The 01 train from Simon’s Town to Cape Town was, for the first time in recent history, on time. Ben looked away from his book for a moment to check his watch. 07:20. He saw the train signal change from red to green and, with its distant headlight, emerged through shrouded fog.

It was March, and the seasons were changing. The days started later and ended sooner. The vivid blossoms of summer were fading into the nothingness of Cape Town autumns. It was the coldest it had been for a while. Ben took the bookmark from his trench coat pocket and tentatively marked his place in the text, where he would continue if he got a seat on the train. With the flip of the book, he tucked it under his arm and swept his hair aside from where it had fallen into his face. He picked up his satchel from the floor and started making his way to the edge of the platform.

His station was quieter than usual this morning, a testament to the miraculous on-time nature of today’s train. Still, as he embarked, the cabin was full. He was met with the nauseating smell of body odour in the morning, mixed with the attempt to disguise it in body spray and perfume. He would never get used to the smell on Cape Town public transport. Always the same, as if built into the seats. His eyes trail the length of the too yellow cabin in search of a seat. He is unlucky. The seat he initially spotted was quickly snatched up by a young school child who had ignored the request of an elderly woman to relinquish their seat so that she may rest her legs. No bother, Ben thought. He was no stranger to reading standing up.

For the next two stops, Ben stood aside, one hand on his book, the other on his satchel which he did not feel safe, or cleanly, enough to put between his feet. As they approached the station where the lines crossed, a few people alighted, and Ben finally got a seat in the section that was grouped in lots of four. To his right, a lady was asleep against the window, her weave leaving an imprint in the morning fog each time she moved. Opposite him, sat a man who reeked of alcohol, his shirt was tattered, and he hiccupped with the motions of the train, barely keeping his eyes open. It was unclear to Ben whether this guy had an early start on the bottle or if his day was only just ending.

As the train met a hard turn on the tracks, the man hiccupped so loud that it made him bounce in his seat. It startled some of the passengers on board. The drunk was met with disapproving groans and a few laughs. Against the other side of the alcoholic’s seat sat a young man, stiffly keeping to his side, who caught Ben’s eye when he looked up. They giggled slightly and both shook their heads.

Entertainment over and the drunk comatose in a fitful slumber, righting himself every few moments as he verges on falling, Ben returned to his novel. He was most surprised at the lady next to him who had not woken once through the whole ordeal. For the second time, he noticed the young man looking in his direction. Properly now, Ben could take him in. Slender and well dressed, his hair was long and tied in a bun on top of his head. He wore jeans and Chuck Taylors with a red flannel shirt on top of a plain white tee. Must be in his early twenties. Ben smiled again and dropped his head back to the text in front of him. Ben’s mind drifted and he daydreamed about his twenties, which, mind you, only ended last year. Ben thought about the fun nights and raucous times that being young brings, and he smiled again. It’s the small things like these for Ben. Being on a train and seeing someone who reminded him of a time past, a happier time when life was simpler. Now, with an ailing mother and no true family, Ben feels alone quite often. He brings himself back to his book before he can let his mind wander too far.

At the next stop, the lady next to him, as if woken by divine intervention, frightens awake giving him and the young man both a jump, and makes her way past Ben, her behind almost in his face as she shimmies past him, sans apology, with all four of her bags. Ben scooched toward the window to get some fresh air in the too crowded cabin. As he moves, satchel on lap, book in hand and someone new takes the seat next to him.

As he slid the window open, a crisp breeze fills his nostrils.
“Thank God,” said the young man across from him. Ben stopped halfway through opening the window. “No, please open it. I would have but I didn’t want to wake her.”
He pushed the window open the rest of the way and, as he leaned back into his seat, said, “Quite the eventful morning we’ve had.”
“Not the most eventful I’ve seen on this train, trust me.” The stranger tucked his hair behind his ear to reveal a set of three silver studs along the top of his ear.
“I can believe that,” Ben said. He noticed a book in the stranger’s lap. “What are you reading?”
“This? Oh, it’s not my usual taste, it’s just for class,” he held up a copy of The Great Gatsby. “What have you got there? It’s quite a big book,” he said with a smirk and a wink.
Ben was suddenly shy, the blush rising over his caramel cheeks. “Also, for a class, but I am afraid it is my taste. It’s the Iliad.”

They fell into a companionable silence after; Ben stealing looks at the stranger sitting across from him with this slender classic in his hands. Not for nothing, Ben felt an urge to continue talking to him. He had promised himself that, this year, he would be more outgoing, talk to more people and truly try to put himself out there–

The drunk hiccups again in his sleep, they look at one another and laugh.
“It’s a great advantage not to drink among hard drinking people,” Ben said to the stranger.
“Sorry?” the stranger asked, looking amused at this random quip.
“It’s a line,” Ben pointed at the strangers’ hands, “from the book you’re reading.”
The stranger looked down at the book in his hands and back up at Ben, again tucking the same strand of hair behind his ear, “So you’re like, a nerd nerd.”
“Guilty as charged,” Ben answered, bowing his head in mock chivalry. “I’m Ben.”
“Isaac.”
The two placed their books into their laps and shook hands.

The stranger, no longer a stranger, now Isaac, asks, “Where are you off to?”
“Just work, how about you?” Ben answers pleased that the conversation is picking up again.
“School,” but as Ben’s eyes grow in shock, Isaac quickly corrects, “University, I mean.” Ben relaxes again, relieved he is not talking to an actual school pupil. “I’m in my final year. English,” he lifts the book as if to indicate his degree.
“How are you finding it?” Ben asks.
“I love it. Truly. My favourites are the Victorians. The Bronte’s, Dickens. This,” he holds up Gatsby again, “is for my romantics class this year. It’s not my favourite, but I am enjoying it.”
Ben looks admiringly at Isaac, his bookmark now back in his novel. “You read the Victorians?” Ben asks, in awe of the fact that someone so young cares about a time so long ago.
“Of course, I do,” Isaac grinned, “why do you look so shocked?”
“It’s my favourite era too!” Ben answered.

Isaac smiled, then added, “I am so sorry, I’m so rude. I’ve not asked you what it is you do?” He gestured to Ben to continue, “Where do you work?”
“Oh, I’m starting a new position at the University.”
“That’s so exciting. What will you be doing?” Isaac asked.
“I’m completing my PhD in Comparative Literature and so I’ll be working in the research labs mostly. I’m really looking forward to it. I’m also tutoring a couple of 3rd and 4th year courses. I think I’m keen on those most of all. I’ve always wanted to teach,” Ben answered looking down, shy to have admitted his passion for teaching.
“Hang on,” Isaac held up a finger as he unlocked his phone. He scrolled for a quick second then showed the screen to Ben, “You’re not Ben Cambridge, are you?”
“Guilty as charged,” Ben lifted both of his hands in mock surrender.
“You’re my new English tutor!” Isaac held the screen closer for Ben to see.
“What a coincidence,” Ben answered. He felt nervous to be talking like this with a student. Especially with it being his first day and all. He wasn’t sure of the rules, but something with Isaac just felt… right. Karmic.
With that, Isaac locks his phone, slides it back into his pocket and gazes up at Ben. “I’m really happy about that,” he said, smirking.

There is much to be said about the eyes. The look between two strangers. The stories we can tell without even opening our mouths. The connection we can feel by simply looking. The train jerked to a stop.
“Well, seeing as we’re both going to the same place – this is us,” Isaac said to Ben and ushered him towards the door with his arm.

This was dangerous, so very dangerous, but neither of them seemed to mind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Laura Seaman on Unsplash