I've always been an avid people watcher, not kids because they are too hard to read, but adults are always fair game. I try to read what their lives might be like by what they are wearing, how they look and go about their day. There are those who are luckily enough to be good looking, or unlucky to be downright unattractive. Some people are obviously happy and vibrant in their daily toil, and others seem to be miserable as if this day may be their last on earth.
Young lovers are good to watch, the eye contact, the little smiles and the intimate touching. Older lovers are also good to watch, but in a different ways, they display hints of sweet intimacy with confidence and caring. The holding of hands is always nice to see with matures couples. There are the older couples who look miserable, who have been together so long there is no excitement or anything else to look forward to, the bitchiness and discontent of their lives festering just beneath the surface.
Then you get the high flyers, the corporate types who no doubt consider they are a cut above everyone else with their important careers, and strut around so that you don't have any choice but to notice them. And then you get the beautiful women of any age. For those I always look for an engagement or wedding ring and then wonder how they might be as a lover. Question, are all good looking women good in bed, I suspect not which must be a disappointment for their lovers.
And finally you get the prowling singles like me, just looking around for that special someone, or not quite so special; even a quick indiscriminate shag is always appreciated. So next time you are in a public place, just gaze round and imagine what some of those people around you lives are like. It's always interesting to try and guess if they are lucky and happy, or maybe not. Then, consider how people might gauge your life as you pass them by.
It was at the train station that I first laid eyes on the sad girl. I had just taken on a new job in the city, the heavy traffic and the even heavier price of vehicle parking making the choice to leave my car at home a prudent one.
Sad girl always stood alone and aloof as she waited for the train; not talking to anyone and just gazing around, but not really seeing a thing if you get my drift. She stood tall with dark long hair falling to her shoulders, a face that could have been prettier with a smile and a little makeup. Her figure seemed lean under the warm baggy overcoat she always wore with black boots, but there was a hint of bosom and shapely curves when she walked.
Sad girl always looked down as she got on the train making sure she avoided eye contact where ever possible. If she could, would sit alone by the carriage window staring out into the world as it passed her by. I confess to becoming a little more intrigued by her each morning as I caught the train, although I never once encountered her on my way home.
Where ever possible, I would stand reasonably close and discreetly watch her as I pondered her seemingly sad her life over in my mind. A recent tragedy maybe, jilted by a lover or something like that. I however never tried to communicate with her as I knew that my attentions would be unwanted.
It was a cold and rainy Friday morning in Auckland New Zealand that packed the commuter train. I found myself sitting opposite sad girl, a mother and a chatty young daughter of around five years of age sitting beside us. About fifteen minutes into the trip the young girl turned her inquisitive attention to the sad girl and stared for awhile.
"Why do you look so sad?" she asked in a loud voice.
Sad girl turned from the window and looked down at the girl who was busy ignoring the immediate admonishment from her most embarrassed mother. After a few seconds the sad girl smiled for the first time since I had laid eyes on her.
"I'm not sad really, I'm just thinking." she replied.
Sad girl's eyes moved across to mine and held them for an instant before moving back to the window and the passing world.
"You should smile more often." I suggested quietly. "It suits you."
She turned back to me, her eyes slightly closing in annoyance, "Maybe, I'll think about it."
The little girl looked up at me and grinned, and I smiled back to avoid those angry eyes opposite. Then everything returned to normality.
A few minutes later my cell phone began to ring, I cursed inwardly for it was a call I wanted to take and there was no way to excuse myself from being overheard in the crowded carriage. It was Max, the owner of a local pub called the Bishops Retreat where we have often gigged. Could our band; 'The Gremlins' play tonight as the one booked had let him down. We had a quick chat and I implied that it should be okay, but would have to confirm with the other members of the band when I got to work.
My name is Jacob West, and by day I'm a newly
qualified under paid project engineer, by night a budding vocalist and guitarist in a local rock band called The Gremlins. We play mostly covers and some originals we think are good enough to sneak in a set. I'm twenty five years old, single and available to the opposite sex for most activities, but excluding romantic comedy movies, long term relationships; meeting girlfriend's parents over dinner, or any serious discussion involving engagements and marriage.
The band was halfway through the first set that Friday night when I first noticed sad girl standing at the end of the bar. It was the long dark hair that first caught my attention and it was a second or two before I clicked it was her. The bar was pretty packed and it was pure luck that I noticed her, most of the time I have to concentrate on both my vocals and guitar work. A little plan began to form in my devious mind as we came towards the end of the set.
For the past few weeks we had been working on a new song I had written about the sad girl, and although the song was finished and practised, we had by no means had it polished enough to perform it to a live audience. But then, opportunities like this should never be left wanting.
When we got to the last song of the set I turned to the other members of the band and mouthed 'Sad Girl'. They pulled faces of concern but I ignored them and turned back to the crowd who had quietened down.
I leaned into the microphone, "This is a new song, and you're the first to hear it. It's about a girl I see most days at the train station. A pretty girl who always looks sad; and I've often wondered why. Today I saw her smile for the first time, and I now want to make her smile every day. This song is called "A Song for the Sad Girl."
I knew the song was a good one when I wrote it, slow and meaningful and powerful in its own right, the lyrics both clear and precise. I sung it with great passion and the band behind me played it with surprisingly exquisite precision. During the song I looked over at the sad girl and caught brief glimpses of her through the moving strobe lights but unable to catch her mood. When the song came to the end, the crowd clapped, whistled and yelled their appreciation. I turned back to the band; they were all grinning now their nervousness was gone, for we had delivered something special.
After announcing a short break, the band huddled together as we always do for a quick recap after a set. What was that all about one, of them asked? Thought we weren't going to do the new song. I grinned and told them that the sad girl was in the audience and it was for her benefit. Which one was she, they asked, but I wasn't about to tell, just yet anyway.
We clambered off the stage and were met by a handful of compliments from the regulars who frequent the bar or especially come to hear us play. We eventually headed towards the bar for the complementary drinks we musicians get, which in turn supposedly helps us forget the paltry amount we all get paid for gigs. My eyes wandered towards the end of the bar and found the sad girl ordering a drink from one of the barmen. I took time to take in her appearance, a simple black top above very tight blue jeans and high heel shoes, very nice I thought to myself. She soon noticed me and met my stare for a second or two before looking away. I took a deep breath and bravely sauntered over.
"Fancy meeting you in a place like this." I said.
She turned and met my eyes, "Tell me that last song wasn't about me."
I grinned, "Nope, cause it was. You were the inspiration."
She looked at me coolly for a few seconds, "I'm not sad, I just like to be alone. I enjoy my own company, is there anything wrong with that?"
I moved a little closer to hear her over the noise of the crowd and the background music played between band breaks.
I shrugged my shoulders and smiled hoping to ease the anger, "Nope, we live in a democracy, you can do whatever you want. In my case I wrote a song about a girl I see at the station most days. Is there anything wrong with that?"
"Suppose not, except it's about me, and I'm not sad. And my name is Georgia, so you don't have to call me a sad girl anymore."
I held out my hand to shake, "I'm Jacob, suppose I'll have to rename the song Georgia, the sad girl."
She kind of smiled and took my hand briefly which broke the ice just a little. After a minute or two of nervous conversation, I dragged a slightly unwilling Georgia over to meet the rest of the band and their ladies, Angie, Christine and Marley. I'm the only single male in the band, and the partners of the others turn up regularly to support us by being first on the dance floor, and no doubt to make sure their men aren't tempted into the arms of another female admirer.
When it was time for us to go back on stage, the ladies had befriended Georgia enough for her hang out with, which pleased me for obvious reasons. Half way through the first song, the dance floor was full and I found Georgia on the dance floor with the other girls.
It was just after midnight when we played our last song, but the crowd chanted and stomped calling for the sad girl song again. Into the first verse and just for a bit of fun I carried the microphone stand along the stage to where Georgia was dancing, and sung it just to her. She laughed and turned away in embarrassment as I crooned my way through the song. I guessed I was out of danger, for the moment anyway.
Now, anyone who has played in a band knows that the hard work doesn't finish with the playing; all of the gear has to be packed up and taken out to our cars, which takes us the best part of an hour. Georgia was still there chatting as we packed up and I eventually wandered over when I finally finished. She turned to me and smiled.
"I'd die for a coffee, you wanna buy me one?" she asked.
I smiled back, "I can't leave my gear in the car in case its get stolen, can do at my place though."
"You'll be quite safe, no ulterior motives." I added as she pondered the dangers of my invitation.
Dan the drummer who had been listening leaned over Georgia's shoulder, "I wouldn't go, he can't be trusted, tell lies and he's lousy in bed anyway. Just a complete time waster really."
Before I could punch Dan, his girlfriend Angie pitched in, "Don't worry Georgia, you'll be okay with him. He's more trustworthy than the rest of them."
