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The gentleman sat quietly in the corner of the carriage, smoking a pipe, perusing the headlines of “The London Times”. Evening rush hour had come and gone, and he’d enjoyed a cup of tea in the station café while waiting for the hubbub to die down. He was in no hurry, hadn’t been for some months now.
Shaking out the paper, he turned to the crossword puzzle, supposedly one of the hardest in the world. He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a Parker pen; he always used the same Parker. It had been a gift from his wife 25 years before and he replaced the ink regularly. It was an old friend, and fit his hand like the gloves that lay beside him.
He reached down and lifted up the battered leather-clad, hard briefcase for a writing surface. He’d bought it as a present to himself when he landed his first job in London’s Business District, lo those many years ago. It had seen him through his wedding day, through the move from the cramped London flat to the semi-detached in the suburbs, through the birth and growing up of their two children. It was another old friend, almost an extra appendage.
Frowning slightly, he removed the pipe from his mouth, examining the stem carefully. The amber glowed slightly from constant years of rubbing. He stoked the bowl to stamp down the tobacco to get a few more puffs. The fragrant smoke filled the carriage – his one remaining vice, although he considered it less a vice and more a pleasure. His wife commented often that she loved the aroma that wafted from it.
Moving to the motion of the train, he worked on the crossword for the next 30 minutes, diligently filling in the small white blocks. He seldom had to cross letters out and today was no exception. If anyone had been watching, they would have seen him tap his pen against his teeth, a habit he’d acquired as a child, and one he didn’t even notice, except when his children would say, “Oh there goes Daddy thinking again!”
He placed the newspaper, crossword puzzle facing upwards in his briefcase, and pulled out an envelope. It had been opened many times; the corners were slightly bent and discoloured from many handlings. He pulled out a single sheet of paper and reread the contents, although an observant onlooker would have realized he had the contents memorized. With a sigh, he refolded the paper and reinserted it in its envelope. Once more he reached into his briefcase, returned the letter and pulled out a piece of onionskin pale blue writing paper.
The train rocked soothingly, as a mother rocks a troubled baby; and he rocked along with it, clicking the pen on and off as he stared out at the passing scenery. Chimney pots lined a grey sky, and rain threatened to wet the clothes on the washing lines. Slowly he filled a page of the writing pad. Like everything he wrote, it was deliberate, there was no crossing out, no missed words. Why should there be? He’d thought long and hard about what he was writing, and had worked it out in his head. When it was complete he read it over once to ensure he had conveyed his meaning to his satisfaction. He placed the briefcase by his side, and carefully placed the onionskin paper on top.
Leaning back, he closed his eyes, his head rocking slightly with each clack of the tracks. He allowed his mind to wander, something he seldom did, especially in these last few days. He could tell by the way the train lurched where on the tracks they were. He roused himself just as the automated voice, the voice that had replaced the conductor, announced, “Reading Station.” He stood, stretched briefly, and exited the train.
“Watch it, mate,” a train employee grumbled as the gentleman pushed past him. “Any closer to the edge and you’ll…Oh my Gawd! HELP!” Even as he spoke the nonstop train to Gatwick hit the man who had quite calmly jumped on the tracks in its path.
In the empty carriage of the London to Reading train, an onionskin pale blue paper fluttered from the briefcase. Its closing words were, “Helen, I am sorry, but the doctors say it is terminal. “Terminal”, it’s ironic, I’ve been traveling along a terminal every day but now my end is here. I love you.”
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