Tuesday.
It's hot.
Almost stifling.
Why do they insist on blasting the heaters on high like this? I know it's winter but still, it's a mild winter.
We all run in from the cold, most of us are soaked from the rain and all of us are still in our coats. We all huddle together and cram onto the busy packed train as we make our way to work.
For the last year of my twenty-eight years of life, this has become my day.
It has been the same series of events over and over again and I grow tired of its tediousness. I wake up at the same time, eat the same breakfast, porridge - it's bland, so sometimes I add fruit, still bland but with fruit. I shower, I shave, I dress and leave my flat. I walk the same route to the train station, say good morning to the same neighbors and pretend I am outraged over the results of last night's game with the barrier guard as I touch my Oyster card down on the yellow pad and go through the barriers.
Standing on the escalator going down, I often wonder how my life has come to this. The ritual and the monotony of it all.
I finished university with a First Degree in Law and was tipped to be fast-tracked through the ranks after my internship. There was so much expectation and hope - I even got into my dream job but soon the shine wore off and the thrill was well and truly gone.
Don't get me wrong, I really don't mind my job. I'm a solicitor, defender of the people – although these days the people I tend to represent are willing to sell their souls to me for 5p, it's just too easy – not worth my time. I long and hunger for something I can really sink my teeth into but alas, corporate representation is not what it used to be, everyone is just as corrupt as the last. Normally, that would whet my appetite but these days? No. I want something stronger. I want to taste something I can really enjoy – but that doesn't seem likely these days so I just become bored.
As we pass Bermondsey, I'm able to get a seat, which is something quite rare at this time of the morning.
"The next station is London Bridge; please change here for the Northern Line and National Rail services."
London Bridge, everyone crams on here, it's amazing how so many people can be squished in such a small car. I move my feet in as people mill their way down the carriage. It's the same people; always the same. It never ceases to amuse me on how identikit everyone is. All of the faces look exactly the same, the dress code is the same – the men are all wearing boring black suits with garish colored ties and the women are either in the same or basic black dresses. There is nothing different any more, everything is exactly the same – I guess I am too. I don't do anything to stand out or to break the mold. If I were to glance over at my reflection in the window, I wouldn't be able to distinguish myself from the others either. Sure, my face looks a bit different but I am also in a black suit with a white shirt and although I'm not wearing a garish tie today – although, I have plenty in my drawer at home. I just decided to go for classic minimal black today.
The train sets off and I settle into the rest of my journey, only six more stops to go. I absorb the sounds of silence, save for the shrill high-pitched shriek of the wheels on the rails as I look around me.
Oh.
Someone is different.
He isn't particularly tall but he is thin. His face is young looking but the way he dressed shows that he wants to be seen as older then he probably is. He is wearing black denim skinny jeans, white dress shirt, thin black tie and a baggy low V-neck cardigan in a royal blue. Amongst the sea of black and white similarities, he stands out.
I almost never use this term but he is breathtaking, absolutely. His hair is short but with a long fringe that drapes down the right side of his face covering... An eye patch? Now I'm interested. His other eye is as blue as his sweater and large. I bet if he looked up at me, I would be able to see myself reflected in it.
I'm staring, I know I am staring at him but I really can't help it. He captivates me. It's as if he is meant to be looked at, created just to be seen. He's more than beautiful, he's pulchritudinous – a word created just for people like him.
From his body language I can tell he has never ridden the tube before. He fidgets constantly and bites his lower lip, he clutches onto the yellow bar handrail for dear life whenever the train stops and starts at each station. He also pulls himself together to avoid contact with the other passengers as they pass by him to get on and off. He looks annoyed which is adorable; his scowling face only makes him more attractive.
With each stop we pass, I am unable to take my eyes from him. The way he stands, the look on his face – his whole demeanor – just everything about him draws me in.
As the train pulls into Green Park, he looks around nervously as he tries to negotiate his way through the mass of commuters to exit as he gets off the train.
I can't say that I am not disappointed.
...
Another working day is done.
I wander down the busy street. It's hard to do that on a Tuesday evening, especially around Bond Street as all the shops are packed with tourists, and other commuters are rushing past on their way home. I like to take my time; I enjoy finding the peace amongst the madness, they all rush around me but I take in a deep breath and slow them all down in my mind.
It isn't raining for once, unusual for January, and it's chilly but not cold. The sun has already set, as it tends to do at 5:30 but I'm in no rush to get home. I pull my black knitted wool scarf up a little and over my ears as I make my way down to the station.
My mind is filled with events of the day. The meetings and the reports written – being a solicitor means there are many reports one has to write. I feel the soft vibration of my mobile in my pocket, I quickly take it out – a text message from my mate Claude, do I want to go out for a drink? No, I do not. Tonight, I can't wait to get home; I just don't feel like going out. I don't know what has come over me, normally I would send him a quick text back and meet him somewhere but not today.
I make my way down to the platform, squeezing past the tourists who like to crowd by the entrance instead of moving down. I have a particular spot I like to stand in; a place so well positioned that when the train stops, the doors open right in front of me.
As the train arrives I brace myself for the onslaught of people getting off and the push and shove of those getting on. This train is empty today, that's rare. I find a seat in the far back, nestled between a sleeping giant of a man and a woman fiddling about on her phone. I look around and it's pretty much the same old faces, save for some tourists that are chatting away. I wonder if they look at me and think the same thing? There he is, that guy in the suit. He always looks bored; I wonder what he's thinking? I'm thinking that I'm bored and I'm pretty much the same as you.
As we leave Bond Street I take out my phone from my pocket and have a flick through some emails I've saved and the return text from Claude, he is annoyed that I'm not going out tonight. Well, I guess he'll just have to deal with disappointment just like the rest of us. The automated announcer sounds out the next station, I have these things memorized by heart: The next station is Green Park; change here for the Piccadilly and Victoria lines. Exit here for Buckingham Palace. I grin to myself as I time the words perfectly in my mind.
People get off and the next group shuffle in.
The train sets off again and I go back to playing on my phone.
I try to settle into this new game app I had downloaded earlier but I am distracted. There is a woman who seems to be speaking a mile a minute without even taking a single breath. I pity the poor bastard she's bleating on to as they don't seem to be able to get a word in edge ways, not to mention the topic isn't exactly the most interesting of subjects, what to serve at a dinner party, oh who cares about which wine to serve with which dish?
Out of the corner of my eye I can see a foot tapping impatiently on the ground. It starts to agitate me, as I can see nothing but the flicker of the heel as it goes up and down. I glance over to have a look at the owner who can't seem to settle.
Oh hello, it's you again.
There he is, the beautiful boy from this morning – what are the odds? Well, not as unlikely as it would seem, I see all of these people here pretty much on a daily basis.
You must have finished for the day and as luck would have it, you're sat next to the incessant chattering woman. I momentarily look at her; she is very attractive, young and blond, her hair tied into two ponytails that hang low and frame her slender face. Her eyes are a bright emerald green color and are wide with enthusiasm as she carries on nattering away. I'll give him credit, even though his foot is tapping anxiously and he has been nothing but silent, he does seem interested in what she is saying – almost as though he is used to it, like this conversation is a regular occurrence.
Is this your girlfriend? How long have you been together?
Is it strange to feel rejected? I haven't even spoken one word to him and I already feel a sadness come over me, like I've lost something truly special.
They must not be living together as he got on the train without her this morning or maybe she was running late – or he was? I watch how they are with each other; she constantly leans in and ever so gently touches his shoulder as she laughs with her whole body. He smiles back at her but keeps his arms folded. He leans in as well to listen intently to every word that spills from her glossy pink lips.
I can't help myself, I feel jealous that she can sit next to him and touch him so freely.
I'm staring again – I know I am. I can't help but be fixated on them, she's beautiful and he's beautiful and I'm jealous but he was never mine to begin with, he must have always been hers.
"The next station is Southwark, change here for National Rail services from Waterloo East."
"All right Ciel, I'll see you at work tomorrow. I'll tell Edward you send your love – although he won't believe it." She chirps as she plants a peck onto his cheek.
"See you tomorrow Lizzie, tell your mum, er, Aunt Francis that I want a rematch." He replies.
"Yeah, that'll go down well." She giggles as she stands up and exits the train. If her mother is his Aunt then they are cousins. Oh! Not the girlfriend but cousins, so he must be single?
I espy him as he watches her leave and then his eye travels back through the train and then it lands on me. Shit, he catches me staring at him. My eyes widen in slight disbelief and I look away. Damn it, that was my chance to say something – anything and I blew it.
Where has all of my confidence gone? I'm a twenty-eight year old solicitor, I argue for a living – if anything I have more than enough confidence to support this entire train carriage, if not the whole train but… when he looked at me, I couldn't help but look away.
Useless – utterly useless.
"The next station is London Bridge; please change here for the Northern Line and National Rail services."
This is his stop.
He grabs his satchel from between his legs, gets up, and squeezes past everyone to leave the train. I watch him leave; there was nothing more I could do.
Although, at least now, I have a name.
I hope to see you at the same time tomorrow, Ciel.