It was Sunday evening, and autumn. I was on my way to work for another night shift.

In a nice double seat I was hoping to find some peace and quiet, and hopefully some sleep before the long night ahead of me. But on Sunday evenings, there is rarely peaceful on the trains. People in all sizes and ages were trying to find an empty seat. Unintentionally, I was wondering where they were going. That little girl, for example, was probably on her way home to her mother after spending the weekend with her father. And a boy in uniform was, of course, going back to military training. Watching all these people, and figuring out their stories, I was very happy about being me. I was going to work, and I loved my job.

Well, I loved my job and my uniform, except when I was trying to get some rest on my way to that job – and already in that uniform. “Excuse me, where is the vending machine?” or “I need a ticket to Oslo”. Telling them that I was not at work was useless. I was in that uniform, right? Conductors have no private life, or so it seems to those who are not conductors. I would actually have to start my work day, or night, somewhere. And this was not the place to do so.

The train was rolling out of another station, and more people came walking through. I had zipped my jacket neatly, to cover the tie with the revealing logo. Headphones were blocking out the summing sound of people talking, and I had closed my eyes as an attempt to find that sleep I was referring to earlier.

For a short moment there, I actually thought that it would really be so. How stupid of me. I was ripped out my sweet dreams when a person sat down beside me. Just great. No space to stretch out. I was praying he was not of the talkative kind. Or her. I wasn´t sure who it was, since I was pretending to be asleep.

- Excuse me, miss, do you work here?, he asked me in Danish.

So it was a he. Oh no, let´s pretend to be asleep, pretend to be asleep.

- Are you awake?

Well, if I had not already been awake, I would surely have been so after the punch of his elbow.

- Yes, I mumbled. – I work here.

Unfortunately I did, but not really now.

- But not on this train, I added, rather rudely.

- I love the Norwegian railway, he continued.

Oh no. With a beginning like that, I could tell the end was not near.

- I think I can relate to that, I said politely, as to make up for my previous comment.

- And I have been thinking, that I should ask, if I saw any of you people who work here, if there are any brochures about the colors along the railway?

Okay, I admit that I did not see that one coming. With those words, I had no choice but to turn around and have a better look at this man who was sitting beside me.

I could guessed it to be so, that he was a poet. Or maybe he wasn´t. But he looked like a poet. He was wearing a worn, grey coat with fitting boots. His eyes were nearly hidden behind heavy eyebrows and wrinkles, his mouth behind an even denser beard. In one hand he was holding on to an old briefcase, like he was protecting confidential information in there – and I wouldn´t be surprised if he was. His other hand was resting on a walking stick. You know, one of those kinds that had been cut directly from a tree.

- Do you know if they have made such things?

His eyes were glued to the window, and likely on the images that were passing by.

- I don´t really know, I confessed. – But to be honest, I doubt it.

He sighed.

- A shame it is… such a shame… All these colors passing by here. Someone should write about them. They are the real attraction.

I agreed, pretended to have thought these thoughts myself, hypocrite as I was.

- People take the train to go somewhere, like the destination is the purpose of their journey. They sleep, they have distracting sounds connected to their ears and they are more interested in a cup of coffee than the journey itself.

Carefully I tried to remove the earplugs he had hopefully not seen.

- Just take a look out there. All those colors… That is why I am here. I travel, and then I make a stop. But only a short one, before I travel further.

I was looking out the window with him, where the familiar landscape was passing. I thought I knew it by heart. After all, I was doing the same journey twice a day. But I was wrong. He had opened my eyes or something, given me invisible glasses. Now I saw everything differently.

I saw the yellow corn fields stretching out, and green hills behind them. In between there were red and white houses, sometimes a blue or a brown. A few white spots were left after the snow that had fallen the week before. And there were ponds and fences. I could even see the sea behind there somewhere, the dark blue water. I had never noticed that before, that the sea was there. All though I knew it all along that it was there. Funny, isn´t how, how blind you turn by all the things you see every day.

A railway sign was appearing – and disappearing just as fast. I already knew their symbols, but now I saw their colors. The old station buildings had never been so beautiful before, and so full of history. Their orange walls, and the train that was reflecting in the window. Imagine how many trains that had actually passed those stations. Once there were station managers there, and their families were living in an apartment upstairs. The only station manager I saw now, I knew were living elsewhere.

Small places with few people, maybe only cows and sheep. Towns with cars and buildings. Old trains that were tagged and parked where there used to be stations. Greenhouses. Walls of bricks. Bridges and small rivers. Wooden platforms. Trees of all kinds and in all sizes. People who were out on their bikes, children that were waving to us. Flowers in all the colors of the rainbow. Parks. Dogs. Cats.

- You see them?, he wanted to know after a good while. I nodded.

- Well, this is my stop now, he said and rose. The train was still moving towards the station, and his stiff legs were having a hard time balancing.

- You want some help with that?, I appointed to his suitcase.

- Oh, nono. I´m fine, he assured. – I ride with trains all the time. You have a nice evening now, miss conductor.

- Same to you, I said.

“It was very nice to meet you”, I wanted to add. But I didn´t. Honestly, I would not fully commit that I was a different person after our time together.

It was was almost dark outside when I saw him walking down an empty platform. The darkness had embraced the colors with black and white.

The Danish poet showed me the colors of the railway. He said they were the real attraction rather than the destination itself. He felt that someone should write about it, and maybe add a photo or two.

And now I have.

(c) annailo.net – Do not copy in whole or in parts in any form. Thank you.