She had a plan. That’s how it began. We had sat in silence for some time when she leaned over to me and said, she had a plan. No one could possibly guess the thing she proposed we do. At first, I thought she was funny. I smiled. I even laughed out loud. But as she kept talking, I realised that she was as far from funny as you could get. She insisted that the fact that we were strangers made it all the better, me wearing a cheap dress and her, a school uniform – a generic blazer and pleated skirt.
I would do it. What else are you to do when you’re put on the spot?
Now, anyone would have thought meeting a stranger in the train station and agreeing to do anything was mad. The madness, I think and still believe, was with the stranger and not myself. It was only my curiosity that led me to agree in the first place. And curiosity is not madness. It’s not madness at all, is it?
This particular train station was deep underground. The arched walls were high and carved out of the rock. There were no tiles or plaster to lessen the feeling that you were deep underground. As you descended the steep escalator, the air changed about halfway, a noticeable shift from the fresh, dry air above to the damp, chilled earthy air below. It latched onto your skin and as you breathed in, it felt as though you were taking part of the earth into the core of your lungs.
When I had reached the platform, a mottled blood-red laminate stretched for as far as the eye could see and disappeared at the far end of the tunnel. Two parallel lines of dark grey pillars, like soldiers, held up the high rocky ceiling of the tunnel. If I shouted, I was sure it would echo. But I didn’t shout, even though the platform was empty.
The station was illuminated with what appeared to be operating theatre lights that hissed white light and the glare reflected dizzying white spots on the polished platform. Wires, thick as snakes, crawled between the lights. I kept my eyes focused towards the end and found a bench situated between two pillars. I slid the bag off of my shoulder and put it on my lap. I hugged it. Mostly to keep warm. But more because being alone so deep underground was unnerving.
From this position, all I could see was the charcoal tunnel that arched over the tracks; I could not see her until she was almost upon me.
And then it was too late.
Too late to get up. Too late move seat. Too late shift along without being obvious. We sat and waited. Little by little, more people arrived, and I loosened my arms from around my bag. It was then, as my arms relaxed, that she leaned over and said, “I have a plan!”
I should have left then. Moved towards the family with three children, or the businesspeople, or the tourists with their suitcases. But I didn’t move. I listened and nodded. And as it turns out, we did not live that far from each other. In opposite directions, but not far. We would walk out of the station, her to the left, and me to the right. And no one would be none the wiser.
“We could get caught.” I said.
But she was compelling, convincing and certain of her plan. We would walk off the train at our destination richer than when we got on. So, every other car, I grew in confidence, we put on a show worthy of an Oscar. Me doubled up in pain, and her blocking the CCTV with her body, light fingered, on repeat. I was nervous and thrilled as adrenaline flowed through my body. This was not her first time. She was too calm and careful. Too sure of herself from the start.
One train ride. I walked right and saw my reflection in the window of the chocolate shop as I left the station behind me. I was no longer the same girl. I was an accomplice. I was a thief.
Inspired by the Alfred Hitchcock movie, ‘Strangers on a Train‘.
All pictures and writing are my own unless otherwise credited. Permission must be obtained before any image reproduction and credit must be issued in any image reproduction or quotations.
The Gold Shoe Writer 