“I have a memory of an alternative reality…..”

Train

Working in News can be difficult. You listen to stories all day, most of them depressing. Some of them stay with you and some of them disappear inside without a trace. Leaving work and joining the wandering tourists outside you can experience your emotions like a wine-tasting. Sadness, pity, an aftertaste of anger that’s hard to get rid of. But today I’m thinking about what happened yesterday afternoon, a story about me.

I was traveling in to work on the train, listening to 9 on my iPod. The window was really clean, for once there was no graffiti on it, and everything outside was lit with the low, clear sunlight you get on a perfect autumn day.

At Loughborough Junction a woman got on and sat nearly opposite me. I could see, out of the corner of my eye, that she was dressed sleekly, all in black, with straight dark hair in a bob. I was about to glance over at her, but then I decided not to. I always look at attractive women, what’s the point? Isn’t it better just to be glad she’s there?

A moving pool of sun was lighting up her hands as she got out her book. I could see the reflection clearly in the window, superimposed on the moving city outside. It was a hardback novel, her hands were graceful, holding the book carefully. The building sites looked sharp and intense, everything seemed so real. I was finding it really hard not to look at her and it looked like she was glancing up at me. Maybe she could tell.

The way that tower blocks move past when you’re on a train listening to sad music is so achingly, cinematically perfect. Damien Rice was singing Does he drive you wild, or just mildly free? and now she had put down her book and was looking straight at me. I was desperately searching the landscape for beautiful things to look at: open windows, someone ironing, broken cars, flags. Maybe I looked like a tourist, someone who’s never seen a big city before.

Now we were slowing down for Elephant and Castle. She put her book away, stood up and went and stood in the lobby by the door. We both knew it was over, but she was still looking at me and I was stupidly staring at the platform. As she got out I shut my eyes and only opened them when the doors closed and we pulled away.

I felt a tear running down my nose as we passed the new Palestra building in Union Street. For the first time since it was built the wind turbines on its roof were turning.