—26—
Girl (and boy) on a Train
I did it. I caved. I agreed to see Tom again. (Remember Perfectly Lovely But No Spark Tom? Great conversationalist, terrible kisser?) My best friend had engineered a date with Edward Cullen the next morning, and I desperately needed something to take the edge off (#commitmentphobe). Plus, when your affections fluctuate between: ‘I feel it in my bones’ and ‘He’s calling, but I’m watching Outlander’, it doesn’t help to confirm whether the grass really is greener on the other side.
Saying yes to another date with a guy who seems charming, intelligent and attractive but doesn’t get your juices flowing, is like telling yourself you’ll just read one more chapter before bed. You know you’ll regret it in the morning, but you just can’t resist finding out what happens next. Plus, when a guy texts, ‘Be the Willem to my Jude (HAVE YOU READ A LITTLE LIFE YET?!?!). Meet me on the last carriage of the 8.17pm South Morang line heading to Flinders Street tonight,’ you just don’t turn down that kind of offer. I’m only human, after all.
So, I threw on a simple black dress and a pair of hot pink espadrilles, and charged my train card. At West Richmond station I slipped a copy of Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine with my contact details onto an empty bench and waited tentatively at the end of the platform.
Stream of consciousness between 8.12 and 8.17pm:
1. What did Edward Cullen mean when he said he really loves hanging out? The use of ‘love’ and ‘hanging out’ in the same sentence seems extremely misleading. Are we buddies or lovers? Casually dating or something more serious? Could he love me or just love the idea of me? Please for the love of God, somebody tell me what he means!
2. What does ‘the one’ even mean?
3. If Tom were a character in a Jane Austen novel, who would he be? Colonel Brandon (an Austen thoroughbred, but just a touch on the serious side), Henry Tilney (the AAA effect: audacious, affectionate, articulate) or John Knightley (the slow burn)? At this point, I think I’d be satisfied with anybody other than Mr Collins (my cousin) #settling.
4. Pizza.
Eventually the train pulled up, the doors opened and there, in the last row of the carriage, stood Tom, waving enthusiastically. I approached (*casual hair flick*) and sat next to him. And then my heart melted just a little bit. In his hands he held a flask hidden in a brown paper bag, and a packet of jelly babies. It was as if all of my Christmases had come at once. I immediately took a swig and a large handful of lollies and relaxed back into my seat. Perhaps Tom wasn’t so predictable after all?
After catching up (nope, still haven’t read A Little Life and I hate myself for it) and getting just a little bit wasted on his portable gin-and-tonic, we suddenly found ourselves entranced by our fellow commuters. We started to muse about who they were and where they were going, about what made them tick and what made them want to hurl things against a wall.
There was the old lady with her hair wrapped in a clear plastic, waterproof headscarf who was – obviously, to us – originally from Russia, loved watching Bold and the Beautiful re-runs and had a secret sex dungeon in her basement. The twenty-something leaning against the door who wore thick black eyeliner smudged under his eyes and too-tight skinny jeans – he enjoyed attending doof-doof festivals and reading children’s poetry in his spare time. And our favourite, a middle-aged man in a pinstriped suit with a little extra weight around his waist – accountant by day and life-drawing nude model by night.
And before I knew it, we had arrived back at my stop. We had travelled to the end of the line and back around the City Loop without noticing. Could Perfectly Lovely But No Spark Tom be lighting a bit of a flame under this lurve train? Destination: Spanner in the Works-ville.
Suddenly sobered by (without being too cocky or presumptuous) the thought of an impending kiss, we tentatively exited the train. I awkwardly said, ‘Looks like this is my stop,’ and he replied, ‘Pretty, isn’t it?’ We looked around and took in the bleak concrete surrounds. And then he cupped my face. Yes, while standing half a metre away from me, he took my face in his hands. He gazed deeply into my bug-eyed expression of doom and leaned forwards. I braced myself for the slobbery drool, the stiff body language, the overly polite use of tongue.
I am happy to report that it was a marked improvement on our first kiss. Less tense, a little more passion and just the right amount of saliva (with a side of guilt).
Did I want it to be the end of the line for us?
After all, tomorrow is another date.
Scarlett O’ xx
Leave a comment (273)
Ruby Lulu > No need to get your knickers in a knot: Edward Cullen clearly just means ‘You’re amazing and perfect in every way, please never leave me, marry me and bear my children.’
Danielle Marin > How have you not read A Little Life?
Bookish Babe > @DanielleMarin AGREED
No offence but … > Why would you mention that the old woman had to be from Russia? This blog is becoming more and more racist by the day …
Stephen Prince > @Nooffencebut … Was waiting for one of your ridiculous comments. They make my day.
No offence but … > @StephenPrince, Get a life, Stephen.
Stephen Prince > @Nooffencebut … Get a life yourself … what’s your real name?
No offence but … > @StephenPrince, Stephanie.
Stephen Prince > @Nooffencebut … Pretty :)