Alien Stories by E.C. Osondu

Author:E.C. Osondu
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BOA Editions Ltd.
Published: 2021-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Traveler

Mine wasn’t the only empty seat on the train, so I wondered why he came to sit beside me. I was getting used to sitting alone on the train on this trip. Not that I minded. During a past trip a beautiful young female college student with a dazzling set of teeth once sat beside me. The train was full. We traveled in silence. Shortly thereafter at the next stop someone got down and I stood up to go and take the vacant seat. As I asked her to excuse me while I passed, she smiled at me with her dazzling teeth and asked if I was leaving because of something that she did. Her question caught me unawares. I apologized, but still, I changed seats because I wanted to sit alone.

This guy who came to sit beside me was a little older, though it is quite difficult for me to tell people’s age here in America. A simple rule of thumb that has worked for me is what I call by their hats you shall know them. Older gentlemen tend to wear hats no matter the weather.

He sat beside me and sighed the way the old tend to do as if the mere act of living and breathing exhausted them.

I noticed he was struggling with putting his box in the overhead compartment, so I took it from him and helped him put it up there. The box felt quite light.

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” he said.

“Not a problem, at all,” I said.

He extended his hand.

I shook his outstretched hand. He winced and muttered easy and smiled.

“Such a strong grip you’ve got there. I am not a spring chicken anymore. My entire body is now fragile.”

“I am so sorry,” I said.

“There is no need to be sorry. I once had a grip like yours,” he said.

I sensed that he was going to engage me in a lot of talking and I began to worry a little bit. The reason why I didn’t mind sitting alone was because I liked the company of my thoughts when on the train.

“I can tell you are not from here,” he said.

I groaned internally, but I smiled at him.

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“Your accent, to begin with,” he said.

In this country you could walk into the train on your head and sit on your ears without a second glance from most people, but open your mouth and speak with an accent and get ready for comments, compliments, or sometimes being thought a fool.

I admitted that I was an alien, and that immediately put him at ease—or did I only imagine seeing his shoulders unclench.

“I knew it from the way you helped me with my stuff and the way you are dressed that you are not from here,” he said.

I ran my eyes over myself and wondered what it was about my clothing that said the word alien.

“Forgive me for not introducing myself. My name is William. Remember it is William always, never Bill.”

I told him mine.

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