by Mitzi Danielsonkaslik
cold tea
The sound of hurried talking emanated all around as the locomotive
screeched to a halt beside the cold grey stone of Platform Three. I gazed at the
people, some hand in hand, just what I’m going through, they can’t understand,
what happens now? I can’t remember what to do next. What do normal people do
next? I waited. A smartly uniformed guard trotted along the edge of the platform
and opened the heavy blue glossed doors with huge brazen handles which flashed
in the vicious bright sunlight and waved his hand welcomingly. The happy people
in bright clothes with big suitcases interjected his action with a smile and
clambered aboard the train.
Now I had an
action to perform, I too hurried aboard the train via the little silvery scuffed
step dragging my old battered suitcase behind me. All I had in the world was in
the bag. Everyone’s bags were bigger than mine and I could only assume they were
only going on holiday. Finally, managing to move my suitcase aboard, I followed
it and entered the smart, clean carriage before me. Next instruction? The happy
people in bright clothes with big suitcases lifted them and shoved them
unceremoniously into the huge metallic racks above the crowds. Was that safe?
Too many bags and that rack would collapse, not that I could get my case up
there anyway, I haven’t had to lift anything in as long as I could remember, I
wouldn’t have the strength to perform the task. What to do now? I waited. A
young gentleman approached me a few seconds later and asked if I needed any
help. I simply smiled at him. He happily launched my suitcase up overhead and
hopped away back to a young woman who looked rather taken aback at his helping
me. She was dressed much differently to me in bright shades of rose red and
blushing pink with dashes of white here and there, while I was clad in a grey
knee length dress with a sort of matching throw over the shoulders. It was odd.
The young gentlemen and the young women took seats at the front of the carriage.
I had my next plan of attack: find a seat and sit down. I sat on a navy-blue
velveteen scuffed seat just beneath my suitcase where there was no one
else.
That was
scary. At least I’m okay now. The deafening sun grew lower in the sky as its
shade changed to a deep amber with blueish notes running as rivers through the
air and began to blind me. I’m not accustomed to such brightness. As I closed my
eyes to shield them, one thought remained in my mind. Him. How he formed his
letters. The strange words he used that id never heard before. I remember his
smile. It can’t have changed that much in a year, can it? I wonder if I’ve
changed. I can’t remember much of what happened before. Only his smile. Not even
the sound of my own voice really, I’d learnt to hear it inside my own head. His
voice was there too. It was as if he’d grown as I had over the time we were
apart. He was a part of me. I hoped had remembered my voice so he could remind
me how to sound that way. Not long now. I’ve waited this long, I can wait until
this train pulls in. I shan’t get bored. I’ve spent a year with nothing by my
mind, his voice and our letters to keep me sane. They thought I was insane, but
I ask you, could an insane person write a letter everyday and find a way to get
it into the mail and equally find a way of receiving one every night? No. I
didn’t think so. To pass the time, I reached into my pocket, took out a little
black notebook and pencil and began to write him a letter. For old times’ sake.
My last letter. I promise myself. Wait. I should try speaking. How? What to say?
What if I can’t? No. None of that matters now. I left that behind. I looked out
of the window for inspiration but was met with my own reflection. My eyes caught
his. Of course, there’s only one thing to say “Oh, how, I love you.”. It came as
a great shock to hear myself to bluntly. So truly. The train picked up speed.
Not long now.
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