A Most Unexpected Place

I knew something was wrong the minute I opened the door because the interior light was pale green and on the middle shelf, where my carton of freshly squeezed orange juice always stood, was a small mahogany door set into the back of the fridge. As I stared at it in disbelief, I was met by a faint smell of a coal fire.

I blinked several times and rubbed my eyes, but it was still there, so I reached out and turned the small brass knob set to one side of the door and there before me was an amazing sight to behold: a very busy little railway station. 

It was early evening and shadows were cast along the platform from luggage carts stacked high with bags and cases of every description. Warm yellow light glowed out through the windows of a waiting room lined with red leather covered seating and warmed by a blazing fire stacked high with burning coals. A large double sided clock hung above the platform with its second hand slowly sweeping backwards around its face and there were people everywhere. People seated, people standing and people wandering slowly along the platform exercising their mild anxiety. 

Suddenly, I was amongst them, seated comfortably in the waiting room with a  leather bound book lying open on my lap. It was opened at page forty-two, at a chapter headed 'Expect the Unexpected'. A small boy beside me pinching a paper aeroplane between his thumb and forefinger launched it into the warm updraught from the open fire and we followed its eccentric progress until it drifted silently into the hot coals and was devoured. A lady in an overcoat and fox-fur stole crossed the room with the certainty of someone who rehearsed gentle kindness and offered a man seated beside me a magazine. He accepted it graciously and began reading an article about weird and wonderful baggage forever unclaimed from luggage-left-behind offices across the land. As he read, a porter passed by outside with a cart laden with oil lamps, all exuding soft green light.

The station was not one that I recognised and waiting passengers moved about quietly about without discernable purpose. All the signs were written in a strong purposeful hand and the air was frequently punctured by gentle announcements advising people that they should consider everything on offer before deciding on a final destination. I left the waiting room and spotted a small magazine kiosk which priced its stock in minutes rather than money and after browsing a while, I paid four minutes for a story that had been read far too quickly and asked for it to be wrapped in gentle regret. Before leaving I bartered an apology I had been saving; just three words I had never been able say, for a partially used hour. I used it to ring home and tell them who I really was, something I had meant to do for a very long time.

In the cafeteria I ordered a cup of tea labelled 'probably' and a slice of forgiveness cake. The tea tasted of what might have been, just as I'd hoped, but the cake was slightly too heavy on compassion. While sipping my tea I noticed an umbrella hanging from the back of a vacant chair with a note pinned to it which read 'You have been chosen, just don't ask why.' I finished my drink and moved out onto the platform feeling strangely perplexed.

Sitting on a nearby bench, I listened to the conversations of strangers. A lady telling a porter that she was here in search of the much earlier version of herself that she'd left behind while moving house many years ago. He paused and told her that her luggage would be much lighter if ever she found it. She smiled and gave him a three minute piece. 

Time was gentle here. Minutes lingered like pleasant thoughts and lent themselves to familiarity. Trains arrived and departed in cotton wool silence, having halted up line to divest themselves of heaviness before arriving, but they didn't always go where they should. One would take you back to visit a fond memory, while another would drop you off outside unfinished business, but all the while there were choices and unlimited minutes to spend on leisurely consideration. 

I called at the ticket office and asked the clerk if he could tell me how we had all arrived here. He thought for a while and then said we were here because we wanted to be here and then he smiled and said any baggage I had should be left on the carts provided. He handed me a ticket and I thanked him and set off back to the cosy waiting room where I sat down and read the carefully hand written information written on it. It advised me to choose my destination carefully, after giving careful consideration to where I had come from and where I really wanted to go.

A small boy sitting beside me pinching a paper aeroplane between his thumb and forefinger launched it into the warm updraught from the open fire and we followed its eccentric progress until it drifted gently to the floor. I put my ticket into a safe place and headed for the small mahogany door with the small brass knob. As I turned the knob there was a distinct smell of freshly squeezed orange juice.