The Train Station

By Samara Walters

Tap. Tap. Tap. The girl’s foot beat light and quick on the ground, full of impatience. Not annoyed, but nervous. Her hands were clenched on a small handbag in her lap, squeezing it tight. Her face was tense. She seemed to be waiting for something. But then again, who wasn’t at a train station? 

It was currently 8:03 AM. I was seated at the train station waiting for the 8:15 train to take me to work, reading a newspaper I had picked up earlier. Well, I was. I’m not sure what drew my eyes to her in the first place, actually. Perhaps it was her gentle tapping. In any case, she was an interesting subject to observe. I wondered what her story was.

You find a lot of people like that at train stations. People with stories you’ll never know. Sometimes you’ll find an old lady waiting for a train. Is she visiting grandchildren? An old friend? Or is it just a trip for fun? Sometimes you’ll see a family. Are they having a picnic? Visiting some museum? You never know. 

I wondered what her story was, and what she was waiting for.

A train obviously, but someone on that train? Or a train to take her to someone? Or somewhere? I observed her further. Her eyes glinted with suppressed excitement, but they had a sparkle of mischief too. Perhaps she was embarking on some frolic with a friend. But the large suitcase seated next to her spoke otherwise—possibly a vacation instead?

At that moment, a soft sound interrupted my thoughts; a rhythmic puff growing louder each second. The girl’s head perked up and her foot stopped tapping. She grasped her ticket in her hands.

The train had almost arrived when she bounded up out of her seat. But as the train began to pull in, a sharp wind suddenly whipped the ticket out of her hand. She let out a cry of dismay and jumped to grasp it, but it was no use. Frustrated, she pulled out her handbag. But as she rummaged through it again, a look of shock, and then distress came over her. She must have been out of money.

By now the train had come to a complete stop, and passengers were filing off the train; but the girl turned back, disappointed, to go collect her suitcase. She would not be going on this train. 

She started to walk away, when a clear voice rang out above noise, “Darla!” The girl looked back, surprised, her eyes searching for the caller. Was Darla her name? I didn’t have much time to wonder, because her face suddenly lit up, and she dashed off. I looked to see where she was running towards, and saw her embrace with an older woman, both of them squealing in excitement. The sight warmed my heart. I didn’t know who she was to the girl, but it was evident that this was who the girl had wanted to see. 

After a bit, they both left the train station, all smiles and pure contentment. I knew that encounter would forever remain a mystery to me, but I was filled with a sense of their contentment too. 

This is what I like about train stations. You never know the people you’ll meet there, the stories you’ll see unfolding in front of you. But there always comes a point where you have to move on, and it seemed my time had come. After all, I still had a train to catch.