The woman, I later found out to be named Brenda, assured me that all men are stupid sometimes, and he’d come after me if he knew what was good for him. I thought this was rather an ambitious promise to make someone she’d been chatting with for barely thirty minutes.
For the remainder of the train journey I conjured up some extra gems of information. It seemed that once I began, I just couldn’t bring myself to say anything that related to my real life.
“So now I’m going to have to go to the wedding alone.” I finished, after a particularly imaginative tangent. At this point Brenda had turned in her seat to face me, and was nodding with a look of sheer sympathy in her eyes.
“Well, at least you can dance with the best man now without feeling guilty, that’s what the bridesmaids are supposed to do aren’t they?” She sighed, signalling that she was desperately clutching for the next positive thing to say about being single. “And I’m sure your sister will have kept the receipt for the suit he was going to wear. Men have loads of friends, so I’m sure they’ll find another usher without a problem, you shouldn’t worry about it.”
The food trolley came around, and Brenda insisted on buying me a cup of tea, apparently with the aim of cheering me up. She offered me a sweet from a packet she had in her handbag, and proceeded to tell me about the first boyfriend who had dumped her, and all the good it did her to, “Finally get shot of him”. It certainly perked up the train ride.
I appreciated the turn of conversation onto her, as I had begun to realise how difficult it was to be convincing when lying for a while. It gave me a new admiration for husbands that had affairs behind their partners’ backs. If you can call it admiration.
The familiar next stop announcement rang out through the carriage. “Well, this is me.” I stood; ready to lug my bag onto the platform. I was surprised, and a little shocked, when Brenda got up as well. She placed her arms around me in a loose hug, thrusting the remaining bag of sweets into my hand. “For the journey back home,” she said with a smile, and sat back into her seat. “It was lovely meeting you, best of luck with your sister’s wedding. And your future, of course. Don’t let him come crawling back!” I nodded, and then walked to the door, my hand sliding slightly on the rail as the train jolted to a stop.
It was once I’d got home, and was back in my usual spot lying on my bed staring at the ceiling, that I actually considered what I’d done. I could bump into Brenda anywhere, and the whole scenario would backfire on me. It had given me a huge rush though. I had found myself almost believing the untruths I was spinning at the time.
It appeared that there could be benefits for others that came from making up stories too. It probably made Brenda feel good to offer some personal advice, even if it did cost her £1.20. She would go home, safe in the knowledge that her jewels of wisdom had been planted in an impressionable mind, and then perhaps go back and relive past memories of her exes, laughing at her naivety. Where is the harm in faking a personality for an hour, if it results in tea and sympathy?
Realistically, I knew I would have to plan these things if I were to do the same again, and I’d have to be selective with how far I pushed my stories, as I couldn’t have them getting too similar. I would need to check train routes and times so that the same people weren’t likely to be around. I would change certain aspects of how I looked each time, so that even if someone did happen to be in the same place twice, it wouldn’t be obvious straight away. I’d start listening in to other people’s stories and twist them, or peruse gossip magazines for morsels that I could manipulate into something useable. There would be no hint of the real me, that nondescript twenty one year old from my party.
So began a dangerous habit.
No comments:
Post a Comment