All too often, a moment will turn up that I think worthy of a Chesterton-style write-up. And I let it float by, its magic left somewhere in the inter-dimensional heap of subconscious sparks.
I wonder do other people experience these seconds of hyper-awareness. Like, a haze descends over a scene, making it seem very significant. Is that the universal subconscious informing me of somebody’s life turning upside down? An omen of some sort? Or just my own partially damaged brain fogging over, while the excitable mind reads too deeply into it?
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One of these meaningful moments was waiting for a delayed train with everybody including the operators completely clueless about the correct platform for the next departure. It creates a real sense of camaraderie to share exasperation and work out an immediate problem with a nearby stranger. I still remember the quirky ginger lady with a determined look in her twinkling blue eyes as we took our seats in the train on Platform 2.
“You look like you’re poised to run across the platform,” the bearded man behind her told me with a grin.
“I have an odd feeling it’s actually going to be that one,” I replied. “What do they know that we don’t?” For more than half the punters had remained on Platform 1 when the confused voice over the loudspeaker had said the Platform 2 train would be next to leave towards London.
“No, they said it was this one,” the redhead said irritably. “Those people may be going to Brighton or something.”
I had my doubts that fifty people would be heading from Luton to Brighton on such a day as this, bypassing the much more obvious King’s Cross, but held tight until the Platform 1 train did indeed turn up.
We all ran across to it, whereupon a black man inquired, “is this just going straight to King’s Cross? Is it a fast one?” of the general public, none of whom knew the answer.
He decided it would be quicker for him to rearrange his journey via King’s Cross anyway.
People are fed up when public services go wrong, but they suddenly realise everybody else is as lost as them.
I still see those passengers’ faces clearly in my mind from the simplest interaction. How easy it is to forget that all these bodies taking up our coveted seats are individuals with personalities we had not yet imagined!
The combination of character traits is infinite. It may be a chore to launch a conversation with a stranger, taking a gamble on the cut of their jib, ending up potentially dragged into a time-wasting exercise. This is why discussing the matter at hand is a great opportunity to realise we’re all as helpless in this world as the next man, cool though he may look in his Ray-Bans and salty-pepper beard.
As the Platform 1 train ambled between fields and industrial units, I no longer recall what I was doing aside from grinding my jaw as it slowed to bicycle pace through north London on its way into King’s Cross Station, spitting on every passenger’s schedule with its lumbering chug.
I no longer recall whether I was reading or writing or planning the next move to reduce my inevitable tardiness.
One thing I do recall is that redheaded woman exclaiming, “just go already!” from her seat nearby me in the idling beast. I wished I had some quip to follow up her outburst, a sense of entirely unnecessary guilt rising up inside for leaving her hanging. So I remember her, but will she remember me and my bland silence? Was the guilt towards her or myself?
I am naught but a shadow flitting between stations. When no attention falls upon me, I disappear, unaware of my face and body. When it eventually comes, every inch of me burns with self-importance. Caught by surprise in shadow form, the fire takes time to ignite, and the mind struggles to think fast.
Is everyone just a shadow until another puts the spotlight on them?
Let us all shine lights on each other to keep our minds in practice and our bodies alive.