Also, what's another word for 'crotch'? I don't think I like that word!
Chapter One
DING DING DING!
THE TRAIN NOW ARRIVING AT PLATFORM TWO, IS THE SEVEN-FORTY-SEVEN SERVICE TO LONDON WATERLOO, CALLING AT CLAPHAM JUNCTION AND LONDON WATERLOO.
Alexander Digby stood on the platform edge on the brighter concrete slabs. In the early days of commuting he had figured out the best place to stand to be greeted by the double sliding doors once the train had come to a halt. He had noticed the new concrete slabs every few metres, and had come to the conclusion that they had had to be replaced because of the heavier foot traffic where the doors come to rest. This gave him an advantage in finding a comfortable spot on train. Occasionally this gave him the chance to find a seat too, but they were usually full up this far up the line.
Today was a good day. There was an empty seat in the middle between a row of three. As he worked his way down the aisle, he saw the faces of the tired commuters either with their heads back and mouths open asleep, glancing over a newspaper, a book, or plugged into headphones and staring at a smart phone. He was being careful not to bash his brown leather side bag into their shoulders. Words were not necessary as he jostled into position to take his seat. Nobody speaks to each other here. It’s almost like it’s forbidden. An unwritten rule of the morning commute. Communicating only through glances and nods.
He regretted choosing the middle seat. Alex is slim but his shoulders are broad, and he found himself uncomfortably wedged between a large man to his right and a woman who had folded her overcoat over her lap which pushed into his thigh. To get up now would look clumsy, so Alex endured the thirty-seven minute train ride to London Waterloo.
In his eye line was the blonde woman he saw every morning at the bus stop to the station, and on the platform edge. Today she had boarded at the next set of doors up from him and stood in the aisle. But sometimes they would board together. The only times they have spoken to each other was when the bus was late. It was always a cautious exchange. A simple acknowledgement of the inconvenience. He had wondered what her age might be. He guessed twenty-six or so, a year older than himself.
One particularly busy morning the commuters were packing onto the train like sardines. On departure the train jolted harder than usual causing the blonde woman to fall back inadvertently pressing her rear into his crotch. She glanced around to apologise and it was the first time they had ever made direct eye contact. Her cheeks turned crimson. A memory Alex had remembered fondly.
He did think it strange that they had never exchanged more than a few words and wondered if she was ever curious about him. But they respected each other’s privacy knowing that to speak now would mean to speak tomorrow, and the next day and the next. Something neither of them wanted to impose on each other during the morning commute. So mainly they communicated with glances and nods. They were kinder than the glances and nods they gave to the other commuters.
Sound familiar? Thoughts?
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