(no subject)
I was sitting on the train station seat warm and comfortable under the lazy sun when I saw a guy in his early 20s walk towards me from the other end of the station. He wasn't looking at me but I suddenly had the feeling he came over for me and turned around, half annoyed, half apathetic. I ignored the growing sound of his footsteps and he sat himself down on the seat to my right. I was about to edge away when I saw his shadow, and mine, on the ground to my left, which was the direction I faced ever since I noticed him heading over. Curious, I watched his portrait on the ground, looking at me and grew indignant, you already came ten miles to sit next to me, what right have you now to stare at me thinking I didn't know? I saw him lean closer and then…
“How ya goin’? How’s your day been?”
I turned around and inspected the stranger who was an inch away from me, far from intruding on my personal space, he was inhibiting it. He was completely unaware of my displeasure and was grinning at me. I glanced at the curious people on the station - an Indian couple who kept chucking unvoiced question marks at me, a few high school boys and about a dozen individual onlookers spread out in the three-metre radius around us.
“Alright. How was yours?”
“Yeah it’s been alright. Just been working and all.”
He grinned again. A typical brute, I thought to myself as I smiled faintly out of politeness.
“What did you do all day? Shopping?”
I knew he was referring to the Supre bag I was wearing and ignored his smartass comment.
“Nah, I’m going to work.”
“Oh.” He said, clearly surprised. His stupendous smile faded ever-so-slightly as he processed this as a correction to his mistake but within a split second he was beaming again. “Where do you work?”
“Newsagent.”
“Is that fun?”
“It’s alright. Most of the time it’s a pretty bleak job.”
He laughed as if I had just told a joke, which was actually funny, unlike most jokes.
“How’s your job? Better than mine I’m sure.”
“Well it’s building and construction. At least it’s outdoors.”
Meaning what? That that’s why you look like you’re drowning in your own sweat?
“I’m Cale by the way.” He held out his hand. I stared at it.
“Sorry?” That is one very, very dirty hand.
“Cale.”
“Cale?” Short for Caleb? But that's Cal... Cale. Pale. Pale? How ironic! What kind of name is that anyway?
“Pleased to meet you.” He gestured again and despite my prejudice towards men, towards cocky and horny men with ridiculous names, it was unreasonable even for my standards to reject someone because their hands weren’t clean. To reject someone because their hands weren’t clean because they had been working their asses off all day under the blistering sun just because no snob or hypocrite would ever do that kind of job.
“Likewise.” I said simply.
“Yeah I just thought I should come and talk to you,” he paused and because I didn’t like where that was heading I narrowed my eyes at him. I could almost tell as he instantly picked another line to continue with, “Because you looked pretty lonely.”
“Did I? Thanks.” Despite the grateful word, I kept my tone flat and to my satisfaction, a moment of silence followed, but not for long.
“So whereabouts do you work?” He tried again.
“Auburn.”
“Oh, that’s a lovely place to work at.”
“Is it?” I laughed, because it was so obvious a lie.
“I don’t know. I don't go there a lot.”
“Well most people don't seem to think very high of it.”
“Yeah, it’s ‘cause there’s too many wogs there.”
“That’s a bit racist and anyway I don't find that at all.” Here I was concerned I shouldn't judge him for some dust on his fingers and palms, for being a blue-collar worker whose brain capacity obviously doesn't match up to the size of his muscles and he goes on immediately to prove I have once again wasted my sense of justice on someone completely unworthy of it.
“It’s true, there are too many wogs there and that’s why people don't like Auburn.”
“Hell no. There’s a lot of junkies in Auburn and people feel that makes the place unsafe. It’s got nothing to do with anyone’s age, gender, race or whatever.”
“Well there’s a lot of junkies everywhere.”
“Perhaps. I wouldn't know about that.”
He laughed again and I looked away, for the first time making my disinterestedness plainly obvious.
“It was really nice meeting you. I might see you again.” He held his hand out again. I shook it without thinking this time, just to get my space back.
The train came as he got up and I deliberately waited for him to walk ahead before me so we didn't get in the same carriage and for the rest of the trip I stuffed my ears with blasting music to keep dickheads like Cale away.