by J. S. Brent
He had been born in Hong Kong and raised in New York giving him an impossible mix of accents. I understood him now, but when we were becoming friends the language gap probably made us closer because we had found other ways to communicate. Last night he was having dinner with his family in Newcastle and so had missed the open-mic. I didn’t mind. Even after telling him I doubted that he knew that it was happening.
‘You packed yet?’ He asked, the same look on his face as ever.
‘I’m just going to chuck my dirty washing in there and my Mum can clean it.’
‘Fucking hell.’ He said. Having changed from an American environment to a British student one, he had come up with the thought that everyone in England swore all the time. There had been times where I’m sure people around us must have thought that he had Tourette’s.
‘Can you help me find my passport?’ I had planned on finding it sooner. That way I could go travelling the second I could no longer handle my home town. My first search had taken too long.
‘Sure.’ He said, before sitting on my bed and bringing out his phone.
‘I’ll get changed first.’
‘Ok.’
I put a shirt over yesterday’s t-shirt and changed into some trousers. It could get cold in Durham. Recently the weather had been perfect, but every now and again there would be a random day where the temperature just dropped without warning.
When it was time to commence the search I started in all the logical places. I opened my bedside drawer and sifted through the condoms and CDs to no avail. It didn’t seem to be on my desk. It didn’t look like it was on the floor. All the while Jimmy sat on my bed, laughing every now and again at his messages.
‘Thanks for the help.’ I said under my breath.
‘When’s your train?’ He asked, not looking up from his phone.
‘Oh, plenty of time. Thirty minutes.’ It took twenty to get to the station without a large suitcase and so I would probably be running late.
Every now and again I would swear under my breath when I thought of a new place it could be and it wasn’t there. ‘Stand up.’ I said, Jimmy looked up. ‘Up.’ I motioned with my hands. He stood. I lifted the bed to check in the storage underneath. It wasn’t there.
‘Maybe Flora took it.’
‘I doubt that. Fucking my room up and posting on college fresher’s pages as me is funny but this would be below the belt.’ I only had five minutes until I absolutely had to leave but I really didn’t want to be trapped in the small town of Bishop’s Wood until I returned here. ‘Fuck it.’ I said eventually. ‘I’ll just pack.’ Jimmy just laughed.
I picked up as many clothes as I could carry from my washing and dropped it into my suitcase, before picking up all the books I was planning on finally reading and carefully laying them amongst the dirty clothes.
‘You going to fucking read all of that?’
‘I hope so. I have coffee.’ I knew that I was being naïve. There literally wasn’t enough time in the holidays to get through even half of the books, but I knew that I would be spending a lot of time alone when I returned and so it was worth a shot.
I was now running very late.
‘I need to go to the fucking post office.’ Jimmy said, half to himself.
‘You can run down with me.’ I said, grasping my suitcase and throwing my already packed backpack onto my shoulders.
We left my room. I locked it behind me. It was the first time in months that I had locked my door. It still worked on the outside, it was just the inside lock that just endlessly spun without latching onto anything. 'Come on.' I said to Jimmy as he idly stared down at his phone.
After checking myself one last time in the mirror I rushed down the corridor and down the stairs. Jimmy walked behind me.
I got to the front desk.
The woman there was checking her nails. It was obviously a slow day. ‘Can I check out, please? As a student not as an open day guest-thing.’ She pointed to one of the sheets on the table.
‘You’re checking out late.’ She said. It was true. I had stayed as long as possible. ‘Have you got your keys without the laundry fob?’ She smiled brightly.
‘Yeah, right here.’ I said after I had signed the sheet. I fumbled with the key-ring before handing over the key. It shone under the dim lights as I passed it to her. Now there was no turning back.
Jimmy caught up to me. ‘Shit.’ I said, rushing off again.
I jumped down the stairs, the suitcase gliding down behind me.
‘Classic you.’ Jimmy said, as I began to run. ‘Just get a taxi.’
‘I’d still be late.’
‘Get your parents to pick you up.’ I paused.
‘They wouldn’t do that.’ I dismissed, before running down the hill. I got to the main road, painfully aware that Jimmy was behind me taking pictures. I would later find them on various places online with the caption he missed his train, classic. A few people were laughing. I joined in. I could see the humour in the situation.
Almost immediately out of breath and aware that Durham’s streets were not designed for suitcases on wheels I slowed. ‘Wanna get a coffee?’ I yelled to Jimmy who had trailed very far behind me. I wanted to walk peacefully to the station, taking in the sights one last time.
I loved that city. Sometimes I would walk into the centre with no music playing because the city would sing to me. Last night after my cigarette my battery had run out and somebody had accidentally stolen my charger, anyway, and so I didn’t have a choice. It turned out to be one of the best things that had ever happened to me.
We trailed over the cobbled streets, reaching the bridge where you could see the castle and the cathedral standing next to each other like proud sentries. The sun shone behind them, the skies were clear. I didn’t mind how difficult it was to drag my suitcase because it was as if the city was dragging at my heels, not wanting me to leave.
There were buskers everywhere. All of them talented, all of them singing hard and strong in the background, giving the city a soft and distinctive melody of bright relaxation. Every single one sang a different style and so when one strong tune faded into the distance, the next one was ready to pick up where the last had left of, like a broken medley.
Jimmy had chosen America’s favourite coffee shop, even if he did say that it tasted like shit in England. I had replied with all of America’s great exports. All two of them.
It smelt of sick inside. It was a good excuse to tell him to make it ‘to go’. I didn’t want to be an hour later than my original train because then I would have one less excuse, should the ticket inspector ask.
In spite of the smell, the place was still buzzing. People on phones and laptops and people talking softly about nothing in particular. I had never been inside that coffee shop before. It was too expensive to visit regularly.
‘Can you pay for me?’ I eventually asked. ‘It’ll be cheaper to pay a fine but I don’t know what it would be. I don’t know how much I’m going to spend…’
‘Ok then.’ Jimmy cut me off, drawing out one of his many debit cards.
‘You’re paying by card?’
‘Well, you could pay.’
‘No, no. That’s fine.’ I smiled.
If Jimmy was paying, that would mean that he was ordering. This would take a while. Not because he was slow but because the barista would have to repeat ‘pardon’ at least four times and then ‘what’ at least two more.
‘What you want?’ He asked as we reached the till.
‘Regular cappuccino?’
‘You mean a venti?’
‘No, a…’ I scanned the prices. ‘…Grande. The middle one.’ I said. Jimmy nodded.
‘One venti cappuccino, one venti Americano, please.’ He asked the barista.
I turned away as their call and response began, taking in my surroundings. In spite of the smell, which I was getting used to, it was a nice place. There were books littered around the place and the tables had been meticulously laid out to make it se
em busier than it was. There weren’t that many mirrors, though, a common trick to make the place look much bigger. They didn’t need to do that. They were going for cosy more than grand.
As Jimmy walked to the collection point I followed him, trying not to block anyone with my suitcase. We stood in silence for a moment, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. I found comfortable silence a great way of judging how good a friend with someone I was. At school I never experienced the: you know when you meet someone and you just don’t ‘click’? Due to the fact that you’re thrust into a small space with a limited amount of people that, if you want to survive, you have to learn to tolerate. I did find this every now and again at university, which made the people that I did click with a lot more special.
‘Here you go.’ He said, passing me the coffee as it steamed through the opening of the cardboard cup. I took a sip. I loved hot coffee, but I knew that Jimmy would wait about half an hour until he drank it.
We slowly left.
‘I need to go to the fucking post office.’ He said as we re-entered the cobbled streets.
‘Want to come with me to the station?’ There was a short silence. ‘I might need help if my tickets don’t work.’
‘I’d love to see that.’ He said, turning his body towards the direction of the station.
‘Great.’ I said, setting off across the hilly streets, making sure I took it all in one last time for a while.
Jimmy followed slowly. Every road we crossed he would hesitate a moment before crossing behind me. This caused him a bit of trouble on the hill going up to the station as it went around a bend, he had to run behind me and a car had to brake to make sure that it didn’t almost hit him.
We reached the steps. There was a woman struggling in front of us. I thought about helping her but I had my own stuff to deal with. I knew that Jimmy wouldn’t help. Maybe it would be because it wouldn’t cross his mind, maybe it would be because of the strain that it would cause his arms. I overtook her on the stairs before halting before the glass doors of the station. ‘Actually.’ I paused, before reaching into my pocket. ‘I want you here for this.’ I drew into my pocket to reach out the final cigarette in the pack. I could tell that Jimmy was out of breath. ‘This is my last one for a while.’ It wasn’t, but I thought that it would be at the time.
‘Why are you quitting?’ Jimmy asked.
‘Huh?’
‘Why?’
‘It’s unhealthy and shit. Also my parents…’
‘Just smoke outside.’
‘I will never understand you.’ Jimmy was the only one close enough to me who didn’t smoke to tell me that I should quit.
‘Likewise.’ He said. I lit up the cigarette and inhaled. It was my most recent one in a while and so it went straight to my head. It helped that it was a beautiful day, as well. It would have been a good cigarette to end on.
As I smoked, I checked my watch. I was only about forty minutes late. It wasn’t too bad. I still had to collect my tickets and I was unsure as to whether or not they would work on the barrier. Then there was the ticket inspector to worry about. ‘You know…’ I started, before exhaling. ‘…This is unfair. If I was a girl and got caught I’d just cry, it’d just look creepy if I did that.’ Jimmy simply laughed. ‘My sister does it all the time. She’s never been fined to this day.’ My cigarette was running out. I checked my phone to see if anyone had sent me any goodbye messages. Not a soul. I had had a couple from friends who had long left. Mainly they were asking about Jimmy. ‘That’s it.’ I said as the last of the smog dissipated into the air. I put out my cigarette in the ashtray. ‘Want to come in and see if my tickets work?’
‘Fuck yes.’ Jimmy followed me inside. Obviously everything was fine. My tickets printed quickly and due to the influx of open day students the barriers were wide open. ‘Why are you so lucky?’ Jimmy asked, he genuinely seemed annoyed. I simply shrugged before hugging him. ‘Post office.’ He said, before leaving briskly. I waved after him, for once looking forward to the messages about work or intellectuals he would always send me. It would remind me of home.
As I stepped towards the platform I finished my coffee. I had grown bored of it about ten minutes before and I felt guilty for the extra fifty pence or so Jimmy had to pay to get it. My train was set to arrive in about ten minutes. I sat on my phone and checked if the Wi-Fi was free. As ever, it wasn’t. I decided to play games on my phone. Jimmy was no longer here and so he couldn’t judge. I was playing the same game that my Mum was completely obsessed with.
My train arrived into the station, inhaling and exhaling like an iron horse as the electricity settled. The doors opened themselves like something out of a horror movie, beckoning me inside to face some dire fate. When I stepped in they slammed shut behind me.
I made my way to the carriage next to the food service, there were no reservations there. At least my train hadn’t been delayed. I sat opposite a man who had his legs outstretched. His thumb lay rested on his bottom lip as he watched something intently. Probably football.
On the way into Durham I didn’t mind about obnoxious or annoying passengers. You could eat curry, sniff and sneeze like a sick dog, infringe my personal space, I didn’t care. The view on the way in made it all worth it. The way back to Stansted Airport and then Bishop’s Wood was a different story. I prepared myself for a nicotine-less journey. I knew that as I got closer to that empty town I would get more and more agitated and so I just hoped that the next train would be emptier than this one.
A few students ambled onto the train and sat across from me. They looked so tired. Obviously I wasn’t the only one that had had a draining term. They resigned to their phones silently, not exchanging a word, before placing their earphones in and falling asleep. I wished I could escape to that refuge, but I wanted to be awake for when the ticket inspector walked through the carriage so that any excuse that I might have to give would be worth it.
The man across from me consistently seethed through his teeth. Either his team were losing or he was getting ridiculously into whatever television show or movie he was watching. I wished that I could sit next to the window so that I could see the city as we pulled out of Durham. I’d seen more of the city that day than I had intended to in the first place, though, so it had all balanced out.
Thankfully, our carriage was almost silent. I pulled my laptop out of my bag and began to work on the essays that had been due in for a week ago. I loved my laptop. It was fairly new, but the battery had still been ruined by the amount of time I had spent on it. It was a replacement from the one I brought with me to University. My first one was already on its last legs when it made the pilgrimage from one source of Wi-Fi to the next. It wasn’t the only thing that had broken when it had finally keeled over and buzzed its last. It had all of my essays, all of my songs, and all of my stories on it. I had lost it all.
A week later, when I had sorted out extensions, Flora and I had given it a burial with sparklers and candles. Circuits to circuits, rust to rust I had said before I watched it being lowered into a shallow grave. That had been the last straw. I don’t think I’ve been completely the same, since.
In spite of the distance from the outside world, I still managed to look out the window more than work on my essays. I was mainly using my laptop for music to aid my journey. Life seems to go faster when you have a good song in the background. I was avoiding the songs that seemed to directly speak to me. I was going for something more naively hopeful or uplifting.
Without the music, I would have felt enclosed by the silence. The people around me were doing nothing but residing to their own lives. Their music or audio or sound hidden from the rest of the world. Their eyes staring down at whatever distraction lay in front of them. It was as if everyone was actively trying to ignore everyone else, instead of simply concentrating on whatever they held in their still hands.
Music is not just a medium of sound. It is a medium of transport.
For a moment I was not in that train carriage. I w
as not charging back to the town that had stacked the dominoes that would one day fall. I was not thinking of lost loves or broken hearts or what could have been. I was back to the place where I was truly free. I was dancing with my friends. It was fresher’s week. My favourite song had come on. I could dance without judgement or apprehension. Nobody knew each other enough to judge them, then, and yet everyone was still linked through some common, mutual part of themselves. Everyone reflected everyone else in some way.
The song ended. The lights of the club shut down immediately. The smoke effects ceased. I was thrust back into that carriage, opposite the leg spreader and across from the sleepy students. Once again I was hurtling back to the one place I never wanted to return to.
I checked my phone, wishing that the Wi-Fi would be free. I just wanted to message anyone, any single person that had shared an experience with me at Durham would do. It would distract me from remembering all of the people at home that had messed with my head and left a mark.
The ticket inspector walked through the door, confidently declaring ‘tickets, please, sir’ or ‘tickets, madam’. Shit. My ticket was only valid at a certain time. I took a deep breath as he crossed diagonally from person to person. Click. I reached into my pocket. Click. I brought out my ticket and my railcard. Click. I hid the time under the railcard.
‘Tickets.’ He said, looking down at me as I sat still on my uncomfortable throne.
‘Here you go.’ I inaudibly said, handing him the combination.
He moved the railcard and inspected the ticket. I froze for a moment. I was thinking of which excuse to use. He sighed.
Click.
He passed the ticket back to me, before turning to the man opposite.
‘Tickets.’ He said to the man. The man did not hear. ‘Sir. Tickets.’ He repeated, louder. The man’s gaze did not avert from whatever he was watching. ‘Tickets!’ He said, finally losing his patience.
‘Yup.’ The man said with a start, thrusting a pile of tickets under the inspector’s nose. ‘I think it’s the top one.’ He murmured as the ticket inspector rolled his eyes and stamped down on it.
