A Love Story
I’m on the train from Bondi Junction to Town Hall and it’s basically peak hour, around 7pm. Normally this train is just filled with people going home from work.
But at Kings Cross (where else) these two “weathered” looking people get on and take a seat. A man and a lady. The female is one of those 50 year old ladies that has miraculously made it through a life of hard drinking, abusive relationships and massive substance abuse. She’s SEEN THINGS, MAN.
They are basically smashed, unsure on their feet. When the guy sits down, he takes the guy next to him out with his backpack. He’s so drunk all he can do is a grunt of apology. The chick, in the most bogany, smoke-damaged voice ever jokes around like “are you starting fights Thommo? Hahaha. He’s real sorry mate.”
Thommo may die on this journey.
He holds out a Coke can with a shaky hand, not saying a word.
With the tenderness of a new mother, she holds his hand still and fills the can with cask wine (white). He smiles and takes a bit swig.
She’s practically gushing over him and goes in for a kiss. They kiss. It’s beautiful. The world stops. Or, more accurately, the train stops. At Martin Place. Thommo leaves. But he leaves her with a precious gift. A gift from the heart. It’s his half full can of Coke filled with cask wine (white).
She sighs and sits back in her chair. She takes a sip of the wine. Life is good sometimes.
She leans forward and vomits on the floor of the carriage. There’s no volume to the upchuck. It’s all clear liquid. People walk away nonetheless.
Angry with herself for getting drunk again, for the 7,295th time in her life, despite promising herself after the 300th time that she never would again, she curses. Curses herself. Curses fate. Fate brought her to this point. The anger inside her rises up. As do the contents of her stomach. She vomits again.
A pool of clear liquid forms on the carriage floor. The whole carriage now reeks of a combination of cask wine (white) and stomach acid.
Someone comes through the doors from a nearby carriage and only just misses walking into the puddle by the door.
She vomits again.
Town Hall. Every gets out. Even if that wasn’t their stop, people exit the carriage. Some go to other carriages, some will be leaving the station. We get on with our lives, but she stays in the carriage. Alone, but for her remaining cask wine (white) and her memories from a hard life.
She vomits again.
This will be the last time.
But at Kings Cross (where else) these two “weathered” looking people get on and take a seat. A man and a lady. The female is one of those 50 year old ladies that has miraculously made it through a life of hard drinking, abusive relationships and massive substance abuse. She’s SEEN THINGS, MAN.
They are basically smashed, unsure on their feet. When the guy sits down, he takes the guy next to him out with his backpack. He’s so drunk all he can do is a grunt of apology. The chick, in the most bogany, smoke-damaged voice ever jokes around like “are you starting fights Thommo? Hahaha. He’s real sorry mate.”
Thommo may die on this journey.
He holds out a Coke can with a shaky hand, not saying a word.
With the tenderness of a new mother, she holds his hand still and fills the can with cask wine (white). He smiles and takes a bit swig.
She’s practically gushing over him and goes in for a kiss. They kiss. It’s beautiful. The world stops. Or, more accurately, the train stops. At Martin Place. Thommo leaves. But he leaves her with a precious gift. A gift from the heart. It’s his half full can of Coke filled with cask wine (white).
She sighs and sits back in her chair. She takes a sip of the wine. Life is good sometimes.
She leans forward and vomits on the floor of the carriage. There’s no volume to the upchuck. It’s all clear liquid. People walk away nonetheless.
Angry with herself for getting drunk again, for the 7,295th time in her life, despite promising herself after the 300th time that she never would again, she curses. Curses herself. Curses fate. Fate brought her to this point. The anger inside her rises up. As do the contents of her stomach. She vomits again.
A pool of clear liquid forms on the carriage floor. The whole carriage now reeks of a combination of cask wine (white) and stomach acid.
Someone comes through the doors from a nearby carriage and only just misses walking into the puddle by the door.
She vomits again.
Town Hall. Every gets out. Even if that wasn’t their stop, people exit the carriage. Some go to other carriages, some will be leaving the station. We get on with our lives, but she stays in the carriage. Alone, but for her remaining cask wine (white) and her memories from a hard life.
She vomits again.
This will be the last time.
posted by Ben at 10:38 PM
1 comments
