Stranger on a Train

About five or six years ago I was sitting on a train bound for Melbourne on my way to visit Dad in hospital. He’d had a mild heart attack and needed surgery to put things right. I’m someone whose idea of parallel parking is to park somewhere else, and I’ll be the first to admit that my ‘touch test’ style of driving isn’t best suited to the city. So there I sat, on the train, on my own, feeling a little bit emotional.

The carriage was relatively full so I was happy I’d managed to snag a seat to myself where I wouldn’t have to suffer the awkwardness of small talk or trying not to touch a stranger’s leg (I once looked down at the man’s leg in front of me and saw a tracking device around his ankle, fa-reaks the dogs!)

Anyway, around half way through the journey we stopped at a station where a huge influx of passengers got on board, they were mostly a group of men headed for a day at the Grand Prix. Spare seats were quickly filled and as I waited for the inevitable bottom to land in the seat beside me I heard a voice say ‘I’m sorry, I hope you don’t mind if I sit here.’ I glanced up and saw a man, probably early 50s, looking down at me kindly.

‘No that’s okay,’ I replied. I was disappointed, but I couldn’t really say anything else. We sat in silence for a little while until the man started asking me a few questions, making the small talk I had hoped to avoid.

‘So what are you up to in Melbourne?’

‘Just visiting a friend.’ I answered.

‘Oh great! Do they live right in the city? Or do you need to catch another train?’ he  enquired.

‘Actually they’re in hospital. But they’re fine. I’m just coming to say hello.’ I said, trying to shut down the conversation without seeming rude.

There was more silence for a while.

‘It’s great that you’re travelling all this way to see your friend, they’ll be so happy to see you. Have they been in hospital long?’ the man asked.

‘No.’ I replied, fairly bluntly.

‘Sorry. You don’t know me. Sorry I’m asking so many questions.’ he said, apologetically.

‘It’s fine. No worries.’

More silence.

Then all of a sudden my mouth started moving before my brain had a chance to catch up, ‘It’s actually my Dad. I’m visiting my Dad in hospital. He had a heart attack,’ I blurted out, ‘He’s going to be okay, they just need to put a stent or something in. He’ll be fine.’

I can still feel the tears stinging my eyes. Why did I start talking about it? What’s wrong with you Eliza!

After that I’m not really sure what happened, except that somehow this man, this stranger, had me spilling out all of my private thoughts and feelings. Everything that had happened over the past couple of years, since my parents had separated, it all came tumbling out. I hadn’t even realised I had that much to say, but once I started I couldn’t stop. Some sixth sense in me trusted this man. I knew he wasn’t a creep, he was gentle and fatherly. He asked me questions, shared some his own experiences, and just listened without interruption as I poured my heart out, tears and all. On the train.

I talked it all out and when we finally arrived at our station, where my brother was waiting for me, we shook hands, thanked each other for the talk and then headed off in opposite directions, never to see each other again.

I can’t remember the man’s name, I can’t remember his face, I can’t even really remember the details of our conversation, but I will never forget that moment. I truly believe that man was meant to get on that train at that time and talk to me. Somehow I think the universe conspired because I needed guidance and reassurance. I needed to stop adulting just for a little moment and be relieved of the worries I was carrying. I needed to blurt it all out to a stranger who I would never have the embarrassment of seeing again.

If I could go back to that time I wouldn’t shake that man’s hand, I would give him a big hug (and probably cover his shoulder in a nose tears) . I’d give that worried younger self a warm cuddle too, and tell her everything would sort out.

We don’t always know who’s sitting next to us on a train, or who’s fighting a private battle in their head. Who is grieving someone, or worrying about their future, or trying to make a big decision. But we do know we will all go through those rough patches at one time or another, as we negotiate the ebbs and flows of life.

That moment for me was one of those life-changing ones because it made me realise the impact we can have on other people. We don’t all have to be that stranger on the train but we can be the smile of reassurance or the kind word when things go wrong. We can treat each other the way our ‘rough patch self’ would like to be treated. Mother Theresa said ‘Kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truly endless.’ And I guess that about sums it up.

Eliza xx