I swear She Was Fae

There is a hierarchy to Public Transportation in Melbourne. Any of the three modes can take you anywhere. The more obscure, specific, or remote your destination, the greater the chance you will need to use a combination that involves the less sophisticated, more occupied, and much more uncomfortable versions of transport the farther out you get. The Bus, being the "illegitimate bastard with a surname befitting the region" of the three transportation modes, will take you anywhere. They go everywhere and can be in places that their larger siblings have access to but would rather not be associated with. This also means that anyone can access them, from anywhere, and so you get the most colorful smattering and varied cesspool of life on Melbourne's buses. When all else fails, when the wheels come off, and the other modes come off the rails (literally. Not even joking.) they shove us all onto buses. They smell, they're loud, they're often damp for no reason, and the air con doesn't work when it should. Nor does the heat work when you want it to. The posted capacity on a bus is 60 people. The actual capacity has been physically proven to exceed 150. It is a mode that every Melbournian ends up having to endure at some point in their life, for one reason or another; it immediately ends up becoming a life goal to never, EVER, find yourself in a circumstance that will leave you having to possibly rely on a bus for any reason, EVER again, so help you, God. Yes, my time relying on the bus as a regular mode of transport may have been short, but it left a fucking impression. I will not speak of that here.

After the bus, we move up to the middle child - the tram system. The one that makes the most noise; the one with absolutely the most issues; the one that, when it has a problem...

"Jesus Christ Tramathon, ALRIGHT WHAT?! I'm SORRY you're on fire - let's move everyone to a fucking bus and we'll all deal with YOUR problem. At least SOMEONE in the family is reliable!"

SO sorry about him. He keeps catching on fire because we overwork him, despite us asking him not to, repeatedly. Ungrateful, really.

The government keeps giving them facelifts and trying to make new bells and whistles to go into them. They keep trying to make the cars better and more comfortable. But honestly, the groundwork was screwed from the beginning (seriously, think of every middle child you know). The trams can only get where the tracks go to, so the network is restricted to just inside the outer suburbs of Melbourne. But the cesspool you can find in the outer suburbs... has to get places. Most of those places are unfortunately accessible by tram.

Then we have the train; everyone's favorite kid. He's the fastest, the most reliable, the quiet one, the pleasure to have around. The older brother that all of the teachers wish the other siblings would be like (Lookin at you, TRAMATHON). Don't get me wrong - he's definitely got his issues. When he goes bad, he goes really bad. The rails were never designed to handle the heat that we experience, so they swell on hot days and the trains can't move without derailing. Yeah, read that again: the train tracks, that were built in and for Melbourne, were not designed for the heat that we get, in Melbourne. So when it gets hot, in Melbourne - which it does - the trains that were made to go onto the tracks in Melbourne, stop working. *snerk* I love this city.

The trains get you from one main junction to the next main junction, before you typically have to swap to a different transport mode - if you're going farther out. So yes, they'll go farther and faster and get you to general, remote areas, but you have to keep trading down to get to your really specific destinations and addresses. The thing is, the further you get from the main city hub, the more sketch even those hubs tend to get. There are a couple of "More Sketch" lines than others. But the one everyone knows that you just don't want to go to the end of, is The Frankston Line.

I could not even tell you why I was on the train on this particular morning. And what the hell I, let alone any of the people I'm about to describe were doing on the Frankston line, is anybody's guess. It's sort of like saying they're moving the set of Brooklyn 99 to Compton; not that some of those characters couldn't look after themselves, but the majority of them... just wouldn't make sense in that settting. I hadn't been on any train in ages, I do remember that. And I remember looking around at the people, just noting the entirely different quality of humans that were around me, compared to what was usually oozing over from the seat next to me on the bus. I remember there was one girl directly across the aisle from me that I could only describe as "Executive Goth". She looked like she was about to go close a $50M deal. She could not have been a single day over 30, was in head to toe black including elbow-length leather gloves to go with her starched linen, bodycon, short-sleeved dress, and stunning kitten-heeled saddle shoes, her gloss black mane back in a ballerina bun with not a hair out of place, and those black, round sunglasses with the curly queue sides. She was breathtaking. I felt like I owed her an explanation for my existence, had to call her Ma'am, and then apologize for speaking to her immediately. I looked at my lap because I realized I was staring.

I glanced up again, purposefully in a completely different direction. Standing in the aisle, a few rows past Executive Goth there was a gentleman in an immaculate, dark blue, 3-piece wool suit. Every accessory, from his shoes to his briefcase, to his leather bracelet, were a perfectly matched shade of camel brown. He had piercing eyes, but I couldn't tell you what color they were - I think they were changing color. His silver hair and beard were expertly sculpted - including the slight twist at the end of his mustache. Yes, he had a pocket watch (or at least the chain) tucked into his vest.

I felt horribly out of place. I was wearing baggy jeans, and a winter jacket that was 3 sizes too big for me, with an earth-toned tartan scarf wrapped around my neck and face so many times I looked like I had stolen someone else's clothes to hide in. I was suddenly embarrassed to be underdressed for the fucking train. I pulled the scarf down to rest under my chin so I at least had a face; it was the only way I had to fit in with the rest of the elegance sitting around me. They also had faces at least. The hell was going on? Like, I get it, business people take the train, but these two looked like they had only ever heard of "business people" by rote description, and were doing their version of their best impression. They were... Cosplaying Business people. I giggled a little and thought of Harry Potter - they were Witches and Wizards trying to dress like Muggles and nailing it a little too well.

We had left a station and were gaining speed towards the next stop; I sighed and snapped back from Diagon Alley, looking towards the windows where Mr. Fabulous in the blue suit had been standing before he'd exited at the last stop. I was almost blinded by the sun reflecting off of her hair. I wasn't sure she was actually real - the first two were intense and otherworldly; she looked more fae than the others. What the hell was going on on this train?! Her skin was so smooth and so flawless, and she sat so still, even with the rocking of the train. I could not get over the colors of fire and sunset that were captured in the gentle waves of her hair. I suddenly wanted 100 things to happen; I wanted to sit next to her; I wanted to touch her hair; I wanted to hold her hand and kiss each of her fingers; I wanted to feel the skin of her shoulders with my fingertips; I wanted to brush my thumb over her lips; I wanted to tell a really stupid joke JUST so she'd smile at me; I wanted to know she was a terrible singer, and ask her to sing my favorite song anyway; I wanted to kiss her forehead; I wanted to hear the music she was listening to; I wanted to be sitting on the rug on the floor of our living room, with my back against our couch, watching her in awe and pride as she paced back and forth, talking angrily and passionately about how shitty her day was, and how stupid Debbie (or whoever) in accounting was... Would I actually be listening? Or be mesmerized by the crease between her brows, and the way she bounced on the balls of her feet as she paced and gesticulated wildly with her left hand every time she used the word "troll"? Would I be good enough? Would I be who she needed? I was terrified to disturb the moment in my mind; I didn't ever want to stop looking at her.

My stop was coming up soon...

I dug in my bag for my notebook and a pen, and I wrote down the first thing that came to my mind:

"You are the most incredibly beautiful thing I have ever seen. I'm sorry if you caught me staring, but I would never have been able to help it. I hope that your life is amazing and that you have someone to worship you and make you happy, always. - The girl in the tartan scarf"

The train was slowing down into my station and she wasn't getting up, so I did and went towards her seat. I leaned over the seat in front of hers and held the note out towards her. She didn't see...

The warning tone for the doors opening sounded... "Miss?"

The doors opened... "Sorry, Miss?"

The second warning tone that meant the doors were going to close came, and she hadn't noti ... oh thank god she looked up and saw the note. She took it and looked up, into my eyes and I got the chance to smile at her. I got the chance to send all of my wishes and thoughts, and longing and hopes into her beautiful, pale blue eyes. The tiniest of smiles played across her mouth; it was infinitesimal, just a twitch at the corners of her beautiful lips, but it was there, and it held a universe of "I know, I was there too. Debbie is a troll." For a split second, she loved me back.

I turned and ran out the train door, onto the platform. I stood with my back to the train with my eyes closed as it pulled away. I inhaled deeply, feeling the sun on my back. As I exhaled, all of that hope, want, wishful thinking, that entire life, the smell of her skin, our home, the feel of her hair... evaporated. I walked up the ramp to exit the station and let one tear fall. My tartan scarf waved behind me like a flag of surrender in the chill morning breeze.

I still think about her and that moment every now and then. I honestly probably couldn't pick her out of a crowd if my life depended on it. But I hope she kept the note. And somehow trains are also magic now.