Back in March of this year, I had just embarked on the real-life-adult world of commuting. It was daunting, soul crushing and inspiring in equal measure.
"I see the
same people every morning. As I wait for my train to work, 'the usual
suspects' and I all huddle sheepishly over our smartphones and avoid
contact with each other. I've seen these 20 or so people every
weekday for the past 2 months, and we've not shared much more than a
few awkward, jarring glances at each other. We've never held
conversations, much less exchanged names. That's why I've started
christening them myself.
My
favourite is Frog Boy (though I assume his parents went for something
a little more traditional). I first spotted him on a nippy March
morning as he limped through the heavy doors and found a secluded
spot on the platform. He was clutching protectively at a thermal
coffee mug with both hands held close to his hollow chest. Long,
slender fingers tightly interlocked.
He has a
stretched figure, covered by a pale raincoat that's worn and probably
a few sizes too big. He always takes a quick reading of his
surroundings from both directions when he walks outside, and when
he's satisfied that nothing much has changed since the previous
morning, directs his attention to an interesting spot on the floor
just in front of his feet.
His eyes
are watery and rounded, like two deeply set water balloons fit to
burst, in a paltry face. His whole body twitches with frightful
alertness whenever the slightest noise sounds around him. So much so
that every morning I wait for the moment when the conductor's
announcement will inevitably send him jumping off the platform edge
altogether, as a matter of instinct - Amphibious eyes bulging in
terror, coffee spilt on the commuter adjacent to him.
“Dotty”
emerges at about 7:10am. She's a portly woman. A starkly spherical
contrast to the delicate frame of my coat-clad friend.
On wobbling
kitten heels, she takes short, determined strides – no, she
doesn't stride, she 'totters'. Yes, Dotty totters - straight past me
each morning. Her hair is a masterfully curated bob that adds a few
inches to her height. Her makeup is worn more like war paint, bright
circles of blusher defiantly fending off middle age (her concealer is
the cavalry keeping crows feet at bay). She takes a smooth compact
mirror from her handbag and heaves a heavy sigh at the reflection it
presents her with before absently applying an extra layer to the
veneer.
If I were
to attempt small talk with either, it would probably be Dotty. She
stands with her arms neatly folded, unflinching – whereas Frog Boy
appears far too skittish. My concern is that, if I were to approach
him, he would panic as if cornered and make a hasty, fumbling retreat
back behind the safety of the double-glazed doors.
The most
likely candidate for a genuine discussion however, is “George”.
He just looks like a George.
A proud, distinguished countenance that comes from inherently British
values and at least one of
the world wars. He's elderly, but stoic. Not at all fragile-looking
despite the arc in his spine and the limp in his gait. His square jaw
runs parallel to a stiff upper lip, marred at the corners with a
myriad of fine lines.
George
battles with the paper every morning. Minor gusts of wind always seem
to foil his plans to read the World News section. He holds the papers
steadfast in front of him regardless, and stares at the rippling
print intently, trying to decipher the shifting sentences with
dignity and decorum. George never loses his battles with the Metro,
though there have been a few close calls.
He
strikes me as the sort of person who has a lot to offer to a
conversation, but rarely does. A coarse outer shell stubbornly
encasing a good few decades of stories and experience. In fact, the
only thing I've ever really heard him utter so far are a couple of
short, crisp coughs (though even those are swiftly caught in a
well-laundered handkerchief before they're given chance to escape too
far). A fiercely solemn and respectable individual, is our George.
More
than likely, these same three people are observing me in the same
way. It's been 2 months, after all, and there's not a lot to do on
such a baron station platform. You can only count along with the time
on the digital display board for so long, and after a while, even the
delay announcements fail to keep you amused. But that's fine by me.
The human condition is a marvelous thing."
