Tales from the train

Our eyes met as soon as she stepped in, I felt the connection immediately. Through the sea of people I knew she was the one. Our meeting was no mistake, this was no coincidence this was fate. Time stood still as she walked towards me, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I stared down the aisle in a vein attempt to cover my true feelings. My book, that would be my saviour, I could read my book! Never would she know how I feel about her, I could hide behind my book for as long as I needed, feigning interest in it as I contemplated our future together.

My realisation that I don’t carry a book served only to leave me off guard as took the final few steps in my direction. I tried in vein to reach for my phone in a last gasp attempt to save face but it was too late. As she stood beside me I felt the immediate connection I knew was coming.

We connected in a way no strangers should, a way that broke down all social barriers. We connected with her big flabby hip on my shoulder. That’s right the fat woman was beside me. I knew it was coming, why didn’t I try to escape. I could’ve headed to the toilet, sticky urine soaked seat would surely have been better than this. As the train swung from side to side I felt my shoulder slowly disappear, desperate to find relief for her overworked feet.

The fat woman found any ledge onto which she could relieve the burden of some of her weight and did just that. Unfortunately for me I was that ledge, my shoulder was now an official fat holding device and I could do nothing about it. My only relief came in knowing that the guy on the opposite side of the isle shared my trauma. There was a wide eyed young man, who like myself, was unprepared for what the universe had planned for him this day.

As my sanctuary approached I knew it was almost over, her stop. The tannoy rings clear, my freedom soon approaching. The final brakes were applied, we had stopped. Mere seconds stood between me and a shoulder free from flab. I realise now how premature my jubilations were. Her bag, in something reminiscent of a matrix film I watched in slow motion horror as she reached for her bag, placed to her side in a wholly successful attempt to hide what was coming. The ass, It was a fleeting moment but one which robbed me of some of my soul. The doors to the train closed and I began to reflect on another journey into work. A journey I knew I would have to repeat later that day facing the other way.

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J.A. Laraque

J.A. Laraque is a freelance writer and novelist. His passion for writing mixed with a comedic style and intelligent commentary has brought him success in his various endeavors. Whatever the subject, J.A. has an opinion on it and will present it in writing with an insight and flair that is both refreshing and informative.