As I paid for my usual coffee, Sandra, the ever-cheerful barista, greeted me with her usual smile and wished me a journey that was anything but usual. Her playful comment brought a smile to my face, and I thanked her as I prepared to face the notorious Drammensbanen, a railroad that seemed to be writing its own saga, ‘Commuter’s Hell’.

I stepped onto the platform, and there she was, the R10 to Lillehammer. Being on time was no reassurance, but at least a welcome surprise.

I found my usual spot in the last car, and at precisely 6:57 AM, the R10 locked its doors and left the station. I sat back, as I always do, and reminisced about the days when trains sounded like trains—the clanking of cars, the steady thuds as the wheels passed over the joints in the rails, the slamming of doors as people moved between cars, and the rattling of overhead compartments.

The modern railway was stripped of all these comforts; there was no adventure left, just car upon car moving people from home to work, from work to home, Monday through Friday. Groups were traveling together, and their conversations were looping by now. Mothers talked to children, waking them up, reminding them to pack their lunch, reminding them to eat, and reminding them to leave for school.

The train slowed down, and anticipation rose. Her seat sat empty today as well, waiting for her. Waiting for me.

At 7:14, the R10 came to a halt at Asker station, and I sat up, feeling the anticipation rise. The doors opened, and there she was, her white blouse, brown skirt, and strict ponytail. She saw me looking at her, smiled, and found her seat. She smiled again before her gaze found something on the horizon outside her window.

I knew she would sit like that for ten minutes until the train entered the tunnel as it exited Skøyen station, her routine as familiar as mine.

She could be in her mid-thirties, perhaps a little younger. Her deep brown eyes never revealed anything but solemn peace, but her lips would occasionally part in a bright smile. She was never on the phone with her children.

When the R10 entered the tunnel, she would stretch her arms above her head, arc her back, and make me smile as her chest strained her blouse. She’d uncross her legs and stare at the headrest before her. When the train stopped at Nationaltheatret station, she’d get up, send me a smile, disembark, and disappear among the hundreds of other commuters going off to live their commuter’s life.

Six minutes later, I left the R10 at the Oslo Sentralstasjon, threw my empty cup in the bin, and escaped among hundreds of fellow commuters.

***

I tapped my card and thanked Sandra as she smilingly offered me a blessed ride to work. The R10 waited in her usual spot. It was a warm summer morning, and the R10 had given up on her air conditioning, but still being early in the morning, she wasn’t threatening to suffocate us.

We were nearly on time as we left Drammen, and, to my delight, her seat sat empty.

As we approached Asker, I stretched my neck to see if I could glimpse her at the platform, but she escaped my eye. And yet, as the doors opened, there she was.

Her eyes didn’t show her usual calm; there was something more profound. Sorrow? Her smile seemed her usual, but instead of finding her spot on the horizon, she leaned back and closed her eyes.

She fiddled nervously with her ponytail and unbuttoned the top button of her blouse. She didn’t stretch as the train entered the tunnel. Instead, she rested her head in her hands. As the train stopped at Nationaltheatret, she got up, looked at me as if to say something, then turned and melted into the crowd.

I nearly forgot to exit at Oslo S, where I tossed my untouched coffee in the trash can.

***

Sandra thanked me and wished me a safe journey into Oslo. My thoughts of her had started long before the train left the station. There were twelve more minutes before she stepped onto the train, making my commute worthwhile and giving yet another day its purpose.

The doors opened, and people entered. A young man sat in her seat. And the train left Asker without her.

I leaned back, feeling betrayed, and knew it would be a long day at work.

***

Sandra’s absence made me hesitant, but I ended up getting my usual cup of coffee. A simple ‘Takk’ and ‘Ha en god dag!’ sent me off to wait for the R10.

We should have been at Asker when the announcement was made that the train would only have five cars instead of the usual ten and that the R10 would soon arrive at the platform. I hustled up to the boarding area, hoping to secure a seat.

Once the train arrived, everyone hustled on board in the same hurry and was equally late for work. I stopped letting the R10 dictate my day and mood long ago. I found a spot, pretty much the same one I always sat in, and texted my manager to tell her I would be late.

As the train left the station, every seat was taken but the one next to me. At the next stop, the train would be practically full.

The R10's air conditioning was every bit as faulty as the day before; today, it was a scorcher, well into the mid-twenties already. I still had to do the math to figure out that meant somewhere in the top seventies back home. By the time we reached Oslo, the train would be an oven.

As we neared Asker, I shifted over, leaving the window seat open, closed my eyes, and feigned my deepest sleep.

I felt the train come to a halt, and I heard the doors open. I listened to the commotion of people entering the train, shuffling to find a seat, and then a gentle touch on my shoulder.

“Er det ledig her?” the voice deep and rich, and almost in a whisper.

I knew it was her by the touch. As I opened my eyes, I stared into hers, brown and sparkling, and her face lit up in a smile.

I smiled back and stood, letting her have the window seat. She thanked me and sat down, her smile still lingering as she gave me a wink, then let her eyes drift through the window at the horizon.

Amid the car’s rising temperature, with stressed commuters sweating, spilled coffee, and half-consumed breakfasts, her scent was an island of refuge. She smelled of summer nights and flower fields as if she were the summer breeze herself.

The train rustled on its busy way, trying to make up lost time, but on the Norwegian railroad, you never catch up once you are delayed.

She brushed the back of her hand over her forehead and undid the top button of her blouse, her eyes never letting go of the horizon. As she put down her hand, it grazed my thigh, then withdrew.

“Beklager,” she said, but her eyes didn’t show remorse.

As the train approached the tunnel, I sighed as I prepared for her exit and stood to give her time and room to get off the crowded train.

“Sitt,” she said, “Jeg skal ikke av riktig ennå.”

I sat back down, and we let Nationaltheatret pass us by.

As the train started climbing up the slope to Oslo S, she grabbed my hand.

“Hva om vi ikke gikk av i dag, men bare satt her til toget stoppet å gå?”

“Sorry,” I said. “My Norwegian isn’t all that great; it starts and ends with ‘Hei’ and ‘Kaffe’; everything else just makes me nod and smile.”

She smiled.

“I said: What if we didn’t get off the train but just sat here until it stopped? A nod and smile would be the perfect reply.”

I sat down and looked at her.

I was still looking when all my fellow commuters hustled for the doors, and I was still sitting as the R10 started rolling towards Lillehammer. The car was almost empty now.

“In ten minutes, we’ll arrive at Lillestrøm,” she said, “and we’ll both be very late for work. What do you do in the big city?”

“Nothing too exciting; I mostly stare at a computer screen and watch code flash before my eyes. I’m Er…”

“Hush, no names!” she abrupted, “It’s better this way.”

Her gaze found her horizon.

“What exactly are you looking for out there?”

She turned to me and smiled, “Simplicity.”

She sighed, and for a small moment, I saw that sadness again.

“Do you remember what life was like before? That grand illusion of growing up. Making your own money, doing exactly what you want to when you want it?”

She looked into my eyes.

“With whom you want?”

Again, her gaze found her window. We sat in silence for a bit until she excused herself.

As the train approached Lillestrøm, the last few passengers in our car readied themselves for their embarkation. The R10 slowed down and started hissing, the unmistakable sound of metal on metal, and finally, the light clunk as she stopped at the station.

A few busy travelers entered. They were a family of five: a father, a mother, two sons, and a daughter. The kids were probably in their early teens. Suitcases upon suitcases, stressed huffs and puffs, constant motherly bickering, followed by dad’s ‘Yes, dear’ and more huffing.

I sent my manager another text telling her something had come up and I couldn’t make it to the office today.

Not until the train started her fourteen-minute stretch to the airport did she return. She didn’t sit beside me but sat further down the car, in a seating bay at the very back. She motioned for me to join her.

Her strict ponytail was gone, and her hair framed her face nicely. I also noticed her blouse was now unbuttoned to the third button.

“This way, we can both gaze at the horizon,” she said, brushing a lock of hair from her eye.

“If you were an animal, which one would you be?” she asked. “A stray dog, perhaps? Or a wolf? But you don’t travel in a pack, do you? There’s no ring on your finger, but that needn’t mean much. There’s none on mine either.”

She sighed.

“And yet, I’ve been claimed and carry the burden of a wife. Do I love him? Yes, but he’s a penguin, dying to hatch the egg, and I’m not sure I want the egg to hatch.”

“I’m more of a stray dog,” I said, “and probably not the one you typically want to adopt. There used to be a girl, but she liked the other dogs better. Sometimes, a penguin isn’t too bad of a catch. And yourself?”

“Do you mean on a regular day or today?” Her voice was now a soft whisper.

“You tell me.”

“Six months ago, I was a swan, or perhaps a penguin. I was content, and life was exactly where I wanted it to be. Then, I got a new job and started commuting on the R10 at 7:09 from Asker station. I saw this stray dog every day in the same seat, and his eyes followed me from the moment I entered the train until I sat down. He made me smile. He awoke the cat inside me and made me want to play. But the dog never played.”

She leaned in and took my hands in hers.

“So, the cat died, eaten by a fox. I started shooting stolen gazes at him, but he always caught me, making me smile each time. When I gazed at the horizon, it was him I started seeing, and out there, he was always playful.”

She leaned in, her breath heavy on my face.

“Today, I have come as a snake, the last temptation of man. Will the dog play?”

A soft chime echoed through the car, followed by the calm, mechanical voice of the conductor. “We’re arriving at Gardermoen, Oslo Airport. Please ensure you have all your belongings before disembarking. We are approximately twelve minutes delayed, and we apologize for any inconvenience. Thank you for traveling with Vy on this beautiful day.”

“Should we get off? And jump on a plane? Any plane!” she teased.

“Where to exactly?” I asked.

“Away,” she replied.

The family of five got up and started making quite the racket, finding the suitcases they had arrived with only thirteen minutes earlier. The mother counted children and tickets, checking passports and suitcases.

“And not end up like them,” she added.

She leaned back, watched the people hurrying through the platform, and wondered what business or pleasure awaited them.

“Does it change anything? That I’m married? Was I ever married in your mind?” she wondered.

“You were neither,” I said, “you just were.”

“How much?”

“From the moment I wake up until I step into the office, then again through the late evenings and nights.”

“You take me with you at night?” she said and smiled.

“Every night,” I truthfully admitted.

“And what do we do all night?”

I want to say the train huffed and puffed as it left the station, but those times are gone, and the R10 continued its soulless journey.

Did I care that she was married? Did it change anything about her? I had been on the verge of marrying Stacy, but fate intervened when I discovered her with a coworker in her car just weeks before the wedding. Packing my bags, I moved into a hotel, and when my company opened a branch in Oslo, it provided the escape I desperately needed. Stacy faded from my life without a trace, apart from the scars.

“We get back at her,” I said.

Her eyes widened slightly, and she leaned in, her voice barely a whisper. “How?”

“We create our own world,” I replied, “where cats, snakes, and dogs don’t dwell on their pasts but forge their own futures, crafting their destinies. A world where trains sound like trains.”

She laughed softly, then took my hand, tracing circles in my palm with her finger. Leaning closer, her lips brushed mine as she murmured, “And in this world, what are we?”

Our foreheads touched, and I closed my eyes, savoring the moment. “Free,” I whispered as her kiss sealed our unspoken pact.

The R10 slowed into Eidsvoll station, and her lips parted from mine as she scanned the horizon, searching for her stray dog.

“I’m right here,” I whispered.

“I know,” she said softly, “but am I? Am I truly?”

A lone tear traced down her cheek, which she caught with a tissue. Her eyes met mine again, filled with uncertainty as she struggled to find the words.

“You’re here, and you’re perfect. I want to be here, but I feel shackled, unable to escape.”

Her gaze drifted back to the window, and I leaned back, captivated by her presence.

Tangen station came and went silently, and we were halfway to Stange before she spoke again.

“I’m here now, and I want to play,” she said assertively. “I didn’t throw my bra and panties in the bin earlier to be shackled by vows I did not understand ten years ago. If I weren’t married, where would you take me?”

“I would take you through this day,” I said.

“And what about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow doesn’t exist in our world,” I whispered.

She spread her legs slightly and pulled her skirt up but left it to my imagination to figure out what hid in the darkness.

“Aren’t you tempted?” she hissed in her best snake voice. “Don’t you want to taste the forbidden fruit?”

The train halted at Hamar station, and she sat up, smoothing out her skirt.

“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.”

“Shakespeare is lost on a stray,” I said.

“Even a stray can be trained. All it takes is love and patience.”

“Love sought is good, but given unsought is better,” I parried.

“That,” she sighed, “makes me horny.”

As the R10 departed Hamar, our seats sat empty. We scuttled between rows of seats to the middle car, ignoring the stares of our co-travelers as we made our way into the tight train washroom.

The remaining buttons of her blouse escaped their loops, and she drowned me in her milky white bosom. She unzipped me and breathed into my neck, “Knull meg, løshund. Knull meg!”

She lifted her leg around me and let me inside her wetness. We clenched our teeth and tried to subdue our panting.

She spun herself around and bent down as she lifted her skirt.

“Knull meg som en tispe, knull meg som den kåte tispa jeg er!”

We both came, and we both whimpered like little girls.

I zipped up my pants as she hurriedly did her blouse buttons, leaving the top three unbuttoned.

We hurried back to our seats in time for Brummunddal station.

She smiled at me, her pinky resting at the corner of her mouth.

“I wonder what the penguin father does, finding his hen full of a stray dog’s sperm?”

“Tomorrow doesn’t exist in our world,” I reminded her.

“Oh, but the penguin might want to inspect his hen tonight. He’s waiting for his egg, remember?”

Yes, the wanting to be father, and husband of my date, desperate to sow his seeds. He might be disappointed to find that his field had already been sown.

“I’m on the pill. Now you know, and he doesn’t. Does that make me a bad person?”

“No,” I said, “that makes you free.”

“Free to do it again?”

“You’re free to pursue what you desire, and I’m willing to engage.”

“Good,” she said and found her horizon again.

We sat silently for almost forty-five minutes, sharing stolen smiles and touches. Just before ten o'clock, as the R10 reached its final destination at Lillehammer, the keen eye could behold the odd couple disembarking: she confident and assertive, him tagging along like a stray dog.

You would have seen them share a meal at a quaint restaurant before they strolled out of the city and into the forest. Holding your breath, you could have observed them making love in the field, not once or twice, but as many times as time would allow them.

At 2:11 pm, the R10 from Lillehammer to Drammen set out on her three-hour journey. We sat in silence until the train slowed down, approaching Asker station.

“Can we stop time?” she asked me.

“Only in our world,” I said, “And our world is ending.”

“Does it have to?”

“All good things must come to an end, I’m afraid.”

“Today was supposed to be my last day at work,” she said. “We’re moving to Bergen tomorrow.”

“My commute will become a poorer one.” My voice was thick with regret.

She kissed me, stood up, then kissed me again.

“Thank you,” she said, pulling her hair up into her ponytail as she exited the train.

Thank you for reading.