wasn’t all that sane to begin with. She had previously been committed to a psychiatric home and although she says she is doing better now, I can often hear her crying at night.

As an only child to Mary and William, I was always being spoiled ever since I had my first birthday. I don’t remember the day, of course, but Nana showed me pictures from the day, and I am pretty sure, the four-tier cake in the pictures was taking up more space on the photo than I was.

Despite of how weird and dysfunctional my family is, I love them. Maybe it is to do with loyalty or other, but there it was. It was like a weight tied to my heart and pulling me down, dragging me with them.

Everything comes to a halt and I snap out of my thoughts. I quickly grab the arm rest of the seat and brace myself as the train’s wheels make horrible screeching sound, alerting the whole station we are here. My three-hour journey had become a mere moment to me, and as I look around, I see the pretentious lady had already managed to avoid the sudden pull of force from the stopping train, get up and hold on to her handbag. Everyone quickly leaves the train and as if in slow motion, one by one, scattered around the station, they disappeared. I follow the crowd to the nearest exit and head out to the taxi stand where my mother is already waiting for me, dressed in black, ready to take me to my grandmother's funeral.