Loverlier Than A Warm Summer's Day

Every morning at precisely 7.05am Carl would wake up, neatly comb his hair, brush his teeth, put on his best suit and, after a breakfast of porridge, head down to catch the 7.30am train, the same train he had been catching for almost 50 years. The train would take him to City Station where in his younger years he would have caught the tram to get to the car assembling plant where he used to work.

Since he retired 15 years ago, he would instead head in the other direction once getting off the train, to purchase the daily newspaper of the news stand adjacent to the north exit. Carl would then have a seat on his favourite park bench and watch people as they would rush by on their way to work. Once he had read every section of his newspaper, including the classifieds and the obituaries, Carl would neatly fold it up, put it under his arm, walk back into the station and catch the train home. He would spend the remainder of his day watching people as they passed by below his kitchen window, until it was time to watch the evening news. Carl would then brush his teeth and get ready for bed, and another day, much like the previous one. This is the way every day would be like for Carl since Amelia had passed away ten years ago, and today was no different. "I am a man of routine" Carl thought proudly to himself as he slowly and painfully made his way down the gravel path that leads on to the main road, and the train station "And routine is what separates us humans from animals." Carl rarely experienced a day that did not follow his daily precise schedule.

The last time was when Carl's good friend Jonah passed away two years ago. Carl held the old man's hand up until the end, Jonah clutching to Carl's hand as firmly as his frail body would muster the strength to, as if holding on to life itself. Jonah had looked at Carl with watery eyes and mumbled something about facing the good Lord without any regrets. Carl sneered at the memory: "every man has his regrets," he thought. Carl certainly regretted things he had done throughout his life: when he was seven he got the neighbour's boy Stevie in trouble for stealing apples from the old widow Lambury's backyard. It had really been Carl who stole the apples and he had listened from his tree house amidst giggles with mouthfuls of apple as the old widow scolded Stevie who would not stop crying. Carl had never confessed his crime and the old widow had given poor Stevie evil glances every time he passed her house until the day she died, almost ten years later. Although Carl had regretted not coming clean to the old widow and apologising to Stevie, by then it had been too late. "Every man has his regrets" Carl repeated to himself: "some more than others." His heart beat faster as he remembered the smell of fresh apples, the smell of her. Carl still remembered to the very last detail the way Amelia looked and smelled that first night he took her to the pictures in his rusty old pickup truck. "I didn't tell her how much I loved her often enough" he thought, as his eyes moistened "and that she was lovelier than a warm summer's night."

Amelia and Carl had married precisely a year after that night. Although they tried to start a family, the Lord had seen it fit not to bless them with other children than poor Albert, born a year after their wedding and who only lived a day before he was taken away from them. After that, Amelia had become distant and would often cry while Carl took to the streets, spending his evenings gambling and drinking with the boys from work.

Carl was able to control his emotions and man up in times of trouble. He had never seen the point of dwelling on the past and burying oneself in misery, like Amelia had during those years. Carl still had duties after Albert’s little soul flew to heaven: the food would not have put itself on the table and were it not for Carl stepping up after Albert’s death, they would’ve never gotten through those years. It was duty that had kept Carl going, and it was duty that ultimately had caused that rift between himself and Amelia: She had never understood that everything he did, he had done for her, for them. At least, this is what Carl had been telling himself all those years. Carl had mourned as well, in his own way; in fits of anger and tears in the back alleys of countless dingy pubs after countless bottles of bourbon.

When Amelia had passed away years later they were just two inhabitants in the same house, sharing the same space but not much more. In a way, Carl had been alone from the day Albert died. Carl shook his head at the memory. All he had done, he had done for duty: “I was keeping my family alive”.

But a life of duty comes with regrets. Carl regretted refusing to hold his son during his brief life and going so far as to not attend Albert's funeral. At the time Carl had reasoned that this would be the best way to keep himself going: to keep himself detached to something that would never be theirs. "I was a fool" Carl thought bitterly as he continued down the pathway with the sign reading: ”To Trains." "I would have at least have had the memory of my son's face."

By 7.25am the platform would fill with commuters waiting to catch the train, going to their important jobs in the city. Young, expressionless faces, in suits and ties, raising an eyebrow of disapproval at the sight of the old man who insisted on taking the peak hour train every morning at 7.30am. Carl chuckled quietly at a young man with a bright purple tie, who was making a visibly big fuss about having to remove his briefcase from the seat next to him to make room for Carl. "Sonny" he thought woefully to himself, "I have been on the 7.30 train longer than you've been drawin' breath."

The train pulled up to the station, and despite the disorder of people pouring in and out of the train, Carl managed to get in and get a seat facing the back of the train. Once the commotion had settled, the familiar whistle signalling the doors closing and the train slowly left the platform, as if strained under a heavy load.

Carl liked to study the faces on the train, expressionless commuters on their way to offices, factories, and schools. "Sometimes I feel like I know them all, their faces are so familiar to me." Carl shifted in his seat at the sight of a small boy he thought looked familiar. "When you're as old as I am I reckon looks have been recycled many times over by the Man himself - You think you recognize a person, but it turns out they just look like someone you remember from many years ago."

Carl's face darkened: "a cruel trick life plays on an old man at the end of his days; it turns out you know no one but the people lost in your memories."

The little boy who looked familiar suddenly turned his head and glanced at Carl. "Sweet Jesus," Carl thought. "That little boy is the mirror image of someone I used to know." The boy smiled mischievously at Carl and flicked the brim of his little hat.

His little brown tweed hat.

All of a sudden Carl felt all the blood in his body rush to his head. He knew who this boy resembled. He knew who the boy was.

Carl was sitting face to face with little Stevie, whom he had not seen for 70 years. Carl stared at the boy in disbelief. As he opened his mouth to say something, it hit him. All of a sudden he knew, with greater certainty than he had ever felt before in his life, that in that exact moment, he was meant to turn around.

Carl knew what he would see even before he turned around. He could feel her, smell her; that smell of fresh green apples after a short autumn shower. She looked radiant in her neatly ironed blue dress with white polka dots and buttons, fragrant chestnut hair cascading down her slim shoulders and cherry red lips framing a perfect set of pearly white teeth as she smiled back at him. Amelia had not aged a day since that first night he took her to the pictures in his rusty old pickup truck so many years ago.

"How is this possible?” Carl stammered, 50 years of repressed tears trickling down his old, weathered face. "My darling," Amelia replied, as she continued smiling at him. It was then Carl noticed the bundle Amelia was holding gently on her arm. "Come hold your son."

Albert felt fragile and soft as he was placed in Carl's embrace. "Hello, little fella, whaddaya know?" the old man cooed, tears continuing to stream down his face.

"Amelia," Carl said, struggling to regain his composure. "I am so sorry - for all of it. For failing to be a husband, for not telling you every day that I loved you, and for not being there at the end to tell you that every day with you was a treasure, a privilege I was not worthy of. Amelia, my love, I should have realised that you were what mattered, the only thing that mattered.

-"I am so sorry..."

-"I know," Amelia interrupted him, gently pressing an elegantly slim finger on his lips. "I always knew." Amelia dried the tears coming down Carl's cheeks. "We all know," she said. "And we forgive you."

And just like that, Carl realised that he knew everyone, every single person in the train carriage. Little Stevie was seated right across from him, on the other side of the isle was the old widow Lambury. Just across from her was the errand boy Jackson who had lost his job at the factory after unjustly being singled out by the foreman for a mistake calculating the quantity of a delivery that everyone had a part in many years ago.

They were all there, including poor Jonah, whose hand Carl should've held tighter to comfort the old man as he was about to meet his maker. And they were all smiling at him.

A long, pleasant silence and the warmth and love hung in the air, like a still Sunday afternoon. Finally, Carl remembered something.

-"Where are we going?" he asked, turning to Amelia.

-"We're taking you home, my darling" Amelia smiled at him.

-"Home," Carl repeated, as if savouring the word. "Yes" he said, after a moment's silence. "I am ready. Take me home with you."

Amelia kept on smiling as she pointed in the direction of a distant bring light at the end of the tunnel, the smell of those apples caressing Carl as her arm graced his shoulder. The train was heading towards the light at high speed. "A man with no more regrets," Carl thought as he closed his eyes and allowed himself to be swept away by Amelia's sweet fragrance. As he headed towards the light with everyone he had ever cared for, Carl felt an intense feeling of fulfillment and happiness; he was going home.

************

As the train pulled into the city, the crowd in the carriage made their way to the doors. "Look, mummy" a little boy said, as his mother ushered him down the aisle, too busy digging in her purse to pay attention to what the little boy had seen. ‘City’ was the final destination of the train and the daily commuters poured out of the carriage like ants in a single file.

No one paid attention to the only person left on the train, an old man with neatly combed hair, dressed in his best suit. The old man looked as though he was asleep, leaning against the train window, a faint smile still playing on his lips.