Waiting For The Train

• Nicholas O'loughlan, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2009

There she was, sitting, waiting, and looking around for a train. Margaret sat there impatiently, fidgeting, looking left to right. When would her mother be here she thought. The train would be coming soon and she would have to get on it without her. She let out a disheartened long sigh, sat up straight, and continued to fidget while still looking and waiting for the train.

After a while Margaret started wondering why her mother wasn’t with her yet. It was her idea to go on the train trip in the first place Margaret had spoken with her only last Wednesday and her mother had said… What had she said?

Margaret tried to remember, she recalled brief fragments of her mother speaking to her and saying something; but what had she said? Oh well, she thought, it doesn’t matter. Though her memory had failed her, Margaret was certain of one thing. She was meant to catch a train and she was catching it today.

Margaret started looking around again; the train wasn’t getting any closer. Margaret was starting to get bored, she’d been waiting there for who knows how long and her eyes, and mind, were starting to wander. She gazed, absentmindedly, across the platform. Her vision was fairly blurry, old age she thought grinning to herself. Margaret noticed that there were other people waiting for the train…at least she thought they were waiting. The blurred figures seemed to be shuffling around and standing on their feet rather than taking a seat, leaning back and waiting for the train to roll in. When Margaret concentrated on the figures she noticed another thing out of place, they were all old. Every single one Margaret could make out was old, their wrinkled faces only stared bleakly at where they were going, their gnarled old hands all gripped brown wooden canes or aluminum walking stands shining brightly from the lights around them. Margaret suddenly realized that the she and the passengers weren’t alone. The other people, who just appeared in Margaret’s vision, walked calmly along side the passengers, appearing as if they were escorting the passengers wherever they wanted to go. They lead the seniors kindly to and fro. Perhaps the mystery persons were station conductors, Margaret thought, simply guiding the would-be passengers, who happened to be all elderly people. Margaret shook her head to get her thoughts together and concentrated on waiting for the train.

Margaret waited and waited all the while thinking the train would be here soon and she would hop on it, with her mother, and they would have a great day out and about. Yes, she thought, her mother would be here soon and together they would hop on the train and have a great day out and about. Yes, she thought, her mother would arrive soon and together they would hop on the train and have a great day out and about. Yes, she thought, her mo… Margaret paused for a second and thought…

Had she been repeating herself?

Margaret tried to think back but her memory again failed her. She thought she had repeated herself but she couldn’t be certain. Yet there was this itching feeling at the back of her mind that said yes she had. She decided to shrug the feeling off and look for the train. She looked left, then right and then left again. It was then she noticed that someone was coming towards her.

A station conductor dressed in a nicely coloured blue uniform, no markings of any kind showed on the uniform besides a white clip on name tag saying ‘Jenny’. “Hello dear,” Jenny said sweetly to Margaret, “How are you today?”
“Good thank you,” Margaret replied, wondering why a station controller was talking to her. “We have a visitor for you today,” Jenny said with the same honey soaked voice. These words took Margaret by surprise. A visitor? At a train station? Her thoughts suddenly turned to her mother. She quickly sat up straight and looked around for the visitor. The only one she saw was a sickly old man looking at her with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Hello Margaret,” the man said, “Do you know who I am?” Margaret didn’t recognize the man but had a strange inkling that they had met before. The silvery white hair and kind watery blue eyes seemed somewhat familiar but for the third time for that day nothing really clicked in Margaret’s mind. “Margaret…” The man lightly picked up Margaret’s hands with his and looked deeply into her eyes. “I’m your husband.”

Those words made Margaret stop, she forced herself to look away from the man’s eyes and found herself staring at a pair of near identical coarse wrinkled transparent hands with fine blue veins running throughout both. She looked up again and into the man’s eyes. She saw her reflection peering back at her, as sickly and old as the man who was holding her hands. The man started to babble, “Honey, you may not remember who I am, you never do, but I am your husband and you…you forget things from time to time so you don’t remember who I am. Everyday you sit here and you don’t remember me, but I am your husband.” The man was starting to get desperate as he spoke his hand grew tighter and tighter around Margaret’s hands until she started to squirm with the pain.

As soon as she saw Margaret uncomfortable Jenny, the nurse, intervened. “Well I think Margaret’s had quite a day and she should get some sleep,” trying to force her sugary voice out. The man quickly broke away from Margaret, realising what he had done. He fumbled apologies to Margaret who simply stared, out of wonder and some shock, at him. The man got up to leave, wiping his eyes, he said goodbye to the nurse and left. Afterward Margaret was helped to a bed, the two ‘station conductors’ bidded Margaret a good night and left her to herself.

The following morning Margaret was woken, given breakfast and escorted to her favourite chair. With nothing on her mind, nor would there ever be, Margaret lent back, sat, looked around and started waiting for the train.