A train whistles and two amber lights, like eyes of a serpent, penetrate the morning fog of April. Business people in suits and briefcases line diligently along the yellow line. A throng of families with children in prams and enormous travel bags straggles out on the platform.
Mazie sits on a wobbly table and watches the crowd. In her early twenties, she wonders what make people rush. Her backpack, a chaos organised for travelling in her gap year, is behind her in the corner. A bracelet with flag charms jingles on her wrist, a surprise from her mother. Don’t forget where you’re going, Mazie! she joked.
The train leaves in fifteen minutes. Enough time for coffee, Mazie decides and drags her backpack to the coffee shop.
I can’t find the demerara sugar, it’s my first day, the girl behind the counter murmurs.
OK, don’t worry, I’ll have some milk.
The crackly voice of the customer information system announces the final call for her train. Mazie runs outside pulling the backpack and bumps into a woman who shouts Love-you! at someone on the train. The locomotive huffs and puffs, the train wheels gather speed and the whole string of carriages and waving people diminishes to a black dot in the distance.
On the bright side, Mazie thinks, she has time to order a breakfast and take her time with the coffee. Back in the coffee shop, the girl has found the demerara sugar and pours milk in the coffee mug, oblivious of the missing client.
Sit down, she says to Mazie, I’ll bring it over to you. And back to the wobbly table in the corner, Mazie has breakfast and stares at the tracks converge far ahead.
The next train is to be late for some technical glitch and is expected just after midnight. Mazie rests her head on the backpack and sleeps through the night.
I’m hungry, Mazie says to the girl, but I don’t have any money. Can I help in the shop?
Mazie has breakfast and Judy, the girl behind the counter, teaches her how to make espresso and latte and cappuccino.
The renovated waiting room shines in glass and steel. The passengers now wait behind soundproof glass walls. The train comes but it cannot be heard or smelled which for a while shattered the harmony in the waiting room. The seats are coated in an anthracite-coloured synthetic material, cold to the touch and ugly to the eye. But supplied with USB ports. The antique standing watch, the management said, jars with the new soul of the station. Now a huge electronic screen thrums on the wall and chimes with every update of the arriving and departing trains.
After a long working day, Mazie retires to the corner. Her sister has left a voice message.
You have to come to my wedding, Mazie! It’s a long journey, but I’m organising it nearly a year!
Mazie borrows a dress from Judy. You look fabulous, she says.
For the next three months Mazie’s journey to London is the staff talk. Have you been there before? How long it takes by train? Do you want to see the Big Ben?
On the day of her journey, Mazie takes orders and chats with the customers and clears up the used plates and mugs. She can her mother’s voice, Look now, think about your future, you are mid-thirties…
Mazie, hurry up, you have to go, Judy looks at her wrist watch.
Now I’m thinking, it’s a ve-e-ry long journey, and expensive too. I’d rather save my money to travel the world.
And here comes the niece’s wedding day. Sister leaves a voice message. Maize, Mum is nearly 80, and she is coming.
A man walks to the Mazie’s wobbly table in the corner. A man she has not seen before. He looks at her.
Can you spare some change, please? All the hunger and thirst in the world are in his eyes. His coat is threadbare and the shoes are worn without laces.
Do you want a cup of tea? Mazie reaches for her backpack, takes few coins out of her purse and put them on the table.
Tea… he nods. Back to the table with his tea and a cheese sandwich, she sits across from him.
No, you shouldn’t… but he takes the sandwich with a shaky hand and bites a large piece. Once on full stomach, he looks around.
Nice waiting room you having here, he says.
Brand new but I’m leaving. From here, hop on the train to London for my niece wedding.
Yeh? London? That’s a dream of mine but… he shakes his head.
Mazie’s eyes well and she opens her purse again. She takes the ticket out. Here, she says, you can go to London.
The locomotive on the platform is stuck in deep snow. A long night it has been in the coffee shop with passengers waiting, eating and drinking.
A man walks to the wobbly table in the corner.
Hello! Mazie says to him as to an old friend. She has no idea how many years have passed but remembers his eyes.
Sit down, I’ll make you a cup of tea and a sandwich.
Can you spare some time, please?
The eyelids close and tears run down, tears of white viscous resin. The hands, thin like skeleton’s, cover the face. The white resin oozes through the fingers. Two empty sockets gape in place of the eyes. The sleeves and trousers void of flesh. The shoulders diminish to the size of a hanger on which the cloths shake like empty bags blown by the wind.
And it all piles down before Mazie’s feet.
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