To Fix Exeter
G.S. Jackson
The
train station at Gatwick Airport confused the hell out of him – again.
He went up and down all the escalators in the North terminal three
times. Finally, he asked for help. They directed him to the transit to the South
Terminal. There he bought his ticket but
didn’t know how to read it. He looked up
at the big black train board where the Destinations and Times and Platforms
would flick in rapid succession like a child’s cartoon book. He asked for help from a couple of
people. They just politely smiled and
said they couldn’t help – in their sweet English accents. The jet lag was getting to him – polluting
his mind and his reasoning.
He took a stab at Platform 3 and read
the timetables standing by the wall. He
looked up Gatwick – to Reading – to Exeter.
McGregor deciphered the train schedule and determined the next train
would arrive at 9:45 but when it arrived he was unsure – and the train was
quick on departing. So McGregor let it
go only to feel stupid as he watched it slide away. Because the lady announcer
said overhead, “The train at Platform 3 - Reading… Edinburgh
via Birmingham.” It didn’t
matter. Another train was coming at
10:05 on the opposite platform – Platform 4 – destined for Reading.
It came a minute late. He boarded quickly. He tried to sleep on the train but was afraid
he would fall into a deep sleep and miss getting off at Reading. Then he would be screwed. He had a very tight schedule. But he was totally winging it. Making everything up as he went along. McGregor didn’t even have clothes to change
into. He would buy maybe a duffel bag
and a change of clothes once he got to Exeter.
This was like living inside a video game where you have infinite amount
of lives and money to waste. He kept
himself awake by watching the countryside and when the train dipped into
tunnels, he stared at his reflection in the window next to his seat. It was very eerie seeing himself this way.
The jet lag was tugging on him.
It was a mad dash through the Reading
Station – a scramble to decode the schedules again – but suddenly he remembered
– a déjà vu. He had taken the same
platform before – to the same destination.
And she had been running with him.
Running through the station he could smell her perfume – obviously it
was somebody else’s. But he
pretended. And acted
like she was just around the down escalator – just past the flower shop -
waiting at Platform 4. And she
would be running towards him arms open wide.
The train to Exeter was busier. He had to search for a seat. While looking he bumped an older man who was
balding and had bushy eye brows – he looked up from his news paper and gave
McGregor an official eat-shit-and die look.
He exhaled a couple of times after
finally sitting down. The green
countryside began to pass by with the customary English gray skies – the sun
forever trying to peak through. His
tired brain began trying to think again.
He needed a plan. Leslie wouldn’t
know him. That was good. Maybe he would keep his distance when he
found them – and when they separated he would slip over to the guy. At first, be subtle – but then boom! Drop the bomb. How would the guy take it? Maybe he should be an anonymous
stranger. Just a guy
off the street who offers advice.
“Hey, look man. I couldn’t help but notice…” he said in his
head. No. No.
That sounded typical.
Where would they be? He tried to think. But without noticing, he drifted off to
sleep.