The Train Game

Every morning when I take the train to work, if I've forgotten a good book or my iPod, I play something I like to call the train game. I examine every single person in my carriage and ask myself: if I could, which one of them would I be?

And I invariably end up picking someone.

Sometimes it's the young girl in the slouchy jeans, long straight hair and secondary school-style tote, who looks as if she's got her whole life ahead of her, full of second chances she can make or break without the fear of consequences. Sometimes it's the older woman in her sophisticated up-do, clearly a wealthy homemaker with grown-up kids and all her debts in life settled, free now to go out meeting friends and shopping as she pleases. And sometimes it's the business woman in her power suit with her crinkly black Prada bag, who's got everything under control.


"Oh my god, it's a breakthrough!" Dawn said, in mock surprise when she saw me yesterday. "You're wearing a skirt at last and it's even a little bit short!"

I laughed and hiked my black bubble skirt up my waist to tease her further.

Later that afternoon, ten of us promptly left our work desks at 5:30pm, leaving our bosses wondering where we disappeared to. In a move that was orchestrated and coordinated mostly by Jay, we trooped upstairs to the basketball court on the roof and changed clothes. Shedding our work pants and corporate tees for bedraggled baggy shirts and sporty shorts, we laughed at each other in the tiny two-cubicle toilet as we emerged in varying shades of hot pink, black and blue.

Then, for fourty-five minutes, under the searing sun, we proceeded to have the Captain's Ball match of our lives. I haven't played Captain's Ball in at least eight years and all the running and jumping made me completely flushed and combined with the fact that we couldn't stop laughing, it was a complete riot.

I was on Ben, Dawn, Jay and Mav's team and while the girls were like swallows, tripping lithely across the court and stealing the ball, Ben was our stalwart guard, bearing down on anybody who tried to get past him to the goal. Mostly, I laughed and ran and threw decent passes and marvelled at how much more coordinated I have become since secondary school.

And up there, giggling like little children in the afternoon light, we watched the ball sailing through the bright blue and forgot every responsibility we had for the better part of an hour and emerged from the game joyously tanned and refreshed.


Last night on the train home, back in my work clothes, with my sports gear safely tucked away in a paper bag, I realised that I had forgotten my iPod earphones. Leaning back against a glass pane, I proceeded to play the train game.

And for once in my life, there was no one else I wanted to be.