Man on my mind

The doors pinched her skirt as she stepped into the coach. The wrong one, of course. She pulled the frills out one by one, checking over her shoulder that nobody was watching - nobody was. Who would, anyway? One day, she would onboard the right coach, on time, like a responsible woman in her thirties. But for now, she needed a coffee. 

Juggling her tote bag, suitcase, coffee cup and laptop, her teeth holding tight onto her ticket, she progressed through the line of coaches. To her right, four free seats and a plug. Why bother longer? She pushed her suitcase into the rack above her head and sank in the empty seat by the window. Had she turned off the iron? Yes. Watered the orchid? Yes. Locked her bike? Yes. Packed her umbrella? Yes. Wait, no. Damn, she had forgotten it at the restaurant. Again. No big deal. Oh, you know it's no big deal - what was that song again? Man on my mind, Cornelia Murr. She pressed play.

Rain poured over the blurry hills and lines of lavender on the other side of the window. She traced their curves onto the glass. I don't want to lose you-ou-ou, the song concluded and she thought of her umbrella. Lost and gone. Man on my mind - maybe someone was on her mind when she forgot it? Had anyone distracted her over the past few days? Those things they come and go, but they take a lot of mental space. She tried to remember. No, nobody. She looked at her laptop screen - she still had a presentation to prepare for the next day and she was sitting and mourning her umbrella. How silly. Oh, that's no big deal.

"The next train. I know. Yes. Sure. I know that too, thanks. Well, how about you just deal with it."

As he took off his jacket, his pullover lifted up and revealed his apple green underwear and she thought she was a mess. For sure, he would now turn around and target one of the three empty seats surrounding hers. She spread her leather jacket over her shoulders and closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep. He settled into the seat facing her nonetheless. She opened her eyes slightly; he was rubbing his. His eyes were read. As she emerged from underneath her jacket, he glanced at her, aware she hadn't been sleeping.

"I was rehearsing for a Christmas show." was the only explanation she could find.

He did not reply.

"I don't usually rehearse on the train, but this time -"

"You do whatever you like." He rose up from his seat.

How rude. Who was that? Her eyes scanned through his open bag, sleeveless vest, and carrot juice. Was that a presentation over there? Maybe he was a donor - arrogant and "busy". She could see that. Leaning over the table between their two seats, she stretched every vertebrae of her spine. "Strictly confidential", the beige cover of his deck read. Had she brought her hiking stick with her, she could have turned a couple of pages. For information purposes, only.

"It says strictly confidential", his voice said in her back.

"Then why leave it in plain sight?" She leaned back into her seat and crossed her arms over her chest.

“It’s a brain teaser for idle people.”

“Excuse me?”

"Nothing.” His phone rang and he switched it off. Grabbed his deck and skimmed through the pages. He frowned and drew a red pen from his bag. Circled words and figures, every twenty seconds or so, with a swift gesture and a short mumble to himself.

"You've been observing me for the past twenty minutes." he said. 

"Well, you’re funny.”

“Am I?” His blue-red eyes darted at her. He had wrinkles at the corner of his eyes but he was still in his thirties.

“You told someone off over the phone, sat down without asking for permission, showed your underwear to everybody on the train. I found it funny, sorry.”

“And you just demonstrated low EQ.”

Her eyebrows raised. 

“I said I was sorry.”

“Question for you, why would anyone do that?”

“How would I know? Maybe they’re just rude.”

“That’s one way to look at it.” He cleared his throat. “I used to do the same when I was a kid.” He hinted at her drawing on the window. “Did you notice how the landscape seems to be escaping – running away. As if it knew human eye, or brain, captures were a curse.” He let out a soft laughter. His canines were sharp, and it gave him a witty smile. He looked back at her. “Life is funny isn’t it? It just laughs at you, straight in the face.”

“You don’t like humor?”

“I like irreverent humour, as irreverent as life, but it seldom happens.”

“You don’t seem irreverent. Rather exhausted or chained.” She hinted at his deck and phone where notifications were popping in red.

“First snap judgment of the conversation, took you”, he checked his watch, “less than fifteen minutes.” He peeled the clip out of his deck and twisted it. Looked out of the window, again, and a tiny smirk appeared on his face. What was going on in that mind? 

“I’m sorry about the low EQ comment.”, he said still looking outside. “I don’t understand why people jump to conclusions all the time. How accurate would you say your assessments are on average. Weekly average. On a 0 to 10 scale.”

She laughed. 

“Right?” There was something childlike about his tone, exclamations and his timing when smiling. It was all offbeat, as if a different partition was playing in his mind as he spoke to her. She wished she could access the stage behind those wrinkles. “Observe, assess, boom – conclusion. Move on to the next thing.” He dropped his clip on the table. “Who cares about accuracy, anyway.”

“How about you? You’re talking as if you were the only –“

“No, not at all. I’m aware of my limitations not all, but some.” He paused. “I cultivate them and cherish them.” He smiled and she smiled back. “But when it comes to assessing people, I often give the benefit of the doubt, try to understand or speculate. Although, with time, I've realised few people reciprocate.” He checked on his phone and ignored it again.

“Oh, that’s not what I – “

“Don't worry, I was teasing you. I didn’t like the word you used, “funny” - so I thought I'd poke and see what happens. But, in the end, you do whatever you like.”

“Why?”

"I'm curious. What are you working on?"

"Some presentation - nothing interesting."

"That I had figured."

She smiled.

"What's the presentation for?"

"A meeting with donors tomorrow, I work for a theatre company."

"Producer?"

"No, fundraising only. I was originally a theatre director, but I needed to pay the bills.”

“I see.”

"You're traveling for work, or -"

"For work."

He was gone again, looking at the fields and mountains. She could have watched his pale frown and tired eyes for hours. 

“Coffee?”, he finally asked.

Oh. 

“Thanks, I have had one already.”

“Should I bring you M&Ms?”

"M&Ms?”

“Everybody likes M&Ms.” She laughed and his soft eyes smiled as he grabbed his wallet.

The landscape was running out of sight, fast. Man on my mind was what she needed. She pressed play. She untied her shoelaces and felt her shoes slipping down her tights. She curled under her jacket, squeezing her knees close to her chest. In his open bag, she saw a tiny present, wrapped in baby blue with a red ribbon. Was is for a colleague? What a character.

"Still that Christmas show?" he hinted at her jacket as he sat down. He opened a pack of M&Ms and put it between them on the table. She took one, looking at him. 

“Who is the present for?” 

“Present? Oh. A colleague. He's been at the hospital for three weeks now. I work in consulting –“

“Is that where people did not reciprocate your efforts?” She felt protective towards him all of a sudden. 

“Yes and no. I was talking more generally. But regarding my colleague. We’ve been working remotely for over six months now and it’s the first time I’m visiting their office. He injured himself and is staying at the hospital alone. Consulting is one of those careers where it’s easy to compromise on your social life and… end up by yourself. You only realise it when it's too late. One of those tricks life plays on you, as I mentioned. It's a tough realisation for someone in their forties - so I thought I’d pay him a visit.”

He looked through the window again and faded, watching the horizon.

“Right. I’m getting off here.” He collected his wallet, notebook and presentations. Under her jacket, she was pressing her fingers. What could she say, what should she say? He slipped on his coat, still like a kid from kindergarten and, as he approached, she smelt his perfume. It was musky, too strong compared to the subtle intensity of his character. Something woody or fresh would have suited him better.

He turned around and looked at her. Opened his mouth without saying anything. Closed it. And walked out. She stood up. The hard carpet tickled her feet through her tights as she walked down the alley towards the door of the coach. She held onto the seats and kept walking. He walked much faster than her. She didn’t even know his name and he would certainly not hear her if she screamed "wait". He seemed focused again, back in his bitterdream world. She accelerated in the endless alley. He pressed the button at the top of the glass door and slipped out. The door shut slowly. He was standing on the other side waiting for the train to halt. Checked his phone, typed something and turned around. He saw her. She accelerated again. What would she say? She didn’t even know. Probably ask for his name. Or number. Or both. He smiled through the glass of the now closed door. She smiled. He waved. With his left hand, as delicate as the right one. As thin, as precise. As pale. All the same, except it had a ring.

As she slipped back under her jacket, her feet felt cold and she tried to warm them up with her tiny hands. Outside, the landscape continued its silent race, faster than she could have possibly imagined.