Marlboros and peonies

Marlboros and peonies

A night train is gliding almost silently out of the station.
The platform is empty now, except for me.
I`m lighting a cigarette and watch the train leaving, it`s taillights becoming smaller and fade.
It's Saturday, the 23rd of August.

A warm evening wind blows around my pants and brings the scent of peonies and old newspapers into the station.
The red lights disappear in smoke and darkness.
Only a scraping sound is heard from time to time, and the typical ta-ta-tack tack when waggons rattle over some tracks.
I don`t like smoking, it makes me sick. It always gives me a nasty headache and sore throats, but I have to smoke, because the cowboy on the poster over there smokes as well.
He looks like a real man should look like. With small wrinkles around his eyes and big, strong hands. With broad shoulders and a smile that keeps the guys at bay, and makes the ladies feel their hearts beating faster.
The scoreboard above me rattles off the next departure times.
It is 23:18.
The ICE is on it`s way…
A whistling and humming of the rails accompanies its appearance. I flip the fag on the floor, spurt off and run a few meters in front of it`s nose - the train driver shall see me.

The man in the cab gets big eyes. He kicks the brake, he pulls the levers, but it's too late. One or two more long steps, then I am throwing myself to the side right into the screeching of the wheels.
The Express train hits my chest, then I am buried under tons of oiled steel.
The back of my head gets hit, badambadam against the thresholds - then the smell of urine and tar – and darkness.
The front axle breaks my left arm, I get thrown over the tracks and one of the tires cuts my upper body into two unequal halves - that's it.

I am coming here every night - always at the same time.
I imagine this scenario, over and over again.
Then I am getting sick.
"Well, you mighty man? I suppose you have a weak stomach, eh?"
Someone laughs, but I'm alone on this platform ...
"You wanna-be suicide. Didn´t do it again , huh? "
"Who ...?" I`m looking around me, but can`t see anyone.
"Over here, spectacle wearer."
"Where?"
"Here on your favorite poster, man."
It is the Marlboro Man.

He is not moving, but he`s talking to me.
On the wall next to him leans a ladder that has probably been forgotten by someone.

I guess I have too much imagination.
"Imagination? If you had imagination, you would have invented Mickey Mouse or something like that", he says.
"I don`t understand ..."
"What, you don`t understand? Should I speak up, little man? Are your ears damaged or your brain, eh?"
"You are the one talking to me.”
"Very true, well recognized. I'm talking to you, little man and you want to know why?"
"Yes."
"Well, I will tell you, shorty, oh yes I will. I'm talking to you because you pisses me off! I have to watch your boring theater play here every night. Your "Dying Swan" - bullshit. Because you come here on my platform in purpose to kill yourself, but you are too much a coward to do it ..."
"I'm not ..."
"What are you not?"
"I'm not a coward."
"Oh no? What are you then?"
"I am just ...", I start to say, but his laugh interrupts me and blows an empty potato chip bag on the tracks.
"What are you? You are nothing, because you're not a man. You're not even a girl."
"A girl?"
"Sure, my friend. If you were a man, you would do what a man must do. If you were a girl, then you would say, "shit on it" and do what you want, but this way?”
"I am a man," I insist.
He laughs and coughs at the same time. "No."
"I am a man"
"You are not."
"I'll prove it."
"How do you want to prove?"
"I'll do it."
"Do what? Throw yourself in front of the train?"
"Yes, I'll do it."
"When?"
"Tomorrow ... tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow night?"
"Yes."
"Well, Shorty, I'll be here."

I am pressing the cigarette in the ashtray carefully, then I go down the stairs with stiff legs.

Only a few people carrying suitcases and bags pass me by.
My stomach feels like a knot made of rusty iron and behind my temples, an insane drummer rages.
Before I enter a shop, I am looking at my reflection in the window pane.
Nobody wears a beige windbreaker and brown pants with black lace shoes that are polished to a shine. No one. The Marlboro man is right.

"Oh hello, good evening, Mister. A little Jack Daniels and "freedom and adventure" as usual?"

The lady at the kiosk is friendly, she is always friendly - to everyone. Like the whores at the harbour.
I have enough cigarettes, but I will not contradict her. You should not contradict older women.
"Yes, please", I answer her.
"Here you are. That' is nine euro and fifty, then."
I am taking my wallet from my pants and put the money on the counter.

The cash register rings.
"So, here are fifty cents back. You are welcome."
Outside in the hall a street musician sings: "Johnny Be Good...", and thrashes at his guitar. I look around in the kiosk.
"Hm, the marker there, I would like to have it too," I am saying.
"This here?"
"No, the big red one over there."
"That?"
"Yes, please."
"Then it's another three-fifty."
"Here you go."
"You are welcome," says the friendly lady to me, "and a nice evening."
I take my stuff and leave the store.
"A man's gotta do what a man`s gotta do", I am thinking. "Go Johnny, go!"
I go up the familiar stairs to the platform 68.

"Well, little man, you wanted to come back tomorrow?"
I am stepping towards the poster and reach into my jacket.
"What do you have there, shorty? What are you doing?"
I take the ladder and climb up to him. Now I can see directly into his bright blue eyes."What are you up to, take away the ladder!", he says.Instead I take the marker and paint a big, round, red nose over his face.

Then I climb down and put the ladder back, carefully.
"What did you do? Damn, I can not see it. Go away you little poof! "
A smile tugs at my mouth
"I'm a girl," I answer, "and I shit on it!"
Pigeons flutter through the station.

I haven`t laughed that long since ages.

(thanks to Sedi)