"Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse."
T. S. Eliot
The Love Song of J.Alfred Prufrock
The Train
This month, we are creating images and stories inspired by the T.S. Eliot poem, The Love Song of J.Alfred Prufrock. The subject of the poem seems to stand outside society, watching others, observing, but not taking part. Feeling isolated and alone. This inspired me to write this story – The Train.
The Train
I like to watch people. I like to listen to them. I saw her on the station. Her body bristled with irritation when the announcer said the train was two minutes late. My god, two minutes, what am I missing in my life that I can’t wait that extra two minutes? People have no patience anymore.
When the train arrived, I entered the carriage behind her and sat diagonally a few seats back. There was the general buzz of conversation as usual. People pleased to have left work and talking about what they were doing that evening. Other people moaning about what had happened at work that day.
The carriage was hot and stuffy. I was hot and stuffy, sat in my winter coat in this heated metal cylinder. The windows started to steam up. People gradually started to get off and the carriage emptied a bit until there was only a few of us.
I was staring out of the window, through the gap in the steam that I had cleared, watching the darkening sky and the world going by.
Did she know she made me jump and probably everyone else in the carriage?
Her voice suddenly boomed out.
Screeching hello, hello, hello over and over like a parrot. Does she know she sounds like a parrot? Did it take much intelligence to realise that – no – the person on the other end of the line couldn’t hear her? There was silence for a minute. The buzz of conversation came back after they were temporarily silenced by her shouting.
She started again. I thanked the Lord that the unlucky person on the other end of the line could hear her now. That lucky soul could benefit from her wisdom and wonder. But no….
Does she realise I can hear her? Does she know that everyone on this train can hear every word of her boring monologue? I wonder how the person she is talking to feels, going on and on about absolutely nothing just to occupy herself during a train journey. Can’t she read a book? Learn a language? Sleep? Listen to the boring conversations of other people? Watch people?
I try to tune her out. I really try to tune her out until she shouts. “Nah, there’s nothing happening here.”
Really? If there is nothing happening, why does she feel the need to talk on, and on, and on, and on, about it? I cannot shut her out. Doesn’t she realise how annoying she is? Does she care? Does she know that she will be going into my grudge book later? Yes, I have one and why not? People annoy me. Don’t they realise how much they annoy me? Probably not. If they did know, they might be scared or worried. I do wonder sometimes and think perhaps they can sense that something is wrong with me. The slight widening of the eyes, the slight hesitation in talking to me, the slight step back. They all spend their lives staring at their phones, their TVs, their tablets, but in there somewhere, there is still that survival instinct, still that need to move away from danger, from the predator.
Not her though! Does she know there is a predator near her? Does she know that she is annoying that predator? Badly. Does she know she is minutes from going into that grudge book? Does she know that when I get home, I will go straight to my desk, my nice tidy desk and write a description of her and what she did in the next clean page? No, she probably doesn’t because she doesn’t seem to have a survival instinct, or in fact any thoughts at all for anyone else except for herself.
We have been on the train now for 42 minutes and she has not stopped talking.
My attention has been so focussed on her and what I am going to do that I had not noticed that we were the only ones left in the carriage.
I stared around me, then stared at her.
A change happened. Some flicker, some movement. I saw it and knew what it was. She knew I was watching her. She twisted her head slightly, taking me in briefly. What did she see? A threat? No one of importance? I don’t know. I don’t look like a predator, I know that. I look harmless. A woman. Of course, I’m harmless. That makes me laugh. Of course, I’m not. So, after 43 minutes, she says goodbye to her unlucky victim. The person who has had to listen to her one-sided conversation of boring moans.
She sits up. My victim? No, that’s not the right word, is it? Or is it? My focus, shall we say? My interest on this evening’s train.
She is ramrod straight now. Staring in front of her. Almost as if she dares not move. But every minute or so, she twists, trying to catch me in her peripheral vision, knowing that I’m staring at her.
Does she know that I know where she lives now? I know the name of her children, of their school (not that that interests me). I know that she’s on her period. I know that she hates her boss and where she works. I know that she is out tonight at a party. Good job I’m not a burglar. Well, a good job in some ways, not so good in others. A burglar might be preferable to what I am.
She can finally bear it no longer and turns, looking me full in the face, full in my dead and staring eyes. What does she feel now? Fear? Anxiety? Irritation? Nothing?
She turns back and starts to fidget in her bag. I hear rustling of packets and papers. I imagine her bag is a mess, full of rubbish and shopping lists and discarded lipsticks.
Her phone is back out. Oh my god! I raise my eyes to the almighty and pray I do not have to spend the last few minutes of my journey listening to that! But no, the almighty fails me and she begins to talk.
Does she know that she doesn’t sound the same? She is putting on her fake voice, her fake happy. The one she probably uses to talk to people at work.
The train stops. It is total darkness outside. She stops talking, staring around herself. I don’t know how long she is silent, but she suddenly realises she is meant to be talking.
“We’re stuck under the bridge.” She tells her phone.
I know then she is talking to no one, she is talking to her own fear. The phones don’t work under this bridge. I know I tried once. I don’t use the phone much, I have no one to call, but the one time I did to make a complaint about the train service, the call just wouldn’t go through.
I laugh. I didn’t mean to laugh out loud, but I did. She turns to look at me. A half smile on her face. Half-smile, half-fear.
Does she know that I know she is talking to no one? Does she know that I know she is afraid? So afraid of me? I feel that familiar rush pumping through me, the rush that I live for and it only gets better.
I don’t like to be predictable though. I decide to give her some time, a little bet, a little fun for myself.
She has 30 seconds.
Does she know that in 30 seconds I will make a choice?
At 29 seconds, the train begins to move. I groan to myself. If the train had moved after 30 seconds, I would have followed her.
Does she know how lucky she is?
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The Mission Statement:
To encourage people to express their feelings of unease through photography and creative writing.
Description:
Many people feel a sense of unease today. A sense of anxiety and worry.
The aim of The Unease Project is to use photography and creative writing to educate people and share experiences of mental health conditions.
Unease - A spiritual or mental disquiet. A feeling of anxiety and discomfort. An unknown worry.
Many of us feel uneasy in the world today, leading to anxiety, depression and other mental health conditions.
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