Rainy S. Morning

alwriters:

He’d grown accustomed to watching the train pull away, then looking down at this watch and sighing. If a single thing went wrong, that morning he would miss the train. Today was one of those days that he…

 it looked like he was going to make it. He rushed out the door, pausing at his car to run though a mental checklist to be sure he’d done everything he needed before leaving, then nodded with a grin as he unlocked the car and hopped in. He tossed his breifcase on the passenger seat, slaming the door behind him and jamming his key quickly into the ignition. The car stuttered, then roared to life, and he crowed in triumph as he drove off, his grey car darting off the driveway like a grey hound.

The train station was a fifteen minute drive away, and those fifteen minutes, full of good music and sunshine, went smoothly. He parked his car, and, not wanting to press his luck, locked the car and jogged to the platform with a jovial chuckle, breifcase in hand. He looked up and down the line with a grin, then hesitated. He turned around and looked about the platform behind him. It was awfully empty…

He watched as a woman with short, dark brown hair in a dull sundress hurried up to the platform, looking aggrivated and worn out. She looks like a Susan, he thought to himself as he watched her look up and down the tracks as well.  Her brows furrowed, and after a moment, she walked over to him quickly with a slight limp. “Excuse me,” she said, a little breathless. “Has the Courtlen-bound train already left?”

He looked dubbiously down at his watch. 7:53. “Yes, it left a few minutes ago,” he said appologetically. “Did you need to get on that train?”

Her sholders drooped, and he could see her disappointment. “Yes, and now my fiance’s going to wonder where I am.” She started digging through her purse and walked away.

“Excuse me, but is your name Susan?” he called.

She paused and looked back at him over her sholders. “No, it’s Mary,” she said after a moment, then continued on her way. She walked slowly to a pay phone, and her hand withdrew from the bag on her arm. He watched her slip some coins into the pay phone, dial a number, and engage in a quiet conversation with presumably her fiance. He felt a little wistful as he watched her proceedings, but didn’t say anything. A few moments later she hung up and walked away.

He looked down the line again, anxiously waiting for his train. Still no sign. He took to pacing; where was his train? It should have been here by now, he didn’t miss it.

Scowling slightly, he looked at his watch again. 7:53. “Battery must be dead,” he muttered softly, looking around the station for another clock as he fumbled with the little nob on the side to adjust the time. It slipped in his fingers, and suddenly the train roared by and colors of people flew past him in all directions. He froze, looking around. Eight or nine people stood about the platform, hung in midstep. He experamentally pushed the nob to reengage the time-keeper, and everyone started into motion again, calmly striding and completely unaware of him. Most of them were leaving. Tenderly he pulled the nob back out, and everyone stoped again, like a photograph.

He never missed the train again.