The cheap Styrofoam rattles
with the hum of the train engine. The
smell of cracked plastic permeates the car.
Warm air emanating from the vents above compels me to loosen my
scarf. The man who sits beside me
attempts to shake the creases from his slacks, fruitless in his struggle for
perfection. His brow is furrowed and I
feel as if this is a permanent feature in his expression. I see the mundane business career taking
another victim right before me, this man’s unhappiness hidden deep within his
frown lines. His worn leather briefcase rests underneath the seat, tossed aside
when he initially sat down in an exhausted huff.
I sip the lukewarm coffee; the
bitterness residing on my taste buds.
The glass window is frosted from the coolness of the outside. All the trees are barren and whiteness
envelopes the earth, blinding and beautiful.
Hidden beyond the foliage are glimpses of homes. Through the bleak trunks and powdered
underbrush an abandoned tire swing flashes in and out of view. Immediately I think back to that fall
afternoon, leaves falling around us in a picturesque way.
My legs soared through the air,
a laugh forever in my smile. You grabbed
the rope and caused the tire to spin to a stop.
Your eyes sparked with eternal youth and a look that was all mine. Time had stood still in those moments, mine
and yours. I had felt alive, felt free;
I paid no attention to the flaws in the world.
“Emma?”
Wrenched back to reality, a
girl looms over the seat in front of me.
Her prim blonde hair is straight and shined. For a moment I am mesmerized with the endless
pattern of checkerboard on her pressed blouse.
This girl reeks of naïve college student and immediately I wish to be
anywhere else.
“Julie.” My voice sounds harsh compared to her cheery
demeanor.
She smiles almost too
brightly. I fight every urge to flinch
and shrink away. “It is you! How have you been?”
“Fine, just fine.” My throat holds a choke from her overpowering
fruity perfume.
Julie seems to take this as an
initiative to launch into “I was just catching the train on my way home for the
weekend. We haven’t seen you around
lately. After sophomore year you kind of
just disappeared. Laurie will be
delighted to hear I saw you.” She
probably would have continued if her stop did not arrive. I watch her bounce off the train onto the
platform and shrink smaller and smaller into the distance.
Freshman year of college, I was
an eighteen year old little nobody sitting in the dorm with three other
girls. We were gabbing about this and
that, little infirmities that are forgotten now. An opened bag of Doritos lie in the center of
our circle while we painted our nails.
The major dilemma at the time was Laurie and her trouble with men. Then it had seemed so important and I had
honestly given it my fullest attention.
Thinking back, it all appears so trivial. Why had I even wasted my time being shallow,
obsessing over the perfect manicure or the looks of a certain guy?
The squeal of children grows in
confidence as three and their mother sit a few rows away, the train jostling
slightly. One is silent, keeping to
himself but the other two are almost out of control. A young boy about the age of six is tugging
the hair of his older sister. She is
under ten and pudgy with a look of distain.
The mother desperately tries to quiet them but that seems only to
amplify their cries. Her weary
expression and slumped posture reveals her defeat though she desperately
attempts to conceal it. I want to get up
from my seat and walk over to her. I
want to offer my coffee for a bit of energy she obviously lacked and a hug that
seems long overdue. But I don’t. I stay where I am, watching another clip of
this reel of a foreign film; a small view of someone else’s struggles and
hardships.
The last encounter with my
parents before I left for college, I had just gotten into another argument with
my father. We would continually butt
heads since he had my whole life planned out for me. I wanted to find myself and his path was not
the road I wished to take. It had been
the last of summer, sweltering heat during the day and the greenest of leaves
prominent on all the New England trees.
“When you live under my roof,
you will live under my rules.” The vein
in his forehead began to throb.
“Your rules? Dad, when are you even home to make those
rules? You are full of hypocrisy. I am leaving.
I am eighteen−a legal adult and I am fully capable of making my own
decisions. I will go to the school of my
choice and major in whatever I come to love.
I will not become your puppet and have no mind of my own.” My body was shaking in defiance and tears
welled in my eyes.
My father, the very
advertisement of corporate, sat silently in his over-stuffed armchair with his
legs crossed in a position of complete and utter poise. His hands folded in his lap; he let out a
patronizing sigh. “Then you may not be
part of this family.” I physically felt
my face drop with defeat as he issued his cold decision. Without another word I walked out of that
house and closed the door, never looking back.
The train jolted on the tracks
making my coffee spill onto my lap. Luckily
it is cooled quite a bit so I am not burned, just stained with
imperfection. Wiping myself quickly I
know that my stop is approaching fast and I gather my bags. The man next to me appears annoyed that I
jostled his serene train ride, tripping over him to get to the aisle.
Adjusting the gloves on my
chilled fingers, a cool air hits my face as I step off the train and onto the
wooden platform. Winter is in its full
form, covering everything in sight. I
close my eyes and take a deep, long overdue breath, taking in the crisp air
that travels down my throat and resides in my heart. When I open again, there they are, standing
not twenty feet away smiling small but proud; my parents. A sob catches in my throat as I carefully
make my way to them, a little smile playing upon my lips.
And then they part. Their figures move aside to reveal something
that instantly brings tears to my eyes.
You are standing there, quiet as a mouse and as handsome as ever. In your uniform and short hair I see the man
you have become; you stand with complete confidence, life in this dead
winter.
I let all the things in my
grasp drop instantly, rushing to your open arms. Once there, I feel at home and all my senses
come together. Life is not about having
specific moments but how you make the most of them. It should not be wasted with petty worries or
even a battle fought without words or arms.
This life that I have the privilege of living consists of people who are
trying to make the most of the world too.
And it is in this moment, as I hug you ferociously, that I see over your
shoulder a tiny patch of grass peeking through the snow and a single violet
flower rising early against all the odds of winter to look upon the sun.
