The Trainman

The first time I saw him, I really didnt give too much damn. Sure, it was unusual for somebody to wear barong inside an often crowded MRT train at the other side of the tracks and sure, the icy-cold stare from his glazed, seasoned eyes was attention-grabbing when they catch your sight with frozen meathooks but hey, I've seen worse.

But when the same thing starts happening over and over and over again, it will get you thinking. And that's when it all started, our little game - me and that old man on the other train. It's always the other train.

The other friggin' train.

Whenever I rode the MRT to work and the train would stop in a station with another train stopped, he was always standing at the absolute opposite of my position in the train. Once, it happens; Twice, coincidence; Thrice - thrice was just too much and all other instances that followed slowly skewered me with insanity. I really didnt know how he do it but I always caught his stare. I couldnt avoid seeing his long bony face or his receding hairline and the thinning white crescent crown he had as a top - not once in three months.

And if something happens to you for three months straight - you really will start thinking really hard. After the first week of our 'contact', I started trying to avoid him, positioning myself on different sides of the train. Some how though, he always managed to match my positioning - like an endless game of patintero with a brick wall.

This morning I saw him again. Standing among the people as always, ending up directly in front of me again, and bearing the sempiternal frozen gaze. I was growing tired of his games so I finally let somebody else join our little spiel 'a silence.

I nudged friend and said, "Look at that idiot in the drab barong from the other train. I always see him staring at me for almost every day. What an idiot, aye?"

But the old man was a step ahead. My friend looked where I was pointing. Other passengers who heard my rather outspoken comment stole a glance too. I looked around and all I got were shrugs and raised eyebrows. It was almost as if he wasnt there anymore.

I was surprised at their faces. I looked again but there he was - doing what I havent seen before. He smiled a crooked smile, a victorious smile. He was mocking me in the game that I cant win, cant lose and cant even quit from.

The train started moving again. Fists clenched, I looked for him amonst the faceless passenger but time has washed him away from my scrutinizing eyes yet once more.

He only exists when he wants to. I only see him when he lets me. He watches, I know he does - always.

He's the trainman that only I can see.

But then again, maybe you see him too.

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(First posted in a mailinglist 1 year ago as an entry for quickfics.)