The Train Traveller

The early morning chill reached inside my coat, I shivered as the train approached. It was still winter and dark; but spring was on its way you could feel it. I always looked forward to my trips to work on the train. After many months of smiling at regular commuters we were now talking and had created a little social club. Conversation gradually developed. It started with a nod for a few mornings then a “hello” then a comment on the weather, always a good talking point in Melbourne, or the news, to the delays on the trains. Slowly other more personal topics of conversation emerged.

One traveller was a rugged man in his fifties. He always had a beanie on his shaved head and wore jeans, strong boots and a coat, the sleeves of which were just short enough to reveal faint lines of tattoos on both arms. He carried a back-pack and always looked clean, warm and friendly. After the nodding and hello we talked about a few topics of mutual interest.

A couple of times we caught the same train home and we chatted again. He liked to shock people. I would get on at the stop before him and as I got into the carriage he would greet me by throwing small bits of rolled up paper at me. One day he was unable to find a seat and deliberately jostled me with his bag as I got on, and then loudly announced to the world at large how sorry he was to upset this lovely lady, and then made one of the other passengers get up and give me their seat.

Another day he noticed that my collar was askew as we arrived at our destination; he adjusted it for me. My daughter who picked me up from the station that night, wanted to know who he was and why he was ‘interfering’ with her mother.

We laughed at the train system, the political standards of the day and events in the past we both remembered. One day he wasn't on the train and I haven't seen him since.