The Far Shore
The grey buildings rise up towards me like cardboard cutouts in a pop-up book and a fine blanket of grey dusts the evening with tiredness. I look up and I can see some new advertisements shouting at me to try the wonderful, exciting, fresh new breakfast of some fast-food chain. Two rows of seats stretch down the length of the train and those seated are silent. They look like soldiers being ferried to the frontlines. Everyone seems to be staring inwards. I look at their foreheads, trying to peer into their thoughts but I am distracted by snatches of conversation from the left. When I turn, the words seem to have melted into the thick air-conditioned air and I'm left with no choice but to put on my headphones because I forgot to bring a book along this morning.
Rolling onward in my capsule of music, I hardly notice it when two empty seats smile back at me. The door hisses shuts and I randomly choose the one away from the door. One final note hangs in the air and the song dissolves slowly into silence. I look up to give my neighbour a cursory glance, but she seems so absorbed in her own world that I loosen up and begin to stare at her in earnest. The orange light of the evening cannot conceal the glow of her dark brown hair. A well-hidden confidence shines up innocently from beneath her glasses. Seconds pass but her gaze does not falter. Head ducked slightly, her backpack rests on her lap and a Sudoku puzzle which has been neatly separated from the Star newspaper lies before her. Her left hand rests on the edge of the seat and her right cradles a rubber-tipped pencil. The next song begins to play but I'm hardly listening by now. I slowly drink in all the details of this mystery woman so I can remember her later. I notice a ring on her left hand - a tiny needle pricks my heart - but somehow I am not surprised. Like a fisherman casting a net, her fine-boned fingers drift up the grid and slowly slide back down while she checks the numbers. Her numbers are a light grey and she writes as if she is afraid of hurting the paper and I feel touched by this gesture. We move so quickly nowadays, it's hard to see who we are anymore. I follow her gaze as her eyes brush the numbers, and I find myself working on the puzzle too. I whisper to her mentally that the 5 belongs in this column when I see her pencil hover over the right box and 5 seconds later, she seems to have heard me because she neatly pencils in a 5. Ah, how nice it is to help someone in need, even if it's just a Sudoku puzzle. The empty spaces in the grid fill up quickly and amazingly her numbers are so uniform they look like they were printed.
I turn off the music but leave my headphones on so I will have a valid disguise. When I look over, she's actually done. I give her a small clap and for the first time, she looks up at me and the corners of her lips turn up into a sweet smile.
"I like watching people solve these puzzles because I've never finished one myself."
"It's easy. I can teach you."
For the second time, her smile reappears. This time it's shy but confident. Like a child presenting a crayon drawing which the teacher praised. I almost want to reach out and pat her on the head and say "Good girl!". But instead, I allow myself a quick lie and say,
"I'm very bad with numbers. These things give me a headache."
She just nods and her fingers are already deftly unzipping her backpack. They expertly stow the completed puzzle at the bottom of the stack before pulling out a fresh puzzle. I can see her house now with its huge pile of Star newspapers, all the Sudoku puzzles cut out, and I suddenly feel like laughing. It feels rude to stare, so I sneak occasional glances while I listen to the silence flowing out of my headphones. When we both get up to leave at the final station, there's an unmistakable bounce in her step and I direct my attention back to the closest person, trying unsuccessfully to decipher their thoughts in this hot, dry evening.
Rolling onward in my capsule of music, I hardly notice it when two empty seats smile back at me. The door hisses shuts and I randomly choose the one away from the door. One final note hangs in the air and the song dissolves slowly into silence. I look up to give my neighbour a cursory glance, but she seems so absorbed in her own world that I loosen up and begin to stare at her in earnest. The orange light of the evening cannot conceal the glow of her dark brown hair. A well-hidden confidence shines up innocently from beneath her glasses. Seconds pass but her gaze does not falter. Head ducked slightly, her backpack rests on her lap and a Sudoku puzzle which has been neatly separated from the Star newspaper lies before her. Her left hand rests on the edge of the seat and her right cradles a rubber-tipped pencil. The next song begins to play but I'm hardly listening by now. I slowly drink in all the details of this mystery woman so I can remember her later. I notice a ring on her left hand - a tiny needle pricks my heart - but somehow I am not surprised. Like a fisherman casting a net, her fine-boned fingers drift up the grid and slowly slide back down while she checks the numbers. Her numbers are a light grey and she writes as if she is afraid of hurting the paper and I feel touched by this gesture. We move so quickly nowadays, it's hard to see who we are anymore. I follow her gaze as her eyes brush the numbers, and I find myself working on the puzzle too. I whisper to her mentally that the 5 belongs in this column when I see her pencil hover over the right box and 5 seconds later, she seems to have heard me because she neatly pencils in a 5. Ah, how nice it is to help someone in need, even if it's just a Sudoku puzzle. The empty spaces in the grid fill up quickly and amazingly her numbers are so uniform they look like they were printed.
I turn off the music but leave my headphones on so I will have a valid disguise. When I look over, she's actually done. I give her a small clap and for the first time, she looks up at me and the corners of her lips turn up into a sweet smile.
"I like watching people solve these puzzles because I've never finished one myself."
"It's easy. I can teach you."
For the second time, her smile reappears. This time it's shy but confident. Like a child presenting a crayon drawing which the teacher praised. I almost want to reach out and pat her on the head and say "Good girl!". But instead, I allow myself a quick lie and say,
"I'm very bad with numbers. These things give me a headache."
She just nods and her fingers are already deftly unzipping her backpack. They expertly stow the completed puzzle at the bottom of the stack before pulling out a fresh puzzle. I can see her house now with its huge pile of Star newspapers, all the Sudoku puzzles cut out, and I suddenly feel like laughing. It feels rude to stare, so I sneak occasional glances while I listen to the silence flowing out of my headphones. When we both get up to leave at the final station, there's an unmistakable bounce in her step and I direct my attention back to the closest person, trying unsuccessfully to decipher their thoughts in this hot, dry evening.