Commute - Camp NaNoWriMo April 2015

Chapter Thirty-One - Seed of an Idea

The station is just like it is on any other day. Quiet, calm, and half-empty. Filled with people whispering to one another as they wait for trains, and people walking across the platforms, their shoes making click-clack noises. It's the only loud sound in the station. The rest is just... quiet.

My heart is beating louder in my chest than I thought was possible. Thumpthumpthump. Come on, Maya. You shouldn't be scared! You know all about these people! Their life stories, their way of talking...

But they know nothing about you.

And I'm about to stand up and face them. I'm about to tell them that all the hours they spent doing the interviews, all the time we've spent working together... might have been wasted. There will be no article on the commuters of London. There will be no more Maya McKenna on Carriage C. And the only way to get the article into the newspaper, to help me keep my job, is to come up with a format for it. A way to present it. A layout.

What if none of them want to help? What if none of them care?

The two questions jab at me. That's basically what I'm scared of. That I'll give this uplifting (well... not really) speech, and they'll all turn their backs on me. Say they don't care whether they're in the paper or not. They don't care whether I lose my job. They don't care whether I'm on their train any more.

What have I really done for them anyway? I just shoved a tape in their hand and ran off. They've spent hours talking into tapes for me, and I've just taken them without even saying thank you...

Okay. Calm down, Maya. You're just going round in circles.

I take a deep breath, and watch as the seven o'clock train to London trails into the station. I grab my briefcase, and climb into Carriage C. It's the same as always. Businessmen discussing. Twins whispering. Fat Kid playing. Tired Mum reading...

Deep breaths. It's not that scary, really.

Once the train has started moving, I stand up and cough. About half the carriage turns to look at me.

"Excuse me? Everyone?"

Right, now I've got everyone's attention. Do not mess up.

"You know the interviews that you did for me?"

There's a scattering of nods.

"Well, there's good news and bad news." Deep breaths. "The good news is that my superior has read through your interviews and agrees with me that they are perfect. Just what we need."

"What's the bad news?" asks Headphones Girl, who's taken off her headphones to listen.

"I have to think of a clever format to present it in. French Weekly are known for their imaginative formats, you know? And it's my first project. I want it to be really good."

"What's that got to do with us?" chips in Doritos Guy. "I mean, it's your job."

"You want your interviews to be in the paper, right?"

General nodding. I take that as a sign to carry on.

"Well, they aren't going to be in the paper unless I think of a format to present it in. And I won't have a job either. If I don't come up with a format, I'll be fired."

"Don't they have people to do that?" calls out Thing One. "Come up with formats, I mean."

Trust me, I've asked myself - and Mr Clifford - that question many times.

"It's my first project," I explain. "My superior wants me to demonstrate my 'creative ability' to my boss. It's the same for my other colleague who started this term." I face the rest of the carriage again. "So, I was wondering if anyone could help me? Please?"

Everyone stays silent. I can almost see the cogs turning in their brains. They've all got their eyes on me - except Fat Kid. He's sitting next to Tired Mum, playing on his phone.

The silence stretches on for what seems like weeks. We pass fields of cows, through small villages. Then suddenly -

"Do it like texting," Fat Kid says.

Everyone looks at him in surprise. I didn't even know he was listening.

"That's actually a good idea," Thing Two says. "You know, it's like a modern thing?" She glances round the carriage. "Literally half the people in here are on their phones or laptops or something. I bet everyone here has at least one device tucked away in their pockets, right? Well, presenting the interviews like text conversations... it's pretty neat. Like... I dunno. Symbolising the modern age, or something."

I could scream. I could jump in the air for joy. I'm speechless. This is so perfect, I think to myself. This is the happiest day of my life.

I manage a startled "Thank you. Thank you so much," and sit back in my seat.