Empty Chair

I was coming home from TAFE* on the usual route 52 Eaglehawk bus I take. When it stopped at the hospital, an overweight lady with black hair boarded and walked towards me. I didn’t expect her to take the seat besides me; there were other unoccupied chairs, but whatever, she plonked herself alongside me.

(*Technical and Further Education, an institution you can enter in Australia after high school.)

She immediately initiated a conversation. I found this odd, as I’d never seen this lady before. She asked me what I’d been up to today? I just told her I was coming home from TAFE. She then went on, telling me her friends wanted her to get a job.

TAFE can help you find work, I told her. My brother completed a course and from there was able to find work.

I wasn’t sure if she listened to me as she then went on a tangent about struggling to quit smoking. Her breath did smell quite strongly of cigarettes.

She was pretty honest about herself. She told me she doubted she had the necessary skills to enter the workforce. And she had no qualifications or a resume to offer anyone. I could relate to her on that score.

I asked if she’d been to Matchworks. There was a branch right here in Bendigo. She hadn’t, and wasn’t even aware Matchworks was here.

It was around this time that she reached her stop. She said see ya later, like we were good friends, and disappeared from the bus.

*

The following morning, I left early for TAFE, which began at 9am.

I was surprised to see that lady from yesterday board the bus once more, again around the hospital spot. She gave a wave of recognition to me, and stood at the front of the bus as there were no seats remaining.

I could hear voices muttering behind me.

“Check that out.”

“Wide load incoming.”

A series of disparaging remarks issued forth as the bus continued its journey towards the CBD. Before getting off the bus I turned around and emptied my bottle of water down the back of the shirt of one of the offenders. “What the-” he cried out.

My heart thundered as I left the bus.

“What was that all about, huh?” It was the young guy I’d emptied the water down his shirt. I’d say maybe 18, 19 years old. I just stood there silently. I really wasn’t sure what to say. People were beginning to stare. I didn’t want to make anymore of a scene.

The youths seemed unsure what to make of me. Eventually they left. I wasn’t surprised. My eyes have kind of an intense look about them and tend to freak people out.

The woman I’d seen once more on the bus had long since vanished. Trying my best to recompose myself, I headed towards TAFE for another day.

*

The following week I had an appointment at the Bendigo hospital. It was for an infusion of steroids that was meant to stabilise the performance of my lungs. Almost 12 years ago now, I’d had a double lung transplant. Normally I’d take the train down to Melbourne to have the procedure performed, but recently they got everything set up here, so now I don’t have to travel so far.

All I have to do is sit back in a chair for three hours, which is about as tiresome as you’d expect. I do bring along my tablet to keep myself occupied, but unfortunately the hospital has no WiFi. That’s the case with all the hospitals I’ve been to. What’s the deal with that?

For some reason they set up the infusion inside the cancer ward. Well, all the cancer patients are situated to the left, as I receive the infusion. The first time I learned I was going here, I was alarmed; had they picked up something serious in one of my blood samples? Fortunately, they hadn’t.

When the three hours have elapsed, the nurse Wendy removes the canulla from my right hand and tells me I’m free to go. I thank her and wearily make my way towards the front entrance of the hospital.

I’m so tired, I decide to just call for a taxi. As I’m waiting, I catch a glimpse of the overweight lady with black hair. She notices me and walks over.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she says.

“Yes, fancy that,” I say.

Silence.

“What brings you here?” she finally asks.

“I needed an infusion of steroids, to help my lungs. I had a lung transplant a while ago, you see.”

“I see…”

She seems lost in thought, and isn’t the same free speaking type I first met back on the bus that day.

“Are you OK?”

At this point my taxi pulls up. The woman is looking hesitant, looking desperate to say something, and yet something powerful was holding her back.

Just as I was leaving, she slipped a note into my hands. It was her phone number.

She looked down and bit her lip, then headed towards the hospital.

I got into the taxi and told the driver the address of my home.