A writing journal task gone rogue

A tale about a train journey.

Sitting across from me, sipping from a carton of blackcurrant juice and wistfully gazing out of the window was a small, quiet man who had a curiously contented expression on his face as he watched the fields and towns pass by. He looked so at peace with the world and hadn’t made any complaint about my joining his table moments earlier, that I quietly settled myself down, with only a nod of gratitude and greeting, placing my rucksack on the seat beside me and getting out my book and my small packed lunch ready to settle in for the journey ahead.

I had been part way through L M Montgomery’s ‘Annes house of dreams’ when I remembered the small bag of sweets I had tucked away in the front pocket of my rucksack. Opening them and taking a toffee, I slid them sideways to suggest that if my journeying companion would like one, he would be more than welcome. He seemed a gentle soul as, at this gesture, we shared a smile and he happily partook of a toffee.

We both returned to our ponderings, he to the view out of the window and I to my book. It struck me quite pleasant that an understanding seemed to have developed between us. No small talk was needed. It was a lovely day, the train quite quiet happily chugging along in the spring weather and wherever my contented travel buddy was traveling to, it didn’t seem to be on his mind, nor mine on mine because in this moment it was clear that the journey itself was the joy to be had. Returning to my book, I smiled and thought that my quiet friend was, quite clearly, one of ‘the race that knows Joseph’.

Notes from the writer:

The creative writing task I was set was to write about a phobia, picked out of a long list. When consulting the list, I landed on Gerascophobia  - the fear of getting old. This would be tricky. Would it be a fiction-based article about meeting a person with such a fear, or would it be a Peter Pan-type story of avoidance and then the confronting of the inevitable? What would be involved in facing such a fear – would it develop into a fear of clocks? How would you be able to resolve the fear – would it turn nasty, in a desperate attempt to flee? I therefore decided to just start writing and see if it unfolds. The character we meet on the train journey started out to be a simple chap who enjoys simple pleasures (cartons of Ribena being synonymous to my childhood and simplicity as they remind me of my granddad giving my sister and I bags of goodies which always included a carton of Ribena and various chocolate bars that he had discovered). This was the gentleman who was to have the fear. The thought being that his contentment was his dwelling in the innocence of youth and the absence of time pressures. The intention was to keep writing until a problem confronted this gentleman. Whether the catalyst was the narrating character unwittingly causing the problem or the gentleman himself having forgotten a key object, not being able to find it in his satchel. Would that object be a timepiece, much like the rabbit out of Alice in Wonderland, or some other keepsake that keeps the gentleman anchored to his time frame, fending off notions of time passing and the onset of the inevitable fear creeping in connected with the phobia he struggles with?

This progression, alas, is unknown, because as the narrative progressed, I fell a bit in love with the scene. The simplicity, quiet contentment of the journey, and the passing of time, away from the busy streets and rush of industry. It became a quiet oasis found by chance as two people share a table seat on a quiet train and an understanding that quiet joys are to be treasured.

So – in short, I muffed the task. But it was worth it.