Next stop…

Timothy fell in love twenty-three times on the train this morning, just shy of his average of twenty-five. And he didn’t have the guts to talk to a single one of them.

There was the blonde with the black trench coat who hopped on earlier in the trip, at Engadine. As soon as his brain made the fizzle happen, their whole life was planned out in a bubbly mess:

Take her to the movies, share a milkshake, make love in her bedroom, move in together in a flat in Newtown, three kids by thirty-five.

The shoulder-length brunette rugged up with quite possibly the most ugly woollen jumper:

Work hard for a few years, then buy a farm north near Byron Bay, live off the land, make hemp clothes, fight the encroached capitalistic agenda, have one child, grow old together.

The two auburn hair sisters (from what he assumed). Timothy reasoned he’d have to flip a coin. It didn’t change the outcome, however:

Buy a large waterfront on the North Shore, electronically commute every two days, have two kids, sell on a market upswing and retire in the Bahamas.

The stunner who got on at Tempe and fought to get a seat.

Fleeting relationship, before she breaks both our hearts and moves to London. Meet by chance on holiday, but it’s already far too late.

The quiet girl with headphones trailing her ears and eyes buried in a thick book.

Propose at the State Library, move around the world soaking in the culture, retire to Turkey and hunt back alleys for antiques and long lost treasures.

As the train groaned to a halt at Central, Timothy’s mind was wrested unceremoniously from his overactive imagination and back to the real world. Despite his best efforts though, he still danced on the faint line between daydreaming and concious reality when Mike stuck and elbow out and jabbed in in the ribs.

“Tim! How’s life,” grinned Mike. Mike was one of those eternal optimists that would fend off even the announcement of Judgement Day with a light-hearted, “Oh, don’t worry man. It could be worse.”

Snapped from his daydream, and admiring another true love attempting to buzz the elevator with the end of her elbow, Timothy shook his head and replied dejectedly, “Hey Mike.”

“What a day to be alive, aye?” said Mike, a cheeky smile cutting through the crowd of bored faces waiting inline to jump on the escalators. “Don’t forget we have the Patterson brief at three.”

Timothy sighed, went to complain about it to Mike, then reconsidered. As they stepped onto the escalator, Timothy fleetingly wished he could have the guts to introduce himself to someone, even if it was only to break up the depressingly optimistic morning routine with Mike.

Timothy always aimed to get a two seater from Waterfall. That way, he could possibly have a woman sit next to him. One that he could talk to — as Timothy often found it was creepy to talk to someone you’ve never met in the seat in front/behind you. Or at the other end of the carriage.

He was coming up on nineteen as they were approaching Como, the most recent love-of-his-life having had moved downstairs to find a seat, instead of upstairs, but not before Timothy had imagined her wedding dress, five kids, a small house and three dogs.

As the doors opened to eat a few more passengers on their morning commutes, Number Nineteen, in all her illustrious glory, stepped up and looked around with her big gorgeous eyes.

Timothy didn’t move, although he did make a solid attempt to bring his jaw together. It wouldn’t be an attractive sight if any drool dropped from O shaped mouth.

After a quick sweep of the area, Number Nineteen settled on his seat. Timothy’s seat. As she moved over, gracefully intercepting the moves the bouncing carriage made, Timothy’s heartbeats jumped another 20 per minute. Sweat started to bead his forehead. The Lynx deoderant dam gave way under pressure from the pores.

And then she sat down.

Timothy barely moved. What if he did something to upset her? What if he smelled? What if…she’s the one?

The question, once fired, rebounded in his skull like a lottery ball being fired around a lottery ball machine.

What if?

What if they really were to fall in love?

What if they really were to get married?

What if they really were to own an apartment in New York?

What if they really were to have a child called Jeremy, who would go on to become a priest?

The what if’s were filling up Timothy’s brain quicker than he could handle.

As the train started to slow down for the next stop, he knew he had to say something. Anything. Something coherent. Something smart. Something witty. Say something!

Timothy opened his mouth and prepared his vocal chords to say the only thing he could currently think of.

But before he could get past the ‘H’ to utter the ‘i,’ Number Nineteen stopped him in his tracks, “Sorry, I have a boyfriend.”

Timothy felt his heart drop to his diaphragm. She hadn’t even looked at him. Suddenly, Timothy didn’t feel like being on the train anymore. As if on que, the train stopped, pulling into the next station. With a polite, “Excuse me,” Timothy moved past Number Nineteen, bolted down the stairs and onto the platform. Dropping his bag, he raised his hands above his head to suck a few calming breaths in as the train shut its doors and moved off into the distance.

After taking a few moments to curb his disappointment and the feeling of rejection that swelled in him, Timothy sat down heavily on a spare seat.

It only took him only seven seconds to open Tinder and start swiping. Seven more seconds and he had a match.

Tinder was much easier, Timothy resolved, as the next train pulled into the station.