Thursday, May 25, 2006
Plaid and tartan

A young man sat across from Melbourne Train Girl wearing an abundance of criss cross designed clothing. His blue-grey plaid pants matched his pink plaid shirt, and his pink plaid shirt matched his pink tartan hat. His pink tinted sunglasses sat perched on his prominent nose, and his head bobbed to music playing inside his mind. In his shirt pocket was something flat, rectangular and silver. Melbourne Train Girl imagined it was a cigar case, and that in his other pocket he carried a matching cigar clipper and fancy lighter.

Melbourne Train Girl was on her way to meet the foreign boy for dinner. At least, she assumed she was. They had organised to meet at 5:30, but he had told her he would call her the day before to confirm. He had never called. Not wanting to stand him up, Melbourne Train Girl was going to the spot they had chosen anyway.

The clouds from the train window were thick like whipped cream. And grey and threatening. For once she had remembered her umbrella. The plaid man shivered and rubbed his bare arms. Melbourne Train Girl wished she had warn a warmer coat.

A Greek father and his son sat down opposite the plaid man. They wore matching Greek soccer scarves and spoke in matching booming Greek voices.

If the foreign boy didn't meet her she would find a quiet spot to eat alone and write in her little blue notebook with seemingly endless pages. In truth, she was hoping he didn't meet her so she could do just that. She didn't much feel like company, and the weather was her favourite kind for sitting alone somewhere warm, looking out at the sun setting early in the grey Melbourne sky.

Both the plaid man and the Greeks got off at the next station. Melbourne Train Girl watched them walking down the platform: the father and son arguing loudly, the plaid man still dancing to the music in his head.

When Melbourne Train Girl reached the city she discovered Melbourne's usual landscape of black coats was punctuated with more cobalt scarves and jackets, as well as Australia's green and gold. These brightly coloured folks marched with determination towards Flinders Street station, and Melbourne Train Girl fought her way against the flow of pedestrian traffic in her red shoes.

On the tram everybody laughed as the doors opened and then closed again every time a girl tried to step on.
"Open the doors driver!" ordered a middle aged woman very loudly. Her face was set in the biggest scowl Melbourne Train Girl had ever seen. The doors opened and the girl stepped onto the tram. A little red and embarassed.

Melbourne Tram Girl pulled the tram cord when she saw the meeting place, and disembarked. There she waited with her handbag and umbrella. Thinking with a smile about the breakfast of fresh toast and homemade jam she had shared just the other morning.

posted by melbourne train girl 10:29 pm

melbourne.train.girl takes the train. And sometimes the tram and the bus as well. She is the girl in the corner seat wondering if the boy by the window will say hello.


123 I love you
a beautiful revolution
adelaide writer
comic book girl
dysfunctional android
enny pen
from the archives
momo freaks out
petite anglaise
the girl who
waiter rant
what's new pussycat?

Wet shoes
The last train
Getting dressed
Melbourne Train Girl need not worry
Walking home
Five boys
Flinders Street Steps

April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006

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