There's an old man on the train, sitting across the aisle from me, rubbing his fingers in gleeful anticipation. And I wonder where he's coming from and where he's going to and if he'd have a story to tell. He's dressed up. Gray pants, a blue dress shirt, a gray jacket and a jaunty hat. His neck is wrapped in a burgundy scarf and I see cuff links sparkling at his wrists. Does he dress like this every morning, like old people sometimes tend to have a routine, or is today special to him, too?
All the while he doesn't read or look out the window, just stares straight ahead with absent eyes and I'm curious what movie is playing in his head. Halfway through our trip and right on the hour he unpacks his neatly assembled lunch from a tupperware box and arranges it on the flip-out table in front of him. Two slices of whole-grain bread with cheese, a strawberry yoghurt, a hard-boiled egg and two cookies for dessert. With it he drinks tea from a yellow thermis that looks thirty years old and not very leak-proof. I am jealous of his meal as I quickly swallow my toast with jelly and a chocolate bar, drinking non-sparkling water from the bathroom tab, cuz there was nothing else liquid around at home.
After he has finished eating and wiped the table clean witha moist towelette, he gets out his ticket and re-checks arrival time. He nods approvingly when he finds out we're right on schedule and then does a crossword puzzle.
The text about morphology I'm supposed to be reading probably makes less sense than his network of words on paper.
When he's done guessing he puts his pen back into the inside pocket of his jacket and resumes staring. I think I saw a smile flicker across his face at one point. Must have been a pleasant memory passing through his head.
Five minutes before arrival he re-wraps his scarf, then takes a tiny, antique suitcase down from the overhead rack and stands ready to get off at the doors, on the right side, too, I notice as we approach the platform. He's not doing this for the first time.
Stepping into the cold midday sun I see him walking towards a couple and a little boy, who all greet him with more love and joy than Santa Claus ever got from a child on Christmas. The boy grabs his hand and in his pocket finds a candy that's been waiting there for him. They go off towards the parking lot, laughing, and I keep the wrapping paper the boy dropped for good luck.
Copyright March 2005
