Magdalena And The Irish Uncle (Part 2)

Walking Out Into The Rain

Popping out of Lyssa’s house around 11:30 a.m. I noticed just a touch of rain as I put my purple lens glasses on. Making my way through the alleyway to the side of Lyssa’s house my glasses started getting a touch wet so I took them off. Obviously this light water falling upon my body and making my head cold obviously wasn’t doing any good for me. My cold and conjunctivitis had been receding after nine days of being sick and I didn’t want to catch something else.

Whilst sleeping at Lyssa’s house, the conjunctivitis didn’t even hit me that hard and as I could open my eyes in the morning, they were only a touch crusty around the sides. Anyway, I was contemplating on heading back to Lyssa’s house so I could wait around for the next bus to the station but I figured I could take the cold and kept on walking. Not dressed in the warmest of clothes, they were keeping me fairly comfortable, although my hands were starting to freeze.

Out to shock and surprise with the clothes I was wearing, I wanted to see the reaction that I would gain from the unsuspecting public. I didn’t buy the clothes to show off, rather, I bought the clothes because I thought they would look good on me. In addition, I didn’t wear the clothes because I wanted to show off but I wore them to see how people would react, in a good way or bad. Whichever way, I knew that I was going to get attention, I just didn’t know from what side of the fence.

Citing that a train had just left as I was walking down the last street towards the station, I knew I had a little while to wait for the next train to arrive. The ‘Guess’ shoes that I was wearing were a touch tight on me and as I am waiting for them to stretch, I tend to clutch my toes in slightly.

Nevertheless, they are mad shoes and they do attract attention. My whole look was different to the commonality around the Campbelltown area, especially on a Sunday. As I made my way up the station stairs and sat myself down next to a lady on the station benches, I soon found out how much the clothes enhanced my appearance.

A Girl On The Platform

Casually sitting next to this girl with brown hair with a slight curl, she was as me, looking away but with interest. Taking a glance at my shoes to see if the sole had popped out from the pants, I noticed in the back of my glance that she was looking at me. Turning my head slightly we caught eyes and deciding to break the ice a little, I smiled at her and she smiled back. Turning our heads away again with interest, the fairly good looking lady looked a touch more curious now, fidgety to her intrigue.

Well, I won’t say fidgety because she was rather composed but, in a subdued way, she looked eager to chat. The break finally came when she pointed to the computer notice boards and in her influential accent, asked “Do you know if the next train stops at Macarthur Square”. Figuring this was only a ploy to get conversation rolling, I played along thinking she was only acting naïve but I soon found out there was some significance to her question.

The notice board noted that there was a train heading to Macarthur Square but it only stopped at Campbelltown which made no sense. As we sat there looking at the notice board trying to figure it out I noted that she should have jumped on the train and just jumped off at Campbelltown Station. “God I’m so stupid” she exclaimed as she leant forward and bowed her head repeating her sentence. “Don’t worry about it” I noted as the wind blew a harder chill, causing a digression of conversation.

From her initial words, I began to ask questions about her life as we also just talked about the weather, how I’m sick and what I’ve had to endure in the past couple of days. Having a strong accent, it sounded somewhat French but as I asked her nationality, I was surprised as to the answer. “I’m Lebanese” she explained, causing me to tilt my head back in disbelief.

Showing my scrutiny upon her reality as she sounded or looked nothing like a Leb, she then thought to note that her Grandfather was Greek and her father was Turkish. This I started believing a touch more and as she might have Lebanese in her, she certainly doesn’t have it in her appearance. The next topic that came up somehow was regarding age.

Trying to compliment her by saying she’s 21 but knowing she’d be a bit older, she advised me that she was 24 years old. Without her asking I commented upon my age and as she looked surprised I asked, “Why, how old do I look”. Taking into account the shoes I was wearing and my black ensemble, she presumed me to be around 16 years old to 17 which wasn’t tormenting to hear. Rather, I kind of like looking younger than I am, it adds to my boyish charm.

Magdalena Has A Husband

With the train being a possible twenty minutes, in our wait we chatted upon many subjects. Breaking through the barrier of age and figuring there was no chance of connection (I didn’t feel any spark between us), I just figured she started conversation because I looked interesting and approachable with my cute smile. I think when I asked what she had done for the weekend, the truth about her having a boyfriend came out.

Deciding not to leave too great a gap between her noting she had a husband and the next phrase, I didn’t want to seem distraught over a lost opportunity. Seeming that I wasn’t interested in that arena anyway, I asked her about her husband and how they went out to dinner in the City with friends and so forth. As she explained that they lived near the take away shop in Leumeah where Lyssa and I used to buy hamburgers from, I noted that my friend knew the people who owned that shop.

It wasn’t until a touch later that she told me she was married to one of the three brothers who owned that store and lived across the street. She lived in one of the flats on top of the shops or something along that line of explanation. Calling out some Lebanese last names including Penelope’s family name, I figured that they would ring a bell but they had no connection.

Finally, as one of those real long trains made an obnoxious pass through the station, I sought to ask her name. Having remembered it until I got home as it is a hard name to recall, she told me her name was Magdalena. Some more information I learnt was that she has only been in Australia for the past seven months while her husband has been here for fourteen.

The both of them met at a party two years ago in which they married and then she moved in with him. In regards to her being Lebanese, I asked if she could speak the language. “Of course” she uttered and asking if she knew the swear words she had a giggle and then replied “Yes, I know them.”

Lebanese Swear Words

Going through a couple of swear words I still remember from the list, she laughed each time I spoke one out and explained what it had meant. Sounding impressed with my grasp upon the Lebanese swearing language, later in the day she taught me another word which means ‘Fuck You’ which has two sayings but she taught me the harder version. As the train arrived the both of us jumped in, eager for more conversation and pledging to help her get to Macarthur Square, we both jumped off there.

Explaining how I had to buy my weekly ticket, Magdalena froze in her tracks, noting she didn’t buy a ticket. Having never caught a train to Macarthur Square and only having traveled to Liverpool for work, she was anxious as to whether she would get caught. However, I comforted her with the fact that there would be no train guards at Macarthur Square so she would be alright.

Walking Magdalena further than I was supposed to, I couldn’t find the right time to break away and carry on my duty of buying a ticket. Walking up the long ramp with everyone else, we made it near to the doors and then I remarked “I’m going that way” whilst pointing to Greater Union. Feeling that she’d had enough of me, I told her it was nice meeting her and then shaking her hand I sarcastically uttered, “You have to wash your hand now, I’m sick and you’ll catch what I have.”

Being uninformed as she was, she believed me for a couple of seconds but as I noted that I was just kidding she playfully slapped me across the shoulder two or three times. This gave me the hint that she probably did have a slight interest in me and that I probably should convert from shaking girl’s hands to kissing them goodbye on the cheek.

From this day forth I’ll revert from my shaking duties to a light peck on the cheek. Girls don’t need a handshake and I think the both of us would appreciate a fine passing peck. Nevertheless, for this one time, it was just to shake her hand as I had a cold and didn’t want her to get any of it.

Missing The Train

One more point of note, the reason she was heading to Macarthur Square was to exchange a jacket. Earlier in our chat she decided to inform me that she was heading to a funeral in the near future and she wanted to exchange the jacket so it would fit her for the wake. That’s another reason why I should have kissed her goodbye…

Making my way into the toilets of Greater Union, I blew my nose and then putting back on my purple lens glasses I headed back down the cold wind tunnel of a ramp towards the station. The train that I jumped off was still waiting there as I tried quickly to buy my weekly ticket. However, the train started to pull off just as I put my money through and I knew, there would be at least a half hour wait.

Pulling out my new ticket I couldn’t find one place in the whole length of the station that was sheltered from the gusts of wind. Subjecting myself to crouch near the ticket window that was closed, that didn’t help me too much. Therefore, I headed just around the corner to where the closed entrances to the toilets and where the desolate notice boards were. Finding no such sanctuary, it was the best resistance against the cold wind I would receive and was therefore grateful.

The Irish Uncle

The lure of my clothes had not seen its first and last victim. Waiting for ten minutes for a train to pop up, two guys who were chatting around the corner made their way towards my section hoping to read the notice boards. Nevertheless, as they were closed and there was no train guard around, one of the old guys who was 54 asked me if I knew when the next train would arrive.

Taking a look at the other old guy who looked like one of the Mario Brothers with aged hair, I later found him to be Tino’s Uncle, a splitting resemblance to Tino’s dad. Anyway, as this guy explained to me that he was from Ireland and again with a strong accent, he asked if the train headed to King’s Cross. The reason why he had to head there was because his brother was in hospital or some guy on his death bed.

Using my knowledge to the best of my ability, I explained to him where he should catch the train to and where he should jump off and being helpful, I also offered to jump off and help him find the right train at Campbelltown Station. As he looked appreciative, we started talking about Ireland and how the weather here is mild compared to the snow that piles up meters high.

Having a great old conversation, the train finally arrived after twenty minutes of getting cold and as we jumped on, I pointed out the map to him and directed him to exactly where he had to go. As the train was heading to the City and he wanted to get off at Sydenham, I pointed out on the map all the possible stops and as I jumped off the train, he thanked me very much for my hospitality.

In those few moments I noted to the other guy with us that he looked like Tino’s dad and as he looked surprise as to my being right, I asked “Say hello to Tino for me” and was on my way.

Cold At The Bus Stop

The allure of the clothing had susceptibility looming in wake, just building up to contrasting acceptability. Making my trek down Queen Street, there weren’t much people lined on the streets for Sunday but I was surprised as to the lack of interest from the passing cars. Figuring that I would get some sort of scrupulous interest, the driving parties lacked in their curiosity. Feeling confused as to the contrasting of interest and lacking inquisitiveness, I made my way to the bus-stop on Dumaresq Street.

The time must have been around 12:45 p.m. and I knew that because I missed my train, I missed the earlier bus. Therefore, I had to wait almost an hour for another bus, hungry and very cold. Leaning my back against a wall and folding my arms didn’t work and as I sat there alone for a good twenty minutes, no one seemed to acknowledge any such interest from their cars. However, I did see Gustav passing in his car which he also didn’t notice me so I figure it must be the black on black that makes me seem vague from such a distance.

Finally some more people joined my anticipation for a bus as it started to sprinkle down. There was a guy standing around for a minute or two before he decided to turn around and as me his first question. Because it was fairly windy, I didn’t hear his exact words but judging from his response when I turned around and had a bellowing sick voice, his mistake was to think I was some girl.

Having my back turned to him, my arms crossed, my hair out and these purple glasses, it’s hard to tell what I am from the back angle, I guess. Anyway, he said “Do you know when the bus comes love” and as I turned around he excused himself for thinking I was a girl, not really worrying me at all. Unfazed, I started chatting to him about the late buses and how he thought they came on the hour when in reality, they come every mid hour.

Hot Chips With Gravy

With time ticking past 1:00 p.m. and his noting that he would head to a friend’s restaurant to get a feed if the bus didn’t arrive soon, I was tempted myself to get something to eat. As I began walking he shouted “Stuff this, I’m heading off too” and we both walked up the street and past the set of lights. He stopped off to chat with a friend at a bus-stop and as he waved me goodbye I walked across the street, ordered myself Sydney Fried Hot Chips with Gravy and then walked back to the bus-stop.

Eating my chips as I patiently waited for the bus to arrive, it was the best remedy at the time to try and warm up my body somehow. Squatting down for most of the time, I seemed to gain interest from a guy around my age as to the appearance I held. As the bus prolonged over the time we thought it would arrive, everyone started getting pissed off at how the bus was late. The cold was really starting to get to all of us and an old guy next to me noted how he hated the bus service.

Finally, the bus arrived and there was no bitter words spoken to the driver from either of us. Carrying half of the hot chips with gravy onto the bus, I held onto them until I arrived home today and entered my house. Having myself a quick feed, I started up my computer and babe, here I am now. Really, that was such a small chapter in my life but with vital admiration to detail, I figure such entity should be shared. Now I must watch Football for my Sunday so I guess I’ll leave you here until the end of that parade or a little later…