It’s been years since I’ve been on a train. My faithful red car got me everywhere I need to go, or it did until I smashed it into something bigger than it. Now it’s at Car Hospital being tended to, and in the meantime I’m without my hard working wheels. I’m sitting at the train station, on a bench with my knees up to my chest and headphones in my ears. Robert Smith whispering to me, it doesn’t matter if we all die.

It’s a warm day, probably too warm for the jeans I’m wearing, but it’s not blisteringly hot. A few people wonder aimlessly around the train station with little to do as there were no trains scheduled to arrive for nearly half an hour. Eventually a man in a business suit walked out of the station and the last I see of him is his back climbing into a taxi. Apart from a few kids on skateboards on the other side of the tracks, I’m alone.

I dig into my shoulder bag and pull out a notebook and a pen. My writing is messy and there is no thought process behind what I’m writing. If someone who didn’t know saw me, I wouldn’t blame them for thinking I was writing something deep or, at the very least, interesting. Instead I’m jotting down random things I see. Bird flies past, probably looking for food. The pages of my notebook are covered in doodles and each paragraph is separated by lines of haiku like graffiti.

I’m reading over my own writing as David Bowie sings about Major Tom floating through space in a tin can far above the world. The pages in front of me are covered in random lyrics, amateur poetry and nonsensical ramblings and it’s only after a moment that I look up from my notebook and notice that I’m not alone. I didn’t notice the footsteps because of the music playing in my ears, but the shadow cast over me gets my attention quickly enough. The girl standing in front of me has dark hair tied into a pony tail, and her green t-shirt is decorated by swirls and other interesting shapes. Her glasses have thick frames, unlike my wire frames.

“Hi.” She mouths. I can’t hear her voice, but I get the feeling she didn’t actually speak out loud. I pull the headphones from my ears.

“Hi.” I say. She smiles, big and with lots of teeth.

“I’m a Pisces, too.” She says, confusing me until she gestures to my necklace, a little silver ornament about the size of a quarter with two fish eternally swimming in opposite directions, giving me away.

I’m about to switch off my iPod when she asks what I’m listening to. I give her the headphones and, as she places on ear bud ear her head tilts slightly as she listens, then a smile breaks across her features. “I love this song.” I can hear it softly playing through the tiny speaker lying between us. All I can say is that my life is pretty plain...

She’s sitting next to me, her legs crossed underneath her. We talk about music and moves to begin with. We have very similar tastes, but I find myself jotting down the names of a few bands I’ve never heard in my notebook. We talk about our social lives, she complains about high school and I lament the college application process. She’s a sympathetic ear to my sad tale of crashing my car. When she asks what’s in the notebook, I tell her, although I normally keep my writing to myself. She doesn’t seem all that surprised, and when I ask why she answers simply “I like writing too.”

She asks if she can see what I’ve written. Nobody’s eyes but my own have seen these pages and for a moment I consider muttering an excuse and stuffing it away into my bag. Instead I give it to her, without really even knowing why. She flicks through the pages, and I try not to scrutinize the way her eyes dart across the words, the way her mouth curves slightly at the edges. I’m convinced she isn’t impressed, or is possibly amused by my substandard poetry, but when she looks up and tells me how much she likes a piece of my writing, there is so much sincerity there to ignore. I smile and try not to grin like an idiot.

I look at my watch and realize there are only a few minutes until my train arrives. I shrug it off and we continue to talk and laugh about life in general. When I do see the train approaching in the distance I ask if she’s catching it, but she tells me she’s actually waiting for her friends and they’re heading in completely the opposite direction. As the trains comes to a stop I smile and tell her it was nice to meet her, and that I hope things at school improve. She tells me she’ll be fine and smiles back, a great big smile that would cause everyone around her to pause had there been anyone else there.

I’m just stepping onto the train as she calls out. “You forgot this!” She runs towards me and places my notebook in my hand just before the door closes. I mouth a thank you through the window and wave at her as the train begins to roll forward. I take a seat by the window and watch her as her friends arrive, a group of them. I place the headphones on and hit play. The train takes off and I close my eyes, the music is taking me to strawberry fields.

I think about the girl I’d just met, and the thirty minute connection we shared that seemed deeper than anything I’ve experienced in longer than I'd like to admit. I realize I completely missed the opportunity to get to know her, and suddenly it seems like a terrible waste. I sigh to myself and open my notebook; ready to write my experience down when I see something written in someone else’s handwriting.

You forgot to ask for my number! Oh well, but don’t forget to call me.

Below this is a line of digits, a cell number, and her name signed in big, loopy letters. I close the notebook and laugh to myself, and for the rest of the trip I don’t write a single thing.

Dale Mallows

2.4.09