There was a boy on the train yesterday. Maybe 16. Grey joggers, white t-shirt, black trainers. He had the regulation curly hair on top and shaved back and sides, plus a young, round face, and clear, green eyes.
The train was slowing into the station as he moved towards the door, accompanied by a girl whose face I couldn’t see. She had her back to me. They were talking.
“My Mum’ll get fined if I don’t go in and do my GCSEs,” he said, clicking. His tone was two parts defiance, one part sadness. She asked him if he was going to go back to school anyway. He swore.
“No way I’m going back there,” he replied.
“How come?”
The boy used an old-fashioned term I can’t repeat but he implied that school was basically full of people he either hated or were universally unlikeable. Something burned in those green eyes. He turned and looked at me for a half second. I smiled, carefully.
They got off the train. I followed, hopping down onto the breezy platform. How terribly sad, I thought. For some reason, I was imagining his Mum, maybe taking a photo of him outside a front door. Curly hair, green eyes, school jumper, shiny shoes. 2013-ish… 5 years old, excited perhaps about starting school. Maybe her, teary-eyed.
What happened? How did he get here, to this train, with this friend? What journey connected that September day to this? And what would be next? And what would I say to someone like that if I got the chance? I believed I was seeing a future regret being lived out, right in front of me. And the curly-haired boy seemed unaware of it.
What are you supposed to do in those moments? It feels like a God-thing, but all I’ve got is a sort of sinking feeling. I had about half a second to say something in the moment, and I was in minus-numbers on the bravery scale. I don’t much like the thought of being told to F off, and I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d had ten minutes, probably.
Plus half a second? Hey don’t throw your life a- … You’ll really regret not going - … Think about your m…
Yeah. Statistically going to get my head kicked in if I start eavesdropping on teenagers on the train. I hope he does at least find a path to education, something rewarding, anything that helps.
I think it’s probably just another moment for me, connecting with a glimpse of God’s heart for people. It’s strange to say, but I’m also a curly headed boy on the train - complete with my own set of regrets.
The summery breeze blew across the platform as I headed for the station car park. Sammy was waiting for me, beaming, happy to see me after a long day at work. I unplugged my AirPods, flung my rucksack off my shoulder, and climbed into the car. I smiled.
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