The decision that matters

The Eurostar left Rome Termini fifteen minutes late. Considering the weather, the elderly  lady was thanking God that the train finally started. Her daughter who had come to see off her parents, had a face with anxiety written all over it, in bold letters . The weather had changed for a sunny bit. The sun was out and so too the sun glasses. It was just a tad better than the previous days. The general traffic remained disrupted and forty minutes into the journey, it was more than evident. The whole land was covered with snow. The countryside, the rooftops and the whole landscape had forgotten the existence of other colours in the palette other than snowwhite. The newly wedded couple from Asia was rewarded with this scenario,eventhough many would have counselled against their travel in this trying weather. The Chinese youngster was lapping up images for posterity and his digital camera was suffering. I slowly nodded off, knowing well that despite its freshness, the snow is an occupational hazard.

Strangely the train arrived in Padova in  time. I remembered the journey I made last year, into the same destination and how things were different. I had another ninety minutes before I could catch  the next train. The temperature was neither positive or negative; it stood dead at zero and it was freezing. My panini-sandwich lunch took just ten minutes and I had a good eighty minutes to struggle with. It was biting cold and I had no other place to visit. The station was painfully cold and my best refuge was the shopping centre with heating. I had nothing to buy, but I found myself in the shopping centre inspecting all sorts of vegetables and goodies. Soon enough, I got bored, picked up two bottles of water and was at the payment desk. A queue had formed and a new counter was opened up. I was patience personified and let others pass before me. I had all the time in the world. The queue, 'fila Indiana,' however was not moving up. There was a youngster with a packet- the ubiquitous potato chip packet- at the other end of the line. He was  rummaging through his pockets for money. Finding none he took off his half gloves, started searching again in vain. The lady at the desk was getting impatient and was all gestures, of course, the Italian way. He gave up his search and headed towards the door. I was almost sure that he would produce some money from his pocket. When he paced forward, I knew that words, that I would pay, did not come out from my mouth. After all it was a small packet of potato chips. I saw him walking way, keeping a hand to his stomach. My heart sank. I had to spent a couple of minutes to pay my bill. I charged outside.  He had headed towards the main entrance. Among the Sunday crowd I started to scan his face. It was then it dawned on me the worth of the milli seconds I had wasted to say a few words, which would have made a difference to him. The bitter cold had only increased and I walked up and down the station in vain hope that I could revert my earlier decision. I was freezing up, but I continued to search him in the book stall, in the bar-coffee shop, among the gypsies who were stationed at the door. I walked aimlessly with a glimmer of hope that he would reappear. But I had lost him.

I was touching close to respond, but something prevented me from responding. The sight of this youngster walking away did pain me. I could have done it. But he was gone. Decisions do matter, you have only milliseconds to make a difference.