Wrong Place, Wrong Time

I was watching the telephone in the corner. Every now and then I would walk up to it, and try and pick it up, but I would chicken out at the last moment. It was quite an important thing I had to say, and I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.

I was willing it to ring, to jump and vibrate on the desk, to give me an excuse, not to ring her. But I knew it was down to me - there was no way she could possibly call me, she didn’t know my name and I didn’t give her my number - for a change, it was the other way around.

How I got her number was like a dream, I was on the train - it’s never usually how I do things, but I took myself by surprise, sometimes it’s best that way, and before I could catch myself thinking, I said “Do you mind if I sit here?”

She smiled – it must’ve happened a lot to her – but she was gracious, and I could tell she thought I wasn’t a threat.

“Only if you promise me something….” She said.

“Promise what?”

“Promise not to try and talk to me.” She said. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Sure.” I said.

We sat together for the whole journey, in the kind of silence that doesn’t need a conversation. By the time we got to the station I felt she knew me and I knew her and the attraction was impossible to ignore.

I felt I had to say at least something - “Can I have your number?”

It was written on the back of my ticket stub, in blue ink, and I held it in my left hand, with the telephone in my right.

Eventually I dialled.

“Hello?” Said a voice.

“Oh … hi …” I said “It’s me – we met on the train.”

I thought I could feel the connection between us.

But the voice said, “Sorry - wrong number.”, and hung up.