Rues of Roo

You open the door to your office and that wintry blast hits your face. It’s a shock to your system but you take comfort in lowering your face and pulling your scarf up, the breath of your mouth steaming up your glasses. The sun has long gone, though there is a tinge of azzure in the sky, a remnant of daylight that you never saw. You push your hands further into your pockets and look to your left, and to your right, the rain stricken pavements nearly deserted.

You walk towards the station, every step a sloshy mess on the dirty pavestones. You can see the rain sifting down, glittering in the orange sodium of the streetlamps above. Like the long grass on a breezy day you see every gust of wind shaping the mist of rain. You tug closer at your hood to try and prevent little nips of cold air from biting your neck.

The glowing fluorescence of the tube station beckons in front and you’re relieved to be able to raise your head and expose your face to dry air as you step inside. You fumble for your travelcard, it’s somewhere in one of your coat pockets, and the familiar clatter of the station gates follow as you step through and descend the innocuous escalators that murmur underneath.

There’s hardly a soul on the platform and you walk the stretch, twice, every so often glancing up at the orange led lights that signal the end of your wait. 3 mins. 2 mins. And the longest 1 min of your life.

The train screeches to a halt and there are seats to sit on. They’re filthy but you really couldn’t care less, you can see the mark of thousands of previous passengers’ bodies on the checkered orange and brown felt and nonchalantly sit down, and fall asleep.

Awakened by the constant halting of the train at every station you finally hear the name of your destination announced from the personal, warm voice of that lady. You wonder what she must be like in real life, but it’s something you always think about when you step on the tube and instantly forget about her as you try to mind the gap.

The escalators rise upwards, heavenward, and you ponder a moment to whether you have the energy to walk them. The familiar clatter of the station gates open as you step through and that cold blast of wind hits your face once more as you step out of the station. The streets are even more deserted now and you cannot help but feel slightly paranoid at the drunk that is trudging his way past you or the stranger who is walking at pace behind you. Regardless, you wrap your scarf tightly round your neck, brace the wind, and make your way towards your destination.

The rain is still sifting steadily down, but the sky is now black, though if you look carefully it’s more of a morbid orange glow from all the city lights. The lone siren from an ambulance, or is it a police car, can be heard in the distance. You know it’s a cliché but you cannot ignore it. Your shoes are wet now, but you hope the rain doesn’t seep through to your socks. It seems like an age, but finally you reach your destination. You can’t even remember the flat number so you call your friend. You open the door to the main lobby, and press for the lift. The lift doors open with a purpose and you step in, removing your scarf and hood as you do so. It’s warm, and your fingers are numb. But already you feel your heart beating faster, and you can already feel your mouth curling into a smile at the thought of who you will see.

The lift jerks to a halt and you step out, turn left, and down the corridor. An eery silence and the flickering of the ceiling lights does nothing to err your mood, and as you push open the corridor doors you can hear something, louder, and louder, until finally you can smell something too. It’s turkey, or is it the stuffing. Well, it’s something, and you can hear the noise too. Rowdy, laughter, some familiar voices talking too loudly, and it’s all emanating from one unit. You pause outside the flat and then you knock on the door. It opens almost immediately. You are welcomed with open arms, smiles, and they all shout “Merry Christmas!” to you. A glass passed to you. A sigh of relief as you remove your shoes and throw your coat on the hanger. An empty space on the couch. A sip of warm mulled wine. Friends.

Home.