A Good Man - Jeff Thomas

As the train pulled out of the station, the rhythmic tempo of clicking wheels on tracks steadily increased. In one of the passenger cars, Frank Morgan sat comfortably in his seat, staring out of the window at the houses passing by. The train was still going slowly enough that he was allowed time to ponder briefly each house and its imaginary inhabitants, chiefly wondering how in god’s name they’d found themselves living so close to the railroad tracks. The thought depressed him immensely. He turned from the window to the book on his lap. He hadn’t felt like reading, but now he needed a distraction. He looked about at the passengers surrounding him; the car was almost full, but nearly silent. No one held his attention. When finally he was about to pick up the book, a woman, struggling, opened the door to the car. A clatterous whoosh filled the compartment but slowly faded when she released the door. She walked briskly down the aisle, carrying a small overnight bag in her hand. When she inevitably sat down next to him, he smiled and nodded. Frank was a reflexively polite man. He even theatrically adjusted his body to give the impression that he was making room for her. What a good guy he was to give up space, however imaginary, to a stranger to allow her to feel more comfortable. He felt elated by behaving with the utmost thoughtfulness in the situation. In fact he felt so proud of himself that he could hardly stand it. The woman didn’t appear to notice. He took a longer, sidelong glance to see if she appreciated his efforts. It was clear she did not. Frank fumed. Of all the nerve! And so, in a series of loud movements he quickly expanded himself to take as much room as possible. He opened his legs to a wide stance, broadened his shoulders, pulled down the armrest between them and took up the whole thing with his left arm. We’ll see how she likes that, he thought. He looked over. She didn’t seem to notice.