We hesitated

The train is full.

People stand in doorways, coat corners hanging over the threshold. Others wait on the platform for their moment to squeeze in, waiting for someone to adjust their footing, waiting for an in-breath, for any kind of space.

We decide not to get on. As we move to the waiting area, regret strikes.

“We hesitated,” Julie tells me. “We should have just got on board.”

I imagine us pushing through people onto the train, suitcases dragged behind us, running over toes, both of us mumbling ‘Pardon, excuse-moi, pardon…’ as we try to find a seat. I imagine the heat. The salt smell of bodies, sweating from heavy winter clothes. What if we don’t find a seat? We stand – for how long? One stop? Two? The whole hour and forty minutes? My legs ache just at the thought, never mind my back.

A few years ago we were on a train, and a boy, fresh from a night of partying, vomited – the acidic bile spreading across windows and seats. It sprayed for a surprising distance across the carriage. I’ll admit, I was impressed for a second. The smell followed shortly afterwards. A hot, acrid smell. A smell that makes your own stomach begin to froth like a sea in a storm. Makes your head feel hot. Makes you swallow again and again.

As we walked alongside the train today, the memory erupted (much like the vomit) into the forefront of my mind. I could almost hear the boy belch again. Almost smell that smell.

So yes, Julie is right. I hesitated.

EVEN THOUGH I have travelled on French trains multiple times since then, and have never had a repeat incident.

EVEN THOUGH if we had got on board, even standing, we would have reached our destination so much faster.

EVEN THOUGH we might even have been able to find a seat..

And now we sit on an uncomfortable bench, waiting two hours for the next train.

Am I sorry?

Ask me again in an hour and a half. I’m only just started to lose feeling in my buttocks.