The Last Conversation

The Last Conversation

By TesubCalle

The woman was sitting a few rows down in an aisle seat. A gentleman next to her, dressed in a grey overcoat with his briefcase on his lap, was leaning his head against the window, dozing lightly.

Afternoon rides home on the city public transit system tend to be quite boring, and barring a ‘train-meets-pedestrian’ incident, it is usually an uneventful trip. I suppose that’s why I often choose to observe the people around me and try to figure out what kinds of lives they lead.

I don’t know why I noticed this particular woman, really. There was nothing terribly special about her. She had dark hair that was cut just above her shoulders, 30-ish in my estimation, and she wore a blue parka and good-quality winter boots. Her looks were average. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous and she wasn’t homely. Nice bone structure, though. She had the kind of face that would age gracefully. Good teeth, too.

I was watching her closely when her cell phone rang. Usually I’m annoyed when those ubiquitous pieces of modern technology go off in public spaces, but this time I let my annoyance fade. Here was an opportunity to get some insight into this woman’s world. Would I be able to determine the identity of the person on the other end of the call? What would I be able to learn about her by listening to her end of the conversation?

“Hello?” she said.

I tried to filter out the low hum the electricity-powered trains make so I could hear the woman more clearly.

“I’m on the train,” she said to whomever she was speaking.

I’ve noticed people always mention this if their cell phone rings on the train and they choose to answer.

“No, I can walk home,” the woman said next.

Ooh, she can walk home? I thought to myself. I quickly looked around the rest of the car I was riding in. No one else seemed to have heard what she said. Interesting…

“I can get off at the station and walk,” the woman said, elaborating on her previous assertion. “It’s not that far, really…No, you don’t have to bother to leave work early, okay? I know you have deadlines to meet.”

Now I was intrigued. I was learning all sorts of things about this woman, and she was still completely oblivious to that fact she had my undivided attention.

It didn’t matter to me at all now who was on the other side of the call. I knew now that the woman didn’t have a car waiting for her when the train pulled into the station she’d disembark at. She’d also nixed an offer for a ride home. Further, I surmised she must be living fairly close to the train station if she felt confident enough to walk the distance. Lastly, I knew she was most likely headed to an empty house.

I turned my attention back to her phone conversation after carefully filing these thoughts.

“Okay,” she was saying. “I’m almost there. See you soon. Bye!” Snapping the cell phone shut, she pocketed the device and sat back in her seat.

I’m sure she had no idea I was watching her, or that I’d heard every word she’d said. She made things ever so easy for me.

The train slowed and pulled in to the next stop. The woman stood and brushed past me on her way to the exit. I pulled myself up slowly and made it out the doors just before they started to close.

The outdoor platform was almost devoid of people. More transit users had climbed aboard than had disembarked, and I had a clear line of sight of the woman. She was rapidly making her way down the concrete steps that would take her towards a paved alley that was lined with suburban houses.

Maybe she lived somewhere in this community, I thought to myself. I’d know soon enough, of course.

I followed behind the woman at a leisurely pace, confident that even if she sensed she had someone behind her, she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.

The houses in this part of the community, I noticed, were built particularly close together. They were cozy-looking, and reminded me of my own neighbourhood. Several FOR SALE signs dotted the front lawns of many properties I passed while tracking the woman in the blue parka. I suppose those homeowners didn’t like living so close to the train lines and wanted to sell for that reason.

Or maybe they’d been spooked by the number of recent home-invasion robberies and vicious assaults that had been taking place. They’d been happening in my own community, as well.

The woman was now reaching into one of her parka pockets. She withdrew a key chain, which indicated to me she was almost at her residence.

I quickened my pace.

She had just reached her front door when I caught up to her. The house key was in mid-air, just in front of the lock when she whirled around, suddenly aware that I was directly behind her; hovering over her.

Her brown eyes were wide with fear, and she sucked in a breath. The keys she splayed between her fingers. I assumed she figured she might use them as a weapon.

“Who are you?” she demanded, trying to control her voice. She still sounded terrified, though.

I crowded her personal space, and she shrank back against the front door, not saying a word. I stared into her eyes, close enough that I could see my own face reflected in them.

“I’ll scream,” she whispered to me, no longer attempting to fool me with false bravado.

“You have a lovely house,” I said.

“What do you want? Money? I – I don’t have much money on me…or in the house…” Her eyes were starting to tear a little. The woman was absolutely terrified. I was positive of that.

“You think it’s money I want?” I asked matter-of-factly. Her eyes bulged in horror. I leaned in even closer, so close now that our noses were almost touching. The colour drained from her face, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Then I saw her hand move to the pocket with the cell phone.

“Please,” her voice was barely audible, “don’t hurt me. I have a cell phone. I’ll call the police. They’ll arrest you.”

“I know you have a cell phone,” I replied, taking a full step back. The woman was still cringing when she realised I was no longer invading her personal space quite so much. She started to straighten up a little.

“Then you know I’m not bluffing,” she said, still unsure of my motives. Her hand was deep in the pocket, and I assumed it was wrapped tightly around the cell phone.

“If I had been here to rob you or kill you,” I said to her, my voice deathly serious, “you would never have had the chance to use that phone.”

“What do you mean ‘if’?” she asked, confusion darting across her face, voice breaking.

I pointed to her pocket.

“Do you know how many people possibly heard your conversation on the train this afternoon? Probably thirty or forty people. Anyone listening would know about your plans to walk home. Anyone listening would know that you were heading to an empty house. And if any of those thirty or forty people listening was so inclined, they could follow you home, just like I did.”

She let out a ragged gasp.

“You must be aware of the number of home-invasion robberies and assaults happening around town, lady,” I said to her. “You must have read about that woman who was beaten to death right in her own front entrance…”

She nodded slowly in the affirmative.

“Then consider this your only warning,” I said. “Strangers on a train are just that: strangers. You never know when any one of them is listening to your conversation.”

I turned on my heel to leave.

The woman behind me let out a very long, very relieved breath of air.

I was halfway down her walk when I heard her call out.

“Wait!”

I looked back at her, standing at her door, the colour finally returning to her cheeks.

“I know your face. You’re the husband, aren’t you? The one whose wife was beaten…I saw your picture in the papers when it happened…”

I stood silently rooted to the spot. I could tell she felt stupid and somewhat ashamed for saying it.

“I was the last person she spoke to,” I managed to say, “on her cell phone.”

“I’m so sorry,” the woman said.

“But unlike you, she didn’t have anyone to warn her about making her plans to walk home public.”

The woman shuddered.

“Don’t do it again,” I said. “Or that cell phone conversation might be your last.”

With that, I continued down her walk towards my own empty house.

END