#2 Specs on a train

I wish I wasn’t just a pair of reading glasses. I wish I was the kind whose owner has to wear them all day and only puts them to rest when they close their own eyes to sleep. I, however, spend most of my time hidden away from the world inside my little house that the humans call a “glasses case”. What they don’t see is that a “glasses case” to us is like a coffin to them. Yes, it comes with a lovely plush lining, but it’s awfully cramped and terrifyingly dark.
Worse yet, some reading glasses actually have the pleasure of really reading. Not me. I don’t get to read much more than lists of ingredients on soup tins. Other than that, I’m mostly stuffed into my soft, snug and horrifyingly dark little case.
Today he’s riding the train, and this means I have the rare opportunity to look at more than just vegetables and E numbers. Jerry has bought himself a newspaper. I’ll give this to Jerry, he may not read much in the way of literature, but at least he doesn’t read tabloids. Good on you, Jerry, but I still wish you’d pick up a novel once in a while.
Having found himself either distressed or bored by the news today, Jerry slapped down the paper on the table and placed me gently on top of it.
I was upside-down but it didn’t matter. It was facing the window. Here was the world I had only ever caught glimpses of; here were the hills, grass and animals I had only ever seen pictures of. It was all here and this was my chance to finally indulge in the beauty of the world.
As we reached the end of the line, I began to dread going back into that damn box. I’d seen so much of the world in the last hour, things I never believed I would ever see. I’d seen more in that hour than I’d ever seen in my sorry little life.
However, I didn’t go in the box, I didn’t even leave the train. I was just left looking through the window into the station. It was audacious enough for Jerry to hardly ever use me for reading, but to leave me all alone on the train? I felt betrayed and sad. I began to fear I’d be thrown away, cast aside and smashed and crumpled like so many unused, unwanted and lost human belongings.
I was worrying for nothing though. Soon after my abandonment, my vision shifted. I was being lifted up, inspected by a kind looking old lady. I’d seen this type before: do gooders they were. I knew I was safe.
She carried me gently by her side, being careful not to touch my lenses. I appreciated the clear view because there was so much to see here. There were sorrowful goodbyes, ecstatic reunions (also full of tears) and people rushing by with big suitcases and even bigger coffees. There were even people reading! Using their glasses! This was a good place, I could see that much. This was a much better place than my little box.
After some wandering, my saviour came to a box that contained people. I didn’t know people lived in boxes too, I thought that only happened when they were dead. Admittedly, this box was not as snug as mine, or as plushy, but it did look awfully cramped for four grown women.
As we edged closer, I caught the sign and it said: “Lost & Found”. This was curious, I thought I’d already been found by a new owner but apparently she didn’t want me. It was an emotional blow but it turned out to be quite the blessing.
After a conversation in which I was inspected several times (awfully nerve-wracking, that), I was taken into the human box and placed gently in their little glassless window. I may have been upside-down again, but I was also free.
I sat in that position for the rest of the day. I saw so many wonderful things and interesting people walking back.
The first man to come by our box was an older gentleman. He was carrying this lovely wine coloured jumper in a chunky cable knit. It looked well-loved and cosy as can be. The man and the woman handled it with care. They could see it was sentimental to someone and that was enough for it to be precious to them too. I was beginning to really like these humans. They respected objects in the way we deserved to be.
There was also a young couple who came by who had lost one of those big bags you always see parents of babies walking around with. Jerry was too old for me to know what was inside but apparently it was very important. The couple looked very flustered at first and with the baby falling apart in screams and tears, I could see why. It was times like these I was thankful I only had one sense and it sure wasn’t hearing. I suddenly felt very sorry for hearing aids.
The next man to come over seemed to be saying he’d lost some money, but I think that wasn’t the kind of thing that could be picked up from our little box. The ladies were having none of it. They were really growing on me and I was almost ready to thank Jerry if I ever saw him again.
Later that day, a woman came over looking very desperate. She spoke ever so quickly and threw her hand around a lot. It became quite clear that she did not speak much English. After a lot of flapping and frustration on both sides, it turned out that this lady was the owner of the cosy red jumper. She’d worked herself into quite a state by this point and as soon as she held it, she hugged it tightly, inhaled it deeply and began to gently weep. She was offered tissues and some shoulder patting through our glassless window. The lady kept shaking her head and holder her face up and saying something that looked like “Mama”. She bowed and thanked the box ladies and blew kisses at them as she scurried away, still holding the jumper tightly to her chest.
It now looked as though it was finally time to close the office down for the day, and I was worried about what would happen to me. However, just as they were all dressing, one of the ladies held me up again. She looked right at me. She had dark hair full of tight little ringlets and wore a bright red lipstick that suited her complection perfectly. She smiled brightly at me, revealing a gorgeous set of teeth and gleaming eyes. Turning to her colleagues, she seemed to look for their approval. Next thing I knew, I was on her face and we were crouched down to face a mirror balanced on the desk. She adjusted her curls to frame her face gracefully, and beamed at her own reflection. We looked incredible together and she could see it.
Turning to her colleagues again, we were met with gestures of approval such as thumbs up and winks and giggles and fingers adjusted her hair around me. I’d never experienced this kind of admiration before, or even this amount of attention. I got the impression that taking me was against the rules here because there were also lots of index fingers pressed to lips and plenty more giggles.
She looked once more in the mirror, bit her lip in contemplation and shrugged her shoulders with a smirk. We were leaving this place together and I was ecstatic. But where was I going next? Was she about to put me back in a box? I’d been out in the open all day and I didn’t think I could bare being trapped away again, at least not yet. But I understood I was fragile, and clearly so did she because she looked down at me all puzzled and worried and sought out a way to carry me away.
She tucked my arms away and headed towards her desk. There lay there two bags, one handbag and one plastic bag. It looked as though I was heading into the plastic one. As I got closer, I saw the logo and shop name which read “Waterstones”. I’d never heard of it before but there was some more text, which looked a lot like a quote. It read,
“Words cannot do justice to the pleasure of a good bookshop. Ironically.”

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After he read my first story, which you can read here, my lovely dad offered up a prompt of his own: “Specs on a train”. He had a much different story in mind when he suggested that, but what I’ve written here is what I immediately thought of when I read his suggestion.

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Thanks for reading my first ever completed short story,

CAHC X

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