Waiting For The 5:15

• James Keane, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2012

Summer sun on my windowsill, I sit and think and wonder why I wrote this note with the windows open to let in some fresh air or maybe I was half hoping I could fly away from it all and find a brighter day but I’m here to live my life and I’ll find a way.
Flash back to an extreme close-up, paint-stained Adidas shorts. Three hooded lads walking towards me. Town hall’s the backdrop, platform number twenty five and it’s five o’clock, so now the transit madness begins. I’ve got Eminem blaring in my headphones. Rubbing shoulders with the A-list strangers until I get home, then I spot the hooded lads and turn it down a bit. They’re just trying to catch some kids like “Me against the world” vibe. They’re mean, taunting the guards, bragging how they’re hitting up back carriages and crushing cans in the yards.I can't help but smile as I walk past them because of the days when I might've known who they are because I used to fight for that crew, no longer do I support the uniform. But true to form I scribble words on paper every day, see old habits die hard. Same reason that I'm travelling without a valid ticket or concession card. Train enters Town Hall; all stations Cronulla. We are stampeding across the yellow line like we are running out of patience,but I make it inside to find all the seats are taken. Damn! It’s going to be a long ride. I’m homebound now and I grab a quick look at those who are around me. It’s like the same faces, different days in the ghost town, kings, queens and pawns sitting side by side. It’s modern day slavery, working from the nine to five, with their heads buried in their papers and work, as we move in silence.
Too afraid to rap with the people beside us, we’re passing through the next stop, when I see two transit cops giving out fines. If you get out of line, with their grey dog scare tactics. Man, I hate that trick. So I bite my lip and ride on into the evening sky.When we hit my stop you can be reassured that I’ll be the first to make it out of those sliding doors, up the stairs and exit the station. Held up at some traffic lights, patiently waiting, I’m looking at the local bar where I bought drinks for a while. I had to leave because the booze hounds were killing the smile, but I still check the windows every time I walk past. Up on the next left is the local skate park, just watching the sun set to the west watching as the trains roll past,as the colour of dusk burns over the train line. No matter where I roam, it isn’t nowhere like the main line.
Take the next right, walk up the lonely lane and down the old rugged driveway. I Check the mail, but as usual there’s none for me. The first thing I did when I made it inside, I picked up my paper and pen and started writing this note. “She said she doesn’t believe in regrets, well I regret to inform her that I do...”