As we walk through the underground to the main Paddington station an announcers loudly fills the tube with a mumbled message. Jan covers her ears. The announcers voice was too painful to listen to
wendy: all trains to Reading are delayed
Concourse displays specify Delay, Delay, Delay…. Hundreds of people stand with their eyes held by the display. Murmurring rises. Jan pulls out her HTC Desire
Jan: Delays until 6.30pm, why don’t they tell me that at the station, why do I have to go to the web to find out
Wendy: can you send me that link for my phone
Jan: Um, err, probably, I’ll try
Our shoulders drop. What shall we do with this time at Paddington? Vicky looks near to tears
Vicky: I’ve got a softball game at 6.45pm
Jan notices a slow, stops everytwhere, train to Banbury, a 90 mins rather than 25mins journey to Reading. We run, weaving through bewildered would-be passsengers, to platform 11. Crushed against the train waiting for the doors to open, carried by the crowd onto the train. Midsummer heat, commuter sweat crammed into a carriage designed for half this load. People wearing black and grey. I manage to climb onto the luggage rack, a seat! Jan and Vicky are swept apart into the standing-only isles. Two ladies near me don’t look like commuters, one wearing a cheerful pink dress, another wearing a jade outfit. Pinky bends down and peers into the lower level luggage rack
Pinky: there’s a child under there…
Jade: It’s a BOY
Synchronised smiling, the childs boyness explains his desire to climb into the luggage rack. I ask the colourful duo
wendy: does anyone know what caused the delays?
pinky: A suicide on the line
wendy: how do you know?
Pinky waves her Blackberry phone, She uses the Blackberry for the whole 2hr journey, raising her eyes only to answer my occassional question then say goodbye as she leaves the train. There are few conversations on the train. Most people appear deeply engrossed in bright phone screens. From my perch I can see 4 i-phone screens – text conversations, games, reading the news
I make several attempts to start conversations with the people near me. They moan about how inconsiderate the suicide was, interrupting rush hour travel. Then they sink back into their hypnotic phones. Suicide on the line, one person traded the life they had left to give todays commuters some unanticipated travel time
I feel the need to use this precious time, someone-elses life time, wisely
trading life times
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