A Train Ride With Xavier and His Book of Homer

Avoiding Xavier

Avoiding any contact with Xavier as much as possible I was contemplating very affluently the choice of sitting in the first carriage as opposed to the second. Uncertainty loomed on where or how Xavier and I were going to meet as I was trying to brush him off our conversation to get back to work but he just doesn’t take the hint. It’s either he’s naïve or he’s purposefully avoiding decadence of my residing abhorrence for his pedophilia so he can feed his presumptuous hopes.

The first carriage was ungrateful to my expectations as it was a thicket of people so I loathing made my way to the second carriage. Slowly edging my way to the entry door I peered through knowing I would probably catch the gaze of a thousand incubus night’s sleep adorning a smile but I was strangely blessed with no such dismay. Making my way up to where I had lost my wallet previously, I sat next to a girl I thought could have been Lorelei.

Looking at me as if she also knew of me I asked her casually “You’re not the girl who found my wallet before are you” and what do you know, it was here. Content to hold a conversation with a less desirable lady rather than a promiscuously forward pedophile we shared a word or two before I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes.

Relaxing on the train for only a couple of seconds I looked out of the window at the big clock tower at Central, noticing the train would take off in a couple of minutes time. Hectically looking around at the seats facing the opposite way towards us I wished not to spot Xavier and was hopeful when I turned back to lay my head in a restful fashion. The minutes seemed like hours passing as I hoped Xavier wouldn’t head through the doors in the last seconds of the trains departure and sit next to me and Lorelei, how embarrassing.

Taking another vigilant look around the latter area of the carriage I did notice what I thought could have been Xavier but I quickly discarded this notion. Despite his being seated in a two seater and looking as if he was saving a spot for someone, I decided not to even think of his whereabouts. Strangely, I had brought along my folder of poetry and musical lyrics in essence of showing Xavier.

Why I Brought the Folder

Why I brought the folder I would care not to recite as confusion looms around my decision but despite my loathing to sit with him, I was content with someone showing interest in my poetry. Elated with the thought of another soul finding spirit from my Sonnets derived much dominance in my complacency. It wasn’t necessarily that I wanted to show Xavier my poetry as I knew it could only have vile effects but I just wanted to show someone my accomplishments.

As Xavier showed his keen interest and as I knew he had knowledge of Shakespearean Sonnets, he was a great candidate for an opinion. Nevertheless, once on the train, I was more inclined to avoid his company than to my interest as to how he would react to my poetry. I don’t gloat or show off my accomplishments and as much as I want to, I feel no need to act pretentious or shove my ability into other people’s faces.

If someone is interested in poetry I would acknowledge that I wrote poetry but I would leave it up to the listener to ask if they could see my work. Thereafter, I would still feel that they weren’t being serious, making it all the more harder for me to value the true worth of what poetry does speak from these thoughts. Poetry is never a topic brought up in conversation unless otherwise forced. Therefore, you can understand my will to unleash it onto anyone and if that person was gay, still, an opinion wakes.

A Tap on the Shoulder

When the train did begin to move I thought I was in the clear and lay back in my chair to relax for the rest of the journey home. Alas, not even a minute into our departure I felt an eerie tap on my shoulder, a malleable touch upon touch of sickening skin, belonging to an affiliation I would much like to neglect. Turning my head slightly, there was no curiosity as to the person, only an animus unparalleled. Avoidance was now without a leg to stand on as he declared “I’ve got a seat over there and I’ve saved one just for you”.

To my distaste, I made my way out of the seat, not showing the otherwise infectious and telling expressions that would show visible upon such a malignant face. Death did part my rightful limbs as I placed myself into my seat of apprehensive trepidation. Sinking lower and lower into my seat of woe I brought morose apathy to an uncanny silence. Conversation was without ends as I failed to make small chat, as to make Xavier realize I really didn’t want to be there.

Adding another twist to this obscene tale, Xavier noted that he had bought me a book in which he thought I would enjoy it greatly. “It’s up there in the above compartment” he stated, “Do you want me to get it down”. Almost to the point of shaking my head with such a blank expression of revulsion I replied “No, that’s alright, I’ll get it later”. The uncaring attitude just wasn’t working for Xavier as his tenaciousness pursued the rights of my wrongs.

All I could think in my mind was that this book would be some subliminal message to his being a pedophile. The first thought in my mind was that the book would be some sexually charged story relating to the both of us. What sickened me more was to think that Xavier had some explicit pictures of naked phobias stashed away inside the pages of this book, such a repugnant thought. However, I was somewhat relieved that it was a book of poetry but still, a perverse attempt at his trying to court me.

Xavier Reads My Sonnets

Changing the mood slightly as to keep his words as far away from me as possible, I thought to break some of the silence by noting that the book of poetry was in my bag. Figuring that it would have been a waste of time bringing it along I asked “Do you want to see it” in which I already knew the answer. Taking out my large folder I showed him where to start, bi-passing the lyrics that would otherwise make me feel uncomfortable.

To say the least, as he flicked through my Sonnets he sat there bedazzled and amazed at how I could write with such proficiency and a grasp of the English Language. Each page that he turned he showed greater interest and intrigue at my works, commenting on the portions he did appreciate. One such aphorism that I do remember him commenting on is I have moods in which thoughts work and emotions in which they roam. Sitting aghast to my many deliverances he turned to the portion of my folder which yielded the lyrics to my songs.

Anxious that he was exploring a more personal aspect of my life I wanted him to head back to the poetry but he seemed to show more interest in my lyrics. Not only did he get hung up on my songs but he sickened me as he spent much more time on more endearing songs meant for a woman. Feeling that he was deriving some personal pleasure from my lyrics as if they were written for him, I was ready to jump up and walk away when he noted something repulsive from the song I wrote for Lyssa, ‘I’m Your Man’.

The line that he actually sought to repeat was ‘And we haven’t even started yet’, how sickening. “You don’t get embarrassed by my reading this do you” he asked, lingering upon such songs as ‘Sex You All Night Long’ and ‘I Love You’. Lying to myself I replied deceivingly “No, no, you’re alright,” watching his every movement, reading every syllable that he prolonged upon.

Concluding with his read of my poetry and lyrics he placed the folder upon his legs and sat back in his seat, as if fulfilled from a great bout of post-coital pleasure. Repellant as I was, I asked if he was finished with the folder and feeling like I was wearing medical gloves to remove my folder, I felt like it was littered with carnal leftovers from his imagination. Picking it up from the corners I stashed it quickly into my bag, caring to forget the torturous troubles it endeared for the past few minutes.

The Book of Homer

Whence the volume did drop back down to zero Xavier insisted that he bring down the book from the above tray. Letting him out into the aisle he glanced through his belongings and as I looked around I could see the curiosity on people’s eyes who weren’t as naïve as myself. As much as I didn’t want to confront his wicked mind he handed me the novel sized book. Taking a look at the front cover I was more tuned into the subliminal message I could grasp from the picture than the books title.

The book was one of ‘Homers’ works I think which was called ‘The Apostle’ about the end of the Trojan War. Figuring that it would be filled with poetry I was disappointed to find that Xavier had bought the version in which they converted his 24 books of poetry into one small novel of prose. Disappointed as I was, I was more disgusted at the front cover. Basically put, it was a painting of a young man sitting on a throne and an old man with white hair holding his hand, bowing down and kissing it pleadingly.

What thoughts ran through Xavier’s mind when he saw that picture I would care not to know. His reason for buying the book despite his noting that it was on sale cheap diminishes not my thought that it was intentional to his pedophilic purposes.

Getting Off at Campbelltown

Looking as if I was interested in the book he had just handed me I started to read page by page so that I could hold off any affiliation with Xavier. Whilst reading the book however, Xavier kept noting how he would love to see me, always emphasizing the word ‘love’ and any other gay vibe of his. “See me on Friday, I’m not actually in the City on business but I’ll come down and see you for lunch”.

“I’m not sure” I replied giving myself a chance to retaliate, “I might be having a planned lunch with my friend if I have lunch at 1:00 p.m.”. Unfazed to my reply he kept being his insisting self but never pushing his exploits too far. What pissed me off was when the train was about to stop at Campbelltown, he poked me slightly on my side noting “Don’t you have to get off here” and then gave me a flickering and nauseating tickle.

Just the thought of his gaining pleasure from such a deed made me prepare my departure all the more quicker. Before leaving I decided to speak out for my sake saying “By the way, you shouldn’t call me at work so often because my supervisor gets frustrated”. As if the world had just ended and he was the cause of such mess he placed his head in his hands repeating “Right, right, I should have known, I’m sorry”.

After a few seconds he asked “How are we going to get into contact again”, noting that I never called him like we were connected specially in some way. This reminded me of how Lyssa used to comment of my never calling her so without further appraisal of the situation I jumped up and headed off the train.

Taking his book along with me I know I shouldn’t have accepted his book but it would have been more damning if I had rejected his deceptive kindness. What’s more, as he kept noting that he paid $4 for it I was stupid enough to state that I would buy him lunch when next we did meet. Stupidity did permit me take his book and create another arrangement but as I walked off that train without a glance behind I knew it was going to be the last time that I would see Xavier.

The book I never did read. Instead, on Thursday I took it to work and after sharing my ugly story with Najla I handed her the book of ‘Homer’. Najla was more intrigued by the book as she stated Homer was a great philosopher and poet of his time and as I knew that, I didn’t feel that prose would have been anywhere as good as the real thing.

Sarcasm With Idris

Heading to the bus-stop I sat myself down next to a dark stranger and as I kept taking a glance over at him I realized that it was Idris, Tatton’s stepfather. Greeting him with a handshake we got to talking about how I worked in City, where Idris worked and just life in general. Relieved I was to finally be talking to a straight male, someone whom I would feel comfortable around. Idris wasn’t sure whether to catch the Ruse bus or my ride when it had arrived and as he asked the driver his question of direction he jumped on my bus.

For the rest of the journey to my house our two able minds created some sarcasm on my behalf. I’m not sure on exactly how we were treating the raillery of the situation but I think that I noted my dad brewed home beer at home in which I sarcastically said “We should go into business together, make millions”. The actual topic of our collaboration was more hilarious but what was more comical was Idris’s placid conversation, as if he was always in a state of drunkenness.

“Yep, yep, we’ll start a business, yep, me and you” he would slowly mutter above the invisible lines of sound. As informative as our conversation was in which it also regarded Tatton and his discovering his manhood, the trip had to end. Heading back home I began to type away at my memoirs, sparing no time for anything else and finally concluding when I had to sleep. So there you have it, my Wednesday and Wednesday night concluded after two irrefutable entries of depiction, all created from half a page of notes and pointers…