A Shared Quiet

My worst nightmare stretched before me, from which there would be no escape. Encased in metal and already beginning to accelerate, the torture chamber clacked and rocked as if taunting me with it’s mechanical laughter. The orange fluorescence it generated fought back against the assaulting darkness of the night and the air screamed as it was sliced into by my speeding dungeon.

“Ding. Next stop Truro. Estimated arrival. One hour and nineteen minutes. This service terminates at Penzance. Please ensure you take all your belongings with you when departing this South Western Rail Service. Ding.”

The recording of the calm woman’s voice was undoubtedly intended to be soothing, but it startled me with its instant volume and continually burned against my ear drums until mercifully, it ran its course. My reaction to the sensory attack was only one symptom of my true affliction; the fear I would be forced to face and the unbearable source of my torment was not the machine, but its contents. Almost a hundred people occupied every seat available. Every seat but two, on opposite sides of the aisle, with residents encamped beside both. I would have to choose. If I decided upon the left, I would spend the next hour pressed against the built biceps of the most terrifying looking man I had ever seen, most of his bulk clearly visible, despite the back of the seat obscuring the view of every other traveller. The one on the right, a young girl, guessed by the glimpse of flowing blonde hair peeking through the narrow space between seats. Whichever one I chose, both would know I had done so intentionally and predetermine my character by the decision. An hour of a harsh strangers silent judgement would be too agonising to bear. Of course I could remain standing, but then every person that laid eyes on my clumsy stance and skewed glasses would wonder why someone so awkward on their feet refused to sit. 

A pressure against my heavy backpack awakened me to the present moment and the sound of a quiet grunt of displeasure sent my eyes wide in alarm.

“Scuse me mate, are you gonna take a seat or what?” A male voice said from behind. His gentle tone conveyed no real anger, only mild inconvenience, but the fact I had been stood still, blocking the aisle for any length of time sent ripples of panic through my bloodstream. I glanced around in fervour to find a place to stow myself, clearing the way. I was not ready to move forward, but could not remain in place. Pressing my bag into the luggage rack and melting my slim frame against the metal bars I created enough space for the gruff older man to squeeze by.

“Sorry” I whispered while examining the patterned carpet.

He nodded while appraising me with a puzzled look and moved on down the carriage. At the two seats he stopped and plonked himself down on the left hand side. He just seated himself, without thought and without reservation, settling into what comfort the plastic form offered. With his quick action, my dilemma was solved.

A rattle of the train sent my hand grasping for the rail to steady my feet and daring to look up, I checked that no one had seen my embarrassing misstep. Thankfully all I found were the backs of heads. I hurried down the line to prevent attracting any further attention and gingerly sat myself down in the only remaining space.

Letting out a long breath I revelled in the safety of an assigned place to exist. That was until I glanced to my right and caught my bunk mate’s reflection in the black glass. Her blonde hair cascaded in manicured waves over her shoulders, her green eyes shone with the light of a kind soul and her flawless, ivory skin glowed with life. She was the most beautiful young woman I had ever seen. She wore designer clothes, not that I recognised the brand, but the quality and price tag was clear even to me. A gold chain encircled her neck, the undoubtedly expensive jewel at its end lost under her clothing. Several glinting rings protected her fingers that were far beyond the usual costume jewellery I would expect. The angel appeared to be close to my own age; the pen she pressed against her rose lips and the textbook she scrawled notes into gave away university level studies that matched my own. I had chosen poorly, understanding now the other mans quick decision to avoid my newly acquired discomfort when faced with someone who so thoroughly out classed my own common presentation. 

My throat tightened and I felt sweat beading along my back. I didn’t know where to place my hands without it seeming unnatural. In my haste I had left my bag with all my distractions on the luggage rack. There was no retrieving it now, not without giving away my stupidity. My eyes roved the pattern of the chair ahead and I examined the catch restraining the tray table in great detail. There was no scenery to watch fly by, no raindrops to trace down the glass and no trinkets to occupy my attention. I was trapped, pressed against the most intimidating beauty I had ever encountered with nothing to appear busy with; nothing to excuse my quiet avoidance. Was she wondering why I hadn’t spoken? Was she raising an internal eyebrow at my choice of hand position? Was she smelling the hours of travel on my person and feeling encased by revulsion? Was she laughing at the ratty superhero t-shirt I wore? Was she secretly lamenting the gawky looking boy who had broken her peace? The only way to know would be to ask and that, I would never do.

The minutes ticked by unending and my ongoing self-torment did not cease. It began to feel more familiar and with that, at least, I was able to settle a little, accepting the heightened awareness as an old friend. Eventually a quiet sound broke through the haze of my anxiety and drew my attention back to her.

“Thank you” she said softly. I did not register the words quickly, as they were barely audible over the murmur of other voices and cranking of the tracks. It took me a long moment to process that she had spoken to me, that she had presented a verbal invitation to engage with her. In doing so she had opened the flood gates of adrenaline that began pouring into my body. The fog of fear induced chemicals that dampened my mind and wanted my body to move, resulted in the most uninspired response I have ever uttered.

“Huh?” I bumbled.

“Thank you…for giving me space. That must sound strange…I’m sorry…” She said looking back to her book and doodling with her pen. “It’s just I take this train home every week and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been left in peace. Most men are not so polite as you.”

“Oh…uh…your welcome. I didn’t want to bother you.” I offered, able to string together more than one word this time.

“You probably don’t understand how kind that is” she smiled, her eyes creasing in the most adorable way.

“You’d be surprised…” I managed “I’m not really one for spontaneous interaction with strangers. I’d much prefer to go unnoticed too.”

“In that we are the same then. Unfortunately, it is rarely an option allowed to me. I’m Emma” she said offering a hand. I took it awkwardly, our side by side seats making turning my hand to meet hers almost impossible. She smiled at the clumsy attempt.

“Jacob. Nice to meet you.”

Silence reigned for what felt like an eternity post introduction. My heart pounded in my ears whilst my mind searched for a subject to broach that would make me seem like a normal human being. Someone capable of more than a two minute conversation. It came up empty. She rescued me, as she had done from my initial spiral, by speaking first. 

“You study at Plymouth?” she assumed, pointing to the crest on my worn out, unzipped hoodie.

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m headed home for the long weekend. Visiting the parents, you know?”

“Me too, but from Exeter. I commute in from Truro on the days I can’t do remote lectures, so this is a more common journey for me.”

“No kidding, I’m from Truro too!” I said. The sudden familiarity of a person from my hometown igniting a feeling of kinship that threatened to dwarf my nervous apprehension. “That’s a long commute, you do this all the time?”

Emma looked down at her book again, scribbling additional geometric shapes to her doodle.

“Yeah, I tried the dorms, it wasn’t for me. Too many people…too much attention…” she trailed off.

“Really?” I asked, my growing confidence pushing words from my mouth before my mind had time to analyse them for mistakes. “I would have thought someone like you would be popular? That you would find it easy amongst the crowds?”

“Popularity is over-rated. Suffocating. I’d much rather be anonymous. Go in, do my work and leave. Invisible and immune to unwanted attention.”

Her words mirrored the thoughts I had on a daily basis. She spoke out loud what I hid. The ideas that if shared would paint me as a freak, an anti-social outcast on the fringes of society that must have something wrong with him. To hear it spoken so openly, to a complete stranger and without shame. It was inspiring.

“You must think me weird” she said, as if reading my thoughts again.

“No. Not at all. I was just thinking how similar we are. Although my reasons are not born from an abundance of popularity” I laughed. “In fact the opposite. I pretend to enjoy the things I’m supposed to, the outgoing events and parties, but if I’m as honest as you are, I’d rather go unseen until I can muster the energy for things like that.”

“Weird. I thought I was the only one…”

“So did I” I smiled.

We spoke long of our shared introversion, the irony of which was not lost on either of us. I found myself able to bare my soul to this girl. The smallness I felt when first faced with her image in the glass evaporated on the back of her kind laughter. We bonded over our shared love of home movies and nights in, our discomfort at college parties and the way we both missed the security of home while away. I would never have thought to share so much with someone so glamorous, a person who had clearly been raised for success and certainly looked the part on the outside. My reserved spirit had inspired only weakness and a low rung on the social ladder in my own life. Largely resulting in a terminal lack of acceptance and the label of…strange. 

“Ding. This service is now arriving at Truro. Please collect all belongings before departure and mind the gap. Next stop. Redruth. Ding.”

“Oh that’s us!” Emma said, quickly gathering her books into a satchel and holding it close ready to leave, well ahead of time.

“Already?” I asked of the train. “Well, it was great meeting you Emma, I’m really glad I chose this seat” I admitted, stretching the truth only a little about my decision.

“You too Jacob. A kindred spirit is hard to find.”

“It really is…” I smiled, letting a silent moment stretch between our met eyes.

It was time, I knew it had been coming, the moment that would require me to take the leap. The idea had been simmering in my thoughts since we had begun talking and now that it had crept upon us, I still felt unprepared. My palms were liquid, my breath caught and the ribs in my chest collapsed inward. I had to ask her, I couldn’t let her leave without a phone number, email address, any way to contact her beyond this train. I just had to ask. Her eyes said she expected it, mine told that I was being unrealistic. Why would someone like her want to speak to me unless she was forced to? My mouth opened, words formed and I spilled out…a delaying tactic.

“My bag! I just need to grab it from the rack, I’ll be back in a moment”

As I reached the end of the carriage the train screeched to halt between concrete platforms. The giant words ‘Truro’ filled the windows, illuminated by artificial light. I tore my bag from the shelf and looked back to see a horde of people standing from their seats, blocking me from reaching Emma. She was herded toward the far doors and I was gently pushed by etiquette toward the rear.

Oh no…

Was she thinking I chose to leave, that I knew we were close to the station? Was she glad I hadn’t asked and she wasn’t required to refuse? Was she not looking back because she didn’t want to catch my eye, so that she could leave unbothered? Was she glad to be free of my presence? Did she feel relieved that the weirdo was gone?

No. Be quiet. 

I know what I had seen in her green eyes. I know the words she spoke were genuine. I know we shared a connection.

I slung my backpack on and tightened the straps, fists grasped at my shoulders, ready to burst from the doors and run. I’d catch her, I’d yell her name through the crowd. I’d look the fool and not care, throwing off the judgemental looks that I would attract.

A kindred spirit is hard to find.

I wasn’t going to rob myself of another connection. The doors hissed as they slid open and I leapt.