The Train Journey

The train chugged along.

She looked out of the window, deep in thought. The scenes scrolled into oblivion as she sipped the mediocre coffee served on trains. Her breath formed temporary stories onto the glass, but they faded from memory almost as soon as they were told. She was alone in the compartment. She was alone in life. It seemed befitting somehow.

The train took its scheduled rest in some station with a forgettable name. A young man and his girlfriend stumbled noisily into the compartment. They did not really notice her, nor hear her solitude. She thought they might be thirty somethings, a professional couple, casually but elegantly dressed. Smug. Successful. Sure of themselves. The world made space for people like them.

The girlfriend held out her hand and touched his face with tenderness. He unfolded it and whispered something into her wrist. They both laughed. The young man took out his computer and with an apologetic nod started preparing a presentation he said he needed to finish for the next day. She took out a small black leather-bound notebook and after furtively looking at her companion and making sure he was busy focusing on his computer screen, she unleashed the front cover from the band holding the secrets within her notebook. She unhooked the table next to his, uncorked a beautiful old-fashioned pen and started writing. Occasionally, she looked up and stared in front of her, tapped her chin with the pen, then went back to her thoughts. She wrote fluently, elegantly and with apparent purpose.

Her coffee was cold by now and thoroughly unpleasant to drink, but she held on to the cup as if she was drawing strength from it. She watched as the fine fingers elegantly wrapped ideas in ink and encased them in the little black custodian that appeared to be her trusted companion.

It was nice to watch that couple. She constructed their lives in her mind. Their home with its simple lines and designer pedigree. Their Christmas parties with sparkling wine and witty conversation. Their garden furniture and summer shade. Her imagination inhabited their world and envied its gloss.

Hers, by contrast was dark and dull. She was going back to where she started but nothing ever did. Her parents will be waiting for her with understanding, but pitying affection. What was she thinking wanting to be someone from elsewhere? Wanting to be someone other than she? Always dreaming, that girl. How she got that job at the publishing house, they will never know, but she couldn’t even keep it. Penniless and alone. Yes, alone. Always alone. Again, alone.

She was not looking forward to going back home. Home was where she felt most homeless. Even when she lost her job and had to give up her apartment, pack her suitcase and buy a one-way ticket, she was more anchored than she will ever be when she docks.

The girlfriend looked up from her writing and checked her watch. She signaled to the lady pushing through the aisle with coffee, tea and an assortment of barely edible fare. Her coffee is white with two packets of sugar, a fact that was mildly surprising considering her diminutive stature. His coffee was black. Cookies or crisps? No, thank you, just some water. Cups stationed in their respective nooks, they both went back to what they were doing.

The train chugged along.

How stupid could she be? Trusting fool. Her thoughts chugged along too. She had borrowed all that money from her parents to go to school. She promised them that she was going to make something of herself. She was determined to make something of herself. She was not going to be ordinary, with ordinary dreams, and an ordinary life. She was going to be something. A degree in comparative literature, a job at a publishing house, a pregnant saving account that promised to pay back her debt in a few months, and then.. he happened.

He came into her life, then he left. The time between those two moments was when she lived, truly lived. He was a man of passion and words. He constructed a world of words that enveloped her and made her feel loved, safe, desired. She felt privileged that he asked her to invest in his coffee shop project that was going to enable them to be together and buy an apartment, maybe eventually get married.

The house of words came crashing down when he disappeared with all her savings. In that moment, all air was sucked out of her lungs. Her life stopped. Her love stopped, and she is now going back to where she started and where it all will end.

The train stopped with a jolt a little shy of the station. The coffee cup, still half full and already cold, keeled over spilling its contents onto the open laptop. The man jumped up and, in panic, tried his best to remove the offending liquid from the keyboard. His girlfriend dug into her bag and frantically brought out tissues to help with the resulting mess. They were both still busy with trying to rescue the laptop and his clothing when the train heaved itself back into action and made the last leg into the station. They quickly got their things and dashed out, still obviously shaken.

With the doors closed, the train started to move again. Looking through the window, she saw the young women running back towards the train in obvious agitation, waving her arms trying to make it stop. Without a backwards glance, the train ignored her in its determination to get to where it was going.

She was now curious. Why was the girl so agitated? Perhaps she left something behind. She got up and walked over to where the couple had been sitting. The little black leather-bound notebook was on the floor near the girlfriend’s seat. She picked it up and turned it around in her hands. The leather is beautiful, she thought. So soft and inviting. It felt heavy with the secrets it held. Would she be spying if she took a peek? She opened it slowly, carefully, lest some precious thought might fall out. She checked the first page, but there was no name and no indication of who the girlfriend owner was.

The little black book reflected its owner: elegant, composed, only half full of the life it was promised. She has not had time to fill its pages to the brim, yet it was full of grace and gratitude. She was about to close it and snap its elastic clasp around the cover, when something fell out: A lottery ticket.

She looked at it with surprise. The girlfriend did not seem to be the kind to buy lottery tickets, but people are strange, you never know with people.

She arrived at her parents’ house, her home, the place she started but nothing ever did. Her parents hugged her with the pitying affection that seemed to wait for her return. To divert the discomfort, she told them the story of the little black leather-bound notebook and the dislocated lottery ticket. Wouldn’t it be funny if it was one of the winning tickets?

She was exhausted after the long journey. She went to sleep thinking if she would have a life that was worthy of gratitude and grace and a little black note-book.

She woke up to the excited noise from downstairs. Her ticket had won the $20,000 prize!