The New Bitter

She caught my attention. Mirroring my moves like we were synchronised.

She sits there, so carefree and confident with a smile that can’t help but bring herself attention. From where I am, she is recognisable but so far from my seat. I have great eyesight and I can see her, but something is pulling me towards knowing her.

Her hair is beautiful, with golden highlights depicting a warmth only the sun could shine. It’s similar to the length of mine only hers is looked after, well-kept, brushed. Her curls loosely falling across her collar bone.

I once had beautiful hair like that, the energy to ensure my hair was a topic starter at the ladies lunch. She looks like she would be fun at a ladies lunch.

My world of ladies lunches has now turned into a memory. A sorry forgotten memory. Sneaking out early from the reception to avoid delays of missing happy hour at the local bar, and following that with our own happy hours of laughter. Now I’m sneaking in through reception with only a glimmer of hope that no one recognises I’m here. I should try and make Pity Hour a thing. At least sneaking sips of Pinot Grigio from my coffee cup would feel more acceptable.

I’m smiling thinking back to the wonderful times I’ve had, but where did it go wrong. And my hair now depressed with stressed out stands of grey becoming ever more recognisable the more I stare.

I peek up and glance to her again, she did too at me. Our eyes met briefly and we awkwardly looked away before it became uncomfortable.

Regardless, I am uncomfortable. Look at her. How I long to have skin so soft and dewy looking. Her kind eyes complimented by gentle features. I can see she is a humble person not looking for credit but instead a hard worker with deep compassion. Anyone reminded of what they had lost would be uncomfortable.

Shook out of my day dream, my phone rings creating a storm of anxiety from pressing eyes of other passengers. My breath cut to a gasp almost.

“I’m on my way” because of embarrassment I am sharp.

“Explain to me why the account is short of $20,00?!” Shit. My client sounds confused but angry with some glimmer of hope. My face is burning red while I scrabble my fingers for the volume button to quieten his questions.

“James, I will call you soon. I’m on the train, it will give me time to look over the account online”. I end the call quickly and throw my phone into my bag with one hand and the other profusely holding the off button. Between my hair blocking my sight while crouching to the floor and my hands awkwardly grasped on to the phone, it misses the bag. And the bag knocks over.

Now sweating from my face to behind my knees, I shake my head and lift my eyes to see who is still staring. Maybe it’s the angle I’m at but thankfully that woman is out of sight. She would never have such anxiety over this current condition.

I scurry about the floor for my phone and grab what feels of the same size. It’s not my phone tho, it’s softer material, maybe leather. Rather than explore what the item is, it’s tossed into the bag. I’m nosey that way. My phone soon quickly slides closer to me and it’s thrown into the bag. I lift the bag to my knees and try to peek in.

A small black diary.

I can tell from this angle that it’s definitely a smaller book, with a fine gold strip from one end of the spine to the other.

“The next stop is Glasgow Queen Street low level, change here for stations to Cumbernauld” every sound above me sounds amplified. Stress is getting the better of me and a tickle of guilt is setting in. A shot of my fake coffee will help my nerves. I take several sips. The rotten taste of cheap wine in a former coffee cup tastes worse than just cheap wine from the bottle.

I get prepared to leave the train. Time seems to slow and becomes almost still. She is preparing to leave here too.

I see her again as she is getting organised to leave the train. I push hair out of my face and brush down my coat, and I walk forward. She is walking towards the exit I am headed.

She stands proud and tall. Thanking everyone she scoots past. She is very familiar but I just can’t quite recognise her.

We get closer to each other squeezing into the carriage exit.

“Hayley”... I read from uniform badge. This astounding revelation left me disoriented and confused.

My grip on my hand bag tightened and my hearing now only processing muffles. My eyes firmly burning holes into the carriage floor. It absolutely could not even slightly be possible. I knew I recognised her but how can this even be....

“HAYLEY!” The carriage door opens and we exit the carriage bouncing from one and other like fish in a net.

Still confused and unsure of what I just witnessed, I hear another shout. “Hayley! Over here, are you ok?”

He strokes my face as I get closer to him.

“Hayley, did you get it.. are you ok.. you look pale” bombarded with question after question while still disoriented.

I pass the bag over to him and immediately begin looking for her again. I see her and approach. Except... she is not... what?

Between checking her badge, to her face to badge. This woman is called “Donna” and Donna has beautiful auburn hair down to her waist.

She is not the woman I thought she was.

Still confused, I return to check we have everything in order for the next part of our journey.

“Here, this was in the bag”. He handed me a beautiful small black diary.

For a moment I was so focused on the ghost of my past I forgot about the diary. It looks old but hardly used. It’s beautiful and delicate. You can see it has been well kept, looked after, treasured. And I now have it. I don’t deserve something so elegant.

I open the diary and read

“Life is a gift”.

Lost in a moment of reflection, I am brought back to the present moment.

“Hello-oo Hayley-yy... no time like the present” the sarcastic tone deafened me. “I counted.. you got the $20,000. We need to go”