Platform Truths: The 6.42 to Waterloo

The monotony of my life was beginning to grind. I looked around the dreary platform, the weather not helping my mood. The perpetual drizzle and grey skies were a norm these days and I longed for them to be an exception. When I was a child, I used to love rainy days, we would play board games and do puzzles then drive my mom crazy with our fighting! How I wish I could go back to more simpler times, the freedom that childhood gives you is never appreciated until it is gone. I suddenly jolt out of my meanderings as the 6.42 train to Waterloo is announced.

I prepare myself for the influx of passengers that seem to appear from the cracks in the platform. What looked like forty people waiting turns into two hundred and forty as everyone swarms to the train to try and get a seat. There is no orderly fashion to this procedure it is each person to their own. I literally get swept off my feet as I make my way to the doors. I watch Jack disembark, he does not look at me or acknowledge me which stabs at my heart. It must be him - I would never forget those eyes. Every morning he gets off this train and wrestles his way through the crowd. He sits in the same carriage every morning and I confess to standing on the platform where that carriage usually stops; just so I can get a glimpse of him.

I manage to grab a seat and I wondered if it was Jack’s seat. I take my book out and start to read knowing I should be preparing for the meeting that lies ahead. The meeting where I must tell two of the best people who have worked for me that they will no longer have a job. I wonder how long until my boss is telling me the same thing. I longed for sunshine as I look out of the rain filled skies and suddenly remember I left my umbrella on the platform.

I jolted as the train stopped and I realized I was already at Waterloo. The rain was still coming down and I cursed myself for leaving my umbrella and decided I would hail a cab rather than embark on the mile walk in this weather.

The day went as it had started, dreary and depressing. I was glad to get back on the train at Waterloo and on the way home, if that is what one would call it, it is more of a dwelling. Stephen had not taken it well, his wife was expecting their third child and I felt like the world’s worst person. I promised him an excellent reference. Jamie was more nonchalant he was younger and single and had an easy come easy go attitude so I did not feel quite as bad. Times were tough.

I remembered when Amy was expecting Jack. She was a wonderful mother went through pregnancy like it was no big deal, birthed this ginormous baby like it was popping a pea with no pain control. Then took to motherhood as though she had been doing it all her life. Me on the other hand had no idea on fatherhood nothing came naturally. There was none of this emotion that everyone talks about when I first saw my son, I was devoid. I supposed I loved him but people had spoken about this shattering earthquake that happened when you held your child for the first time. Yet all I felt was fear that I would drop him. I went with the pretense as Amy went on and on about this bond. I put it down to her being a woman. As the two other kids followed, I felt disconnected. I was away a lot with my job but that was not it. Looking back, I should have started therapy then but I did not think there was anything wrong with me.

The next morning the sun was shining and I walked with a spring in my step hoping I would see Jack. It must be him and it pains me that he has shown no recognition which makes me wonder is it him?

I got to the station early so went to the office to see if my umbrella was there. Miraculously it was and I smiled to myself grateful there were still good people in the world.

I waited for the train and at 6.35 an announcement was made that the train was running late and the expected time was now 6.55. Drat I thought, people will start arriving for the next train by then so there will be more people than usual trying to get on. The train started to pull in and I am frantic to see Jack. This was starting to become an obsession but it was over twenty years now since I left. I had walked out on my family as I did not belong. My world at that time was my next fix. Amy just did not understand, she thought she did, offering to take me to AA, or support me and holding the fort whilst I went to rehab. I was closed to any help; the drink was just my medicine to deal with the demons in my head and the emptiness. And I knew I could stop if I wanted at any time; except that was not the case.

I had blamed Amy and the kids for my indulgence, it is the way us addicts work. I was not just an addict either I had bad depression and no self-worth after some issues in my previous job that basically broke me. Amy looking back was a saint but all I saw was an annoying person who had it together and was mad at me all the time. Who can blame her? However, at the time all I did was blame her. I left one day when she had taken the kids out and never even left a note. I had been drinking and driving for months in the run up to that and she was at the end of her tether. I had written off the car, totally my fault but I came up with some story that it was not my fault but she knew what I had done, especially when my story kept changing. Amy has a great memory and it is hard to remember lies so easy to remember the facts.

The train stopped and I look to see if I can see Jack. I spotted him fighting against the mass of bodies trying to get onto the train. It’s a zoo. He’s wearing those AirPods they all wear now and I notice he has had his hair cut. I look right at him but he’s zoned out and my heart sags. I thought of shouting his name but he would not hear and besides what would I do? I get on the train and have no luck with a seat so I grab the pole to hang on and look out the window and watch Jack.

I did not know he had moved back here. Amy went back to Australia. I had met her on a gap year there and whisked her away. We were inseparable and so happy for a time until my addiction became my only focus. I wondered why no one had told me Jack was here but other than a Christmas and Birthday card there is little communication between us. That was my doing, Amy had tried but at the time but I could not deal with it and sent all the letters back unopened. She had remarried and was happy and I could not bring any more chaos to her life or the kids.

After I left them, I went from hanging around bars to being behind bars. It was all I deserved and no amount of being locked up could ever console my soul for the life I took. Now when I look out of the window, I feel unworthy of the freedom I have been given. Yet if that freedom could mean just one minute with my son it would mean everything.

Before long the train rolled into Waterloo and my day began once more.

The following morning there was no Jack nor the day after. I wondered where he was and if he was ok. I panicked I had missed the opportunity to connect with him. The weekend came and went and honestly, I could not wait until Monday morning for a glimpse of my boy.

It was another dreary gray Monday morning and although I knew I should feel grateful not to be in prison the mundaneness of my life did not inspire. So many times I had come so close to having a drink but I knew it would not be one and I could not go back to that world again. The dreary life I had created was better than the artificial life that addiction brings. Seeing Jack every morning inspired me not to go back to drinking and how I wished I had seen that before. I wanted to tell Amy sorry but I knew she did not want me interfering in her life again. I am not sure how she got through it. I know there is no going back, the paths behind us would always be. The new footprints we make are what matters now.

The train pulls in and my heart skips a beat as I see Jack. He walks right past me and looks in my direction. I smile but there is no recognition. I notice a mole on his neck and could not recall him having a mole. These things I guess can appear later.

I began to worry once more, anxiety it seemed is common in people like me but I want to feel these emotions and not numb them as I have done in the past. I knew I should talk to my therapist about all this. How many times did Amy tell me to see a therapist. She identified all the problems and why I was like I was but whenever she told me I just thought she was having a go. Truth was I did not want to hear it. She would ask me to do simple tasks like put the trash out and I would tell her she was going on. The fact was she should not have had to ask. She was too nice tolerating me for so long.

When I killed that boy that was the end of everything. It was the end of me and I realize it’s only since I have started seeing Jack that I have felt any emotion at all. Maybe I was healing. I had tried to prevent my healing. I did not deserve it and I had been determined to punish myself forever but seeing Jack again had changed something in me.

Once more I am at Waterloo and I begin my walk to my mundane job that I know I am lucky to have. Prison life was institutional, monotonous like you would never believe, the days would stretch forever and the nights were even longer. The medication helped and I was on a psych ward for the first two years. However, those years were crippling, knowing what I had done to that family and to my own was beyond belief and I knew I was the only one to blame. Blaming Amy and the kids was cowardly and unjust but I was taken over by what can only be described as devil-like tendencies. It took me years to realize the impact my addiction had on my family because in the moment it was just self-indulgence.

Seeing Jack after all these years had given me hope, something that I had never thought possible.

The days went by and soon it was summer. Most days I saw him and I decided that I needed to stop and talk to him. The old rumblings inside my head were telling me a drink would give me the courage and it was all I could do to fight the urge but I knew I could not let him down again.

It was a bright Wednesday morning when I decided that today would be the day. The sun was shining and I dressed carefully wanting to look my best. I am not sure why this mattered but it did and I smiled to myself recognizing the fact that this mattered was a positive sign. I was yet to talk to my therapist about Jack, I was afraid she would talk me out of it and I needed to do this.

I waited for the 6.42 train and felt the butterflies in my stomach. It slowly pulled into the station and I could not bear the suspense. I waited for the passengers to disembark but there was no Jack. My heart sank. I was thrust towards to open doors and pushed onto the train. As I looked out of the window I saw him, he was in a different carriage. My heart sank but then I realized it was me who was at the wrong place on the platform. Of all the days, I made my way to the door but it was too late they were shut and the train had started to pull away.

I had time to think on the train about what I would say to him when I approached him. I had replayed the scene countless times already.

Tuesday dawned a beautiful day and I once again took care of my appearance. Surely, I have not changed that much that he would not recognize me. I hoped Amy had kept the photos of the kids and I though I would not have blamed her if she had thrown them out.

I walked to the station with heavy trepidation. I double checked I was in the right place for his carriage and waited for the announcement of the train. The train seemed to take an eternity to pull into the station as though it was in slow motion mode.

I stood back this time away from the throngs of people who were clearly not in slow motion mode afraid I would get swept onto the train. The screeching of the brakes resonated around the platform followed by the beeping of the doors opening. There he was and I thought I was going to throw up the acidic taste of bile rising stinging the back of my throat. As soon as he was away from the crowd I went after him calling his name. He did not respond and I supposed it was because he had those AirPods in. I gently tapped his shoulder and spoke

“Excuse me.”

He turned around and politely said

“Yes, what is it?” In what was a clear Australian accent.

Yet as I stood face to face with him. I froze realizing my error. It was not Jack, up close like this it was evident. Maybe it had been all along but I had wanted to believe otherwise even when that mole started putting doubts in my head. Yet he looked so much like him and how I imagined him.

“I am sssorry.” I stammered and I was. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Not sure who you thought I was but it’s not me.” He smiled and I was taken back about by his politeness. Many people would have got annoyed. People got easily annoyed these days.

“Sorry aaagain.” I stuttered.

“It’s ok, it is obvious the person you thought I was matters a great deal to you. Find them, life is too short mate.” He replied and I was again surprised at his maturity.

“Thanks.” I muffled but there was such a familiarity about him.

“I’m Ben by the way.” Reaching out his hand for me to shake as he did so.

“Joe.” I stuttered. It then suddenly dawned on me who this was and why he had looked like Jack. The baby I had walked out on when he was three months old, Ben, named after Amy’s Dad. I could have jumped up and down in joy but thought better of it. The tears were welling up in my eyes.

“You’re Ben Harris.” I utter, half in a whisper.

He looked astonished and before he could ask again, I said with heartfelt emotion and in a trembling voice.

“Let me reintroduce myself Ben.” I held out my hand and softly said

“I’m your Dad.”