Month: October 2015

Going Home

The train stretches out on the tracks along platforms twenty-four and twenty-five, long and slender, its green paint gleaming proudly under the sun. Though it isn’t due for departure until 5:53 PM, there is an air of unrest, as if the engine will come roaring to life at any second; blowing steam from its nostrils like a red-eyed bull, hooves flinging back dirt, horns aiming, aiming, charge.

I scan the first level of the train, craning my neck to see if somehow, miraculously, a single seat has survived the flood of frazzled men and women, retiring from a long day of mundane procedures. They have discarded themselves throughout the train, cheeks against windows and backs against doors; their auras, once radiant, hanging like rusty halos above their heads. I stand by the stairs, eyeing the carpet, watching the blues and greys come twisting to life. I blink, hard. The colours fall limp.

The wheels groan to life, kissing the tracks with blistered lips. Music limps reluctantly out of my earbuds. I close my eyes, time to dream.

Everything is heavy.

Mornings were different; time stretched out like cotton sheets, warm coffee washed over tired hearts, cold wind reached from the vents, licking greedily at our heels. The sun peaked out from beneath its covers, we woke with the light; it closed its sleepy eyes, our shoulders slumped back down.

Mornings were mirages spun from smoke and dust. Mornings yawned, tugging the threads of our wool hearts, come back to bed.

I stared out the window, past the thin veil of grime, watched the trees blur.

Music drowned out a few stray thoughts, soft disco lights, turning the mist in my mind from pink to blue then back to pink, time to dream.

Everything was light.

Booklets lined with yellow post-its are stuffed back into leather briefcases, pages creasing as they go under. Feet shuffle, they file out by twos and threes, eager for a shot of fresh air.

The sun falls in slow motion.

Tossing my belongings to the side, I slump gratefully onto the cushioned seat. One elbow propped on the yellowing plastic armrest, I stare out the window. Watch the trees blur.

My eyelids fall with the sun.

Everything is heavy.