The Train Station by Tracey A Wood 17/06/2015
This story was told to me, many years ago. The person who told me was the very teacher who encouraged and nurtured my imagination which in turn lead me to writing my first novel.
He explained about the day he met an old friend. He was sitting in the coffee shop at his local train station, waiting for a train (of course), to go home. He had been working away and was eager to see his parents. He had been waiting for a few minutes, staring at his coffee cup. He looked up to see a man, standing in front of him, looking down at him without saying a word. He realised that the man was his lifelong friend who he hadn’t seen for a couple of years. The man took a seat opposite him and they chatted for a while. His friend seemed a little subdued, compared to his normal bubbly self, he put it down to them not seeing each other in a while. After fifteen to twenty minutes, my teacher looked at his watch, realising his train was due. He explained that he would have to go and suggested that they meet up, when he came back to town. They said goodbye and my teacher caught his train.
He arrived at his parent house and later sat talking to them over their evening meal. The caught up on gossip, who was doing what. How the rest of the family were doing, you know the sort of thing?
His mother suddenly said “oh I forgot to ask, did you hear about Richard?”
“Richard” he questioned?
She went on to explain who she meant.
“Oh, funnily enough I saw him earlier, at the station.”
“I’m sorry son” she said. “You must be mistaken. It couldn’t have been him. He was killed last week in a car accident!”
Was this a ghost? Had his lifelong friend come to say goodbye, one last time? Or had he imagined it?