Internet Romance by Lyn Firman
I met my love in cyberspace
Via Matchmaker.com
While surfing through the profiles
I knew he was the one
My e-mail sent with bated breath
Was witty and divine
His response came back at once
His interests matched mine
Our on-line courtship gathered pace
Before the silver screen
Our keyboard conversations flowed
He really was a dream
Our words of love spoke wedding plans
My mother bought a hat
I thought that we had better meet
So I suggested that
And here my romance bit the dust
It really was quite tragic
I should have guessed my ideal man
Was just a computer grahic!
Via Matchmaker.com
While surfing through the profiles
I knew he was the one
My e-mail sent with bated breath
Was witty and divine
His response came back at once
His interests matched mine
Our on-line courtship gathered pace
Before the silver screen
Our keyboard conversations flowed
He really was a dream
Our words of love spoke wedding plans
My mother bought a hat
I thought that we had better meet
So I suggested that
And here my romance bit the dust
It really was quite tragic
I should have guessed my ideal man
Was just a computer grahic!
Heads or Tails by Michelle Cornish
Heads I go through with it, tails I don’t. I repeat this over and over
as I sit in my gently swaying seat tapping the sticky two pence piece on
the dirty grey plastic of the window sill. A loud snort breaks my
reverie; I glance up to see two teenage girls nudging each other as they
try not to laugh and I realise I have been mumbling aloud like a wacko.
Unabashed I gaze over at the pair until my attention makes them feel
uncomfortable and they begin fidgeting with their matching pink phones. A
jolt in the track disrupts the rhythmic clack-clack-clack for a few
seconds until the carriage settles back into its comfortable rolling
gait and I finally look away.
Heads I go through with it, tails I don’t. My eyes lock onto a hard grey pool embedded in the crunchy orange and blue velvet of the seat next to me and I absently start digging the coin under its edges. Heads I go through with it, tails I don’t. But what if it lands the wrong way? As I glance down at it in my hand I realise what I’ve been doing to the old piece of gum and let go of the copper with a shudder of revulsion. The train stops at a brightly lit but deserted station and the two girls make their way off, carefully avoiding eye contact with me as they pass. I’m alone in the carriage as it resumes its journey and the low moaning of the wind squeezing through the poorly sealed windows adds to my sense of isolation. Ignoring the notice politely asking me not to put my feet on the seat I pull my knees up to my chest and hug them tight. As a kid I loved to sit and stare out at the passing scenery but now the darkness outside only reflects back the harshly lit image of me against the gaudy public transport upholstery.
Heads I go through with it, tails I don’t. I bury my face into my knees and, comforted by the rocking, let my mind sink into numbness until with a start I realise that we have stopped and I have no idea how long I have been asleep. Panic starts to rise as I desperately scan the unfamiliar scene outside. Am I here, is this it? Have I gone past already? The drab little station is almost deliberately unhelpful in disclosing its identity and I jump up, heart racing, trying to think. Should I get off? What if I’ve already gone past? What if I get off too early? My head begins to swim and the rising nausea brings the burning taste of bile to back of my throat. Before I have time to make a decision the engine groans and we lurch back into motion. As the train moves off a sign appears from behind a pillar, TOTTON, it announces. I slump with relief and sit back down smiling: one more station to go.
Heads I go through with it, tails I don’t. Ashurst New Forest station is less than ten minutes away and my smile has quickly faded. Am I doing the right thing? What would Mum say? I scrabble amongst the dust bunnies and discarded tickets under my seat urgently looking for the coin I dropped earlier, hand sweeping the grimy floor until I feel the cold metal disc and fish it out. Well, here goes. With a flick I toss the two pence piece into the air and then slap it against the back of my left hand a bit harder than I meant to.
Heads. I go through with it. The train slows as the piercing lights of the station beckon and my stomach starts to churn as I make my way towards the exit. A brief hiss swiftly drowned out by electronic beeping precedes the jerky release of the automatic doors and before I have time to change my mind I step out onto the chilly evening air. Further down the platform a man is helping a woman lift a buggy onto the train while several small children dance around them and I tip-toe a little to try and see around them. I can just make out a shadowy figure standing near the exit barrier, a generic shape bundled up against the cold that immediately starts moving towards me. Unsure of myself I pause and fiddle pointlessly with the zip on my jacket, a vain attempt to appear calm and in control instead of the frightened little girl I feel like. As the figure gets nearer it becomes a man in his mid-forties with familiar brown eyes peering through thick black framed glasses.
“Becky” he almost whispers “is that you?”
“Hi Dad” I croak.
Heads I go through with it, tails I don’t. My eyes lock onto a hard grey pool embedded in the crunchy orange and blue velvet of the seat next to me and I absently start digging the coin under its edges. Heads I go through with it, tails I don’t. But what if it lands the wrong way? As I glance down at it in my hand I realise what I’ve been doing to the old piece of gum and let go of the copper with a shudder of revulsion. The train stops at a brightly lit but deserted station and the two girls make their way off, carefully avoiding eye contact with me as they pass. I’m alone in the carriage as it resumes its journey and the low moaning of the wind squeezing through the poorly sealed windows adds to my sense of isolation. Ignoring the notice politely asking me not to put my feet on the seat I pull my knees up to my chest and hug them tight. As a kid I loved to sit and stare out at the passing scenery but now the darkness outside only reflects back the harshly lit image of me against the gaudy public transport upholstery.
Heads I go through with it, tails I don’t. I bury my face into my knees and, comforted by the rocking, let my mind sink into numbness until with a start I realise that we have stopped and I have no idea how long I have been asleep. Panic starts to rise as I desperately scan the unfamiliar scene outside. Am I here, is this it? Have I gone past already? The drab little station is almost deliberately unhelpful in disclosing its identity and I jump up, heart racing, trying to think. Should I get off? What if I’ve already gone past? What if I get off too early? My head begins to swim and the rising nausea brings the burning taste of bile to back of my throat. Before I have time to make a decision the engine groans and we lurch back into motion. As the train moves off a sign appears from behind a pillar, TOTTON, it announces. I slump with relief and sit back down smiling: one more station to go.
Heads I go through with it, tails I don’t. Ashurst New Forest station is less than ten minutes away and my smile has quickly faded. Am I doing the right thing? What would Mum say? I scrabble amongst the dust bunnies and discarded tickets under my seat urgently looking for the coin I dropped earlier, hand sweeping the grimy floor until I feel the cold metal disc and fish it out. Well, here goes. With a flick I toss the two pence piece into the air and then slap it against the back of my left hand a bit harder than I meant to.
Heads. I go through with it. The train slows as the piercing lights of the station beckon and my stomach starts to churn as I make my way towards the exit. A brief hiss swiftly drowned out by electronic beeping precedes the jerky release of the automatic doors and before I have time to change my mind I step out onto the chilly evening air. Further down the platform a man is helping a woman lift a buggy onto the train while several small children dance around them and I tip-toe a little to try and see around them. I can just make out a shadowy figure standing near the exit barrier, a generic shape bundled up against the cold that immediately starts moving towards me. Unsure of myself I pause and fiddle pointlessly with the zip on my jacket, a vain attempt to appear calm and in control instead of the frightened little girl I feel like. As the figure gets nearer it becomes a man in his mid-forties with familiar brown eyes peering through thick black framed glasses.
“Becky” he almost whispers “is that you?”
“Hi Dad” I croak.
