Thoughts of a Passanger
The reason this was written is because a boy sitting on a train to Boston Massachusetts, who was drinking a Samuel Adams beer in the lounge/cafeteria area found one conversation that was taking place across the lane and two seats down far to interesting to let go unheard by more than just himself and the other college student sitting two seats ahead of him. While listening to this older man and a young women who were new acquaintances speak, it dawned on him how precious just everyday life could be to so many people when it is just written down and published. And so it began.
Now I realize the type of people who are authors need to be highly interested in spreading stories to other people to enjoy. Because it takes energy and motivation for such activities. I wanted to tell everyone what these two were saying to each other because I thought it was interesting and amusing, but it is easier to amuse yourself with quick thoughts in your head, but to get them down on paper takes much more energy and motivation. Lets give it a try I have nothing better to do. I will give a brief of the beginning of the story and pick up where they are now.
Where are you going?
Mind if I sit down.
Not at all.
Small talk continued for a little while. The man approached this pretty women with confidence, but self-pity and humbleness roamed in his eyes. He bragged about his football career in college. He was a defensive back for Penn state.
I had seven picks in the season.
That’s pretty good.
Well…for my day.
So now we start at where they are now.
Your beautiful, your wicked beautiful.
By the way the man drinks Jim Beam and the young girl drinks wine.
I wish I was 30 years younger.
Yup I wish I was 30 years younger, pretty eyes. Your worth the prize.
He looks at her, leaning forward and deep into her eyes, with his mouth open and his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth.
Now he tells her about how he killed 3 or 4 men. And that his friend Sam a big black man died in his arms.
He cries and looks down. She gives him her hand and he grabs it. He smiles a little, still looking down.
Continues with talk about Sam. I got hit and he pulled me out of harms way and then he got hit.
Sam was the best man, you would of liked him.
What’s wrong with me.
Its okay though.
I need to get a napkin.
To many whiskey’s in me.
Mentions Nixon. Said he was in Japan and Cambodia. Part of me thinks that he is making shit up to get in her pants. But his convincing emotions and tears say otherwise.
The guy says you may be right, and grabs her arm. Something tells me this guy is a creep and a horrible man that is hiding under a fake self-pity.
He tells her she is so pretty over and over.
He tells her not to cut herself short. And quiet conversation I can’t hear continues.
Spend a night with me it would change your whole way of thinking. I love to love. (Sick bastard find someone your own age. Jealousy of his brave forwardness rages in me.)
We arrive in Springfield.
Damn your pretty. You should shoot me. Hahaha.
Want another drink.
She denies. (Yes thank you. Thank you she finally see’s his sickness.)
The man looks like a wreck. His eyes are red from crying and he just looks like a piece of scum next to this fine looking lady.
She leaves him and he tells her to take care. I want to tell him how much of a creep he is. But I would feel bad and scared of this man that cries but has killed people too. You might think someone who had killed would be strong and cold enough to avoid such emotions. But I believe quite the opposite.
She comes back with a sandwich.
Now listening to the music and can’t hear them. Many people fill the cart so I assume he hits on her less obviously. I have the gist of the conversation and the way this man works with women. D-bag.
The girl laughs at the man with the bar tender when she goes to get another mini bottle of wine.
He says that he has been watching to check if she is okay.
She giggles and tells him that they have been speaking about his relationships.
She finally is on to him and his disgustingness. He keeps touching her arm and smiling at her like a grimy piece of shit old scum bag.
As she leaves to go back to her seat he desperately grabs her and tries to kiss her.
She pulls away and only manages to get her on the top of her head.
Now he sits alone, sad and angry. Watching me with fierce eyes. Maybe because he is thinking about how shitty his life is or maybe because the whole time he was talking to the lady I was looking at him with disgust and pierced lips.
He went to look for her again and came back quickly after noticing her talking to the bar tender. He slams his cup on the table and looks down at nothing in deep thought. This is when I realize why the man drinks Jim Beam, to avoid the pain and ugliness of reality. Although the girl gave interest and politeness at first, there is no way in hell she would ever give someone like him the time of day.
He sat with his back on the wall of the cart and his legs stretched out onto the seat. He holds his head as to relieve the pain of a lonely life. A man who has been to wars. A man who has killed men and lost best friends to death. A man who has married twice and divorced twice. A man who is sad and a man who is lonely. The man in all of us that we work to avoid.