those around us. Wait for nothing.
‘Can we get out of here?’ I ask Sam.
‘Yeah, it’s weird up here. They’re not doing anything.’
‘It’s fucked up. Lazy sods.’ I laugh, Sam laughs with me. As the laughter vibrates through us it feels like the shackles are loosening. We continue to laugh, making our way back to the barriers, the waiting figures casting evil glares at us for disturbing the morbidity with the trivial sound of happiness. On this station fun is obviously not permitted.
Ticket sucked in, spat out, barriers swing open. Back in the underground cavern we can breathe again. The oppressive feelings of the main station lifted from our shoulders as the stale air enters us. Although the depressing colours extend into these tunnels, the air feels fresh, the constant movement of life a vision, a feeling of hope. The air of passing. Every memory on these tunnels is fleeting, a moment here before you move on.
We arrive at a platform and wait for the train. It soon pulls in and we get onboard, letting it carry us to our next destination. We’re content for no reason other than that we are sharing this together. Inseparable. The train stops. Edgware Road.
‘Shit,’ Sam exclaims as he jumps from the seat and rushes for the door.
‘What?’ I jump after him and out onto the platform. The train moves on without us.
Sam’s laughing. ‘We’re going in the wrong direction. This is where I get off for college.’
‘For fucksake, how hard is it to get to Waterloo? I mean we’ve made that journey so many times.’
I follow Sam as we make our way to another platform, the one that will hopefully allow us to reach our destination. As we walk onto the platform a train is waiting for us. We jump on and take a seat next to each other.
A nudge. Sam’s elbow knocking my arm. I look up. Sat opposite me is a young man. Mixed raced and staring. Staring right at me. I turn my attention back to Sam but he is transfixed looking at the male. I flick my eyes back. He’s rocking. A slight movement back and forth, his eyes still staring at me. I smile at him. A change of facial expression, a look of shock. Something about his attitude makes me feel like I’m not meant to be there, that I am a figment of his imagination which wasn’t meant to interact back to him. His rocking gets stronger.
Eyes back to Sam. ‘What the fuck?’ I whisper.
‘I dunno,’ the reply.
I look back at the rocking form. Feel my body start to rock. Back and forth, back and forth. A new look in his eyes, confusion. I’m not meant to be doing that.
‘Dom, don’t,’ Sam whispers next to me.
I rock faster, never taking my eyes off his. He rocks faster, his eyes locked on mine.
‘Dom, don’t.’
Faster I go. Faster he goes. His face one of concern, mine the opposite in its cool plainness. His a vision of dementia, mine a vision of sane. Sanity mocking insanity. I hear the train doors open, I jump to my feet and Sam follows. The man carries on rocking, his eyes watching. We step off the train, the doors close behind us. I stand still, staring through the window at the rocking figure. A figment of his imagination that won’t go away. The train leaves. Sam and I are alone.
‘What did you do that for?’ he asks.
‘Well, why not?’
‘He was mental, he could of attacked you.’
‘Well he didn’t did he? So there’s no point thinking about what could have been is there?’
Sam laughs and starts mocking the guy we’d just seen. Rocking back and forth on the spot. We chuckle and move towards the exit of the platform.
‘So where are we now then?’ I ask Sam.
‘Erm, dunno. Lemme go check.’ He walks away. A few seconds pass and he returns, his face one of confusion.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘We’re at the same station.’
‘What?’ Confusion.
‘We’re at the same station.’
‘But how?’ I go to check out the station name. Edgware Road. My mouth drops open. ‘What the fuck?’
‘This is really weird.’ He sounds freaked.
‘Right. Let's sit and wait for the next train. We will get out of here.’
We find a seat and wait. The dullness of the station’s colours pushing down upon us. It feels as though everything is getting darker, the lights controlled by a dimmer switch, gradually being turned down. Darker and darker.
The rush of wind. Salvation. The train pulls into the platform, brightly lit, offering sanctuary from the depression of the station. We hop on and find a seat. Doors close. Movement. Let's try again.
V
Train stops and we get off. People everywhere, a stark contrast to where we’ve just been. Multicoloured people, bright people, fashion for all seasons moving around the brightly lit platform. Waterloo.
‘Look at all these people,’ I hear Sam say next to me.
‘What about them?’
‘Well think about it each one has their own life independent of ours. We don’t know them, they don’t know us.’ He looks up and down the platform. ‘I mean don’t you ever wonder what they do?’
‘Yeah sometimes.’ Which is true, I’ve often wondered how people live. Lives experiencing different emotions and situations, life existing on many routes. Pain, happiness and loss mirrored in varying degrees across a city, a country, the world. Not one life the same. Everyone viewing the planet through different eyes but we’re too wrapped up in our own existence to think about others. When people leave our paths they cease to exist, impossible to contemplate what they are doing at that precise minute. However, a passing face seen once and forgotten, continues to exist as the centre of a world elsewhere with people we don’t know. Billions of worlds existing within one.
I look at Sam, his face deep in thought, his mouth opens. ‘Don’t you wish you could just experience someone else’s life? See the places they do? Walk the same paths as them.’
‘I think everyone wishes to be someone else at some point during their life Sam. It’s human nature to want something better than you feel you have.’
Sam points to a business man walking by, he starts to follow him and I feel myself do the same. Sam continues, ‘Like this guy, how did he end up that way? Where is he going? Is he happy with what he has?’
We continue to follow the man. Thoughts run through my mind, creating a whole life for an unknown. Is he going home to his wife and family? Has he just come from work or his mistress? No matter how you perceive it, his life will always be based on your values, on your impression of him. You create for him a life of excitement and adventure when in fact it might simply just be a morbid life of routine, the same each day. A series of planned events until the day he dies.
I spot a girl, long haired and pretty. ‘What about her?’ I ask. Sam looks. We follow.
Where has she come from? What does she do? A business woman by day, stripper by night? Building empires in the light before offering titillation in darkened and seedy rooms, all day spent with desperate business men trying to pleasure themselves in the only ways they know how. All that a figment of my mind, based on the life I think she should lead. Her life could be sheltered, the wife of an abuser, allowed out of the house only to work. A slave for the system by day, a slave to the household at night. Her confidence fake and bruised, inside an innocent girl trying to escape. You can’t imagine how other people live with accuracy. They exist as you want them to in your mind. Your brain scripting the lives of others as they pass through yours as bit players. They’re opinions of you also based on their perception. All around you people are judging you on opinion, appearance, reputation. Creating lives for you. Hundreds of lives and scenarios for a life only you know. The only person who can know how you live is yourself. A lonely existence with your own burdens on your shoulders, but would anyone truly want to view the world through different eyes? I wouldn’t, I’d be afraid of what I’d see.
/> And so it goes on. Following different people. Creating different lives for those already being lived. A zigzagged journey through the underground caverns of the station, gradually rising, getting closer to the fresh air. Break the surface and find ourselves on the main concourse of Waterloo station. A mass of activity, hundreds of lives living at the same time, different emotions felt every second by different people. Constantly moving, updating with a new influx of people every minute.
We walk, watching life pass us by. No one is paying any attention to us, we’re just faces in the crowd. The station looks different. Wide, much wider, an amphitheatre of life. A crowd of people at the centre, eyes staring up at ever changing boards, waiting for a number to appear, directing them to a platform at timetabled pace. Here they stand, waiting, anticipating. People totally oblivious to those around them, only concerned with a number, praying for no delays to upset their schedules.
Around the sides of the station, movement, quick, determined. People rushing to their platforms, constantly moving like a race. A race run around the blind spectators staring at blue screens. A number appears and they run, joining the race, racing for the best seats, racing to get there just that second or two earlier than the rest. They compete during the day, they compete on their way home, their lives a constant competition to out do another. Another number appears, the next lot of greyhounds are released from their cages, rushing and chasing an imaginary rabbit,