Earbuds - Short Story

He took his earbuds with him everywhere. To dinner, to work, to school, and even to the movies. It had gotten so bad to the point where the nickname among his friends was “Earbuds”. His girlfriend had even joked that she had never seen him without those white cords sprouting from his ears, and that their relationship would be “getting serious” when he finally put them away around her. He thought they looked cool. With the bomber jacket he always wore over a plain white tee and pair of black leather pants, he figured the headphone cords fit the look. Like a modern day chain worn around the belt. His taste in music was pretty standard. He listened to all the stuff his friends listened to, mostly punk rock and alternative. Occasionally, one of his friends would ask what song he was listening to, and would ask to borrow a headphone to listen to the rest of the song with him. He delighted in these moments, and he always obliged whenever someone asked. He would never offer. That would defeat the point after all. The one time he didn’t have his earbuds with him was when he went to sit by the train station. This was a weekly tradition that none of his friends and not even his girlfriend knew about. On Thursday nights after work, he would walk his normal route back to his apartment, but would pass it and walk for another fifteen minutes to the train station. He wouldn’t buy a ticket, he was just there to sit and watch. He would always go back to his favorite bench in front of the tracks and just watch the trains arrive and depart. It wasn’t enjoyable for him, but instead something like a tradition; something that made him feel like he wasn’t forgetting his past. He would always sit there for an hour or so, his earbuds in his pocket, until he felt like it was time to leave, where he would then just walk home. He had always done this, and never thought anything of it other than to keep it secret from his friends. He didn’t want them to worry about him over nothing, and he knew that if he had told any of them, they would insist to come along. This was a lonely hobby, one of the only times he truly enjoyed being alone. Until one Thursday night where he had gotten off considerably early. The store had renovations that started later than evening, and since he was part of the night crew, his boss told him to enjoy the rest of his night. He almost considered not visiting the train station today. He always went at night, and yet it was still half an hour to sunset. But this was his tradition, and he was worried that if he took one day off from it he would want to take another. And so he went, walking along the street listening to music way too loudly in his earbuds. He pocketed his earbuds as he climbed the steps up to the station, and froze when he looked as his bench. Sitting in his spot was old woman. She wore the standard grandma clothes, a large flowery blouse, a wide-brimmed hat with a white ribbon and a large tan purse. Her dark, wrinkled hands were folded together on her lap as she waited. He stood at the top of the steps for a while, considering his options, until he decided to sit down next to her. This was his spot after all, and as soon as the next train came, she would be out of his way. He walked in front of her and sat to her left on the bench. He must have glanced at her as he passed, as she turned to him as he sat down and smiled. He smiled back, and looked forward with a blank face. Neither of them said anything, and he watched people clamor around the station preparing for the next train. He knew the train would arrive soon and he glad for it; it didn’t feel like tradition with a guest. Finally the train came, stopping at the station for only a brief minute. The people standing by the tracks all quickly boarded, carrying large bags and purses with them. He looked to see the old woman still sitting on the bench next to him, seemingly unaware that the train had arrived. He was worried for a moment that she had spaced out and would miss her train. “Excuse me miss? Is this your train?” Her eyes widened and she gave him a surprised smile. “What? Oh no dearie, that’s not my train.” He tried to hide his confusion and frustration behind a polite smile. “Oh my mistake. Is yours the next one?” The old woman smiled again. “No no, I’m not getting on a train.” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. What was she doing here if not taking a train? He has been here every Thursday night without fail, and she decided to sit in his spot on his night? “What about you dear? Was that not your train? I certainly hope it was, the next train isn’t for another hour.” She said in a concerned-grandma voice. He tried not to sound frustrated; after-all, she was just a sweet old lady and had no idea about his tradition. “No, I don’t have a ticket either to be honest. I just like to watch the trains.” She nodded and looked at the people leaving the station on the other side of the tracks. “I’m glad to see kids your age can appreciate the small things like people watching. I wish I could admit I did that sort thing at your age.” She laughed to herself, and he laughed too. She suddenly turned to look at him with a serious face. “Did you want a candy?” Her question surprised him, and he stammered out a yes, and was handed a small butterscotch candy. She really was just your typical sweet grandma. The two of them sat on the bench together and talked. She asked him question like if he had a job, where he went to school, if he had a girlfriend, and other polite grandma-type questions. He opened up to her, telling her about the strange customer that had come in today, about his creaky apartment door that always wakes up the neighbors, and about his earbuds. “Earbuds?” She made a faux offended gasp at the mention of his technology habits. “You like music that much?” He was cautious about his answer; this was tender topic. “Not really, no. I mean, I like music, but I’ve never had a passion for it.” She looked at him with large wrinkled eyes. “Then why take the earbuds everywhere?” He shuffled his feet uncomfortably, and pried his hand from pocket that had reached for the wires of his earbuds instinctively. “I just feel like, their part of my tradition, y’know? I’ve just, always been “Earbuds”.” She nodded slowly, as if she truly understood what he meant. She removed her wide brimmed hat with the white ribbon to show a head of curly white hair. “It’s the same reason I come to watch the trains on Thursday afternoons with this silly old hat. Tradition.” She smiled almost mocking herself. He, on the other hand, was fascinated. “Why do you come every Thursday afternoon to watch the trains?” He asked, hoping to hear a part of himself in her answer. She turned her eyes to him in a sad way and clutched her hat in her lap. “Oh that’s a sad story dear. You wouldn’t want to-” “I really do.” He exclaimed. She heaved a long sigh and nodded. “Okay dearie. Well, I always visit on Thursdays to watch the trains. It’s become part of my tradition, to put it your way.” He smiled to her reassuringly. “I come at exactly 4:30 pm, and have been for the past seven years. Seven years ago, my grandson and my granddaughter were killed in a train accident on their way up to visit me. Their train derailed, and everyone on the train was killed.” Her voice was sad, but steady; the grip on her hat had tightened. “Their train was supposed to arrive at this station a few hours later, and so I always sit here at this bench to remember them.” She looked over to him and gasped and pulled a handkerchief from her purse to wipe his face. “Oh dearie what’s wrong? Was it something I said?” He struggled to keep his voice steady and to keep more tears from streaming down his face. “My parents died seven years ago in that train accident. I was with my uncle at this station, listening to music on his earphones while we waited for their train to arrive.” His heart was racing, his voice was cracking and he didn’t care. “I’ve been here every Thursday night since then, at this bench where I-” He was cut off with a tight hug, his words failing into a muffled sob on her shoulder. This stranger hugged him tighter than anyone had in years. He felt awash in a sea of emotions that he had buried long ago. He made deep tear stains on the shoulder of her flowery dress, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. The handkerchief was offered again, and he took it gratefully. She rest her hand gently on his shoulder, reassuring him. He opened his mouth to thank her, and was cut off by the sound of the next train pulling into the station. He looked at her, wordless despite everything that he wanted to say. She only smiled. “Thank you for sharing your tradition with me, dear.” She slowly stood up and placed the hat back on her curled hair. “If you wouldn’t mind, I can come back a little later on Thursdays, if you don’t mind sharing the bench.” He laughed, a choking laugh through his emotions. “I wouldn’t mind scooting over a bit next week.” She extended an aged hand. “It was nice to meet you dear. I’m Michelle.” He grasped her hand gently and shook it. “Ben.” They smiled to one another, and headed separate ways off the station platform, the train leaving with them. He descended the stairs and walked back out onto the street, the sun well below the horizon now. He reached into his pocket for his earbuds, and put them in his ears, and hummed along to the music on his way back to his apartment.