Story #9: The Yellow Line
The train’s tootin’ horn woke me up. My book fell out of my hands, sliding in between my boots. As I was wiping down the half-moist drool off my lip, a whiff of bacon entered my nostrils and reminded me what I had eaten the last time I saw her. I looked past the scratched fiberglass of a window. The rain drops holding on for dear life, flying back up into the clouds. The train breaks screeching; my ears itching. We have arrived. The station was bustling with life. It was an early spring morning and shoes clattered on the wet pavement. The station’s diner seats were being filled by soon to be half asleep passengers. Grabbing my suitcase, books and notepads, I managed to set foot on the ground — a bit more alert, I adjusted my glasses. Akin to the landing on the Moon, I felt a cloud of dust behind me. Dust that has some time to settle before my life’s choices will be made. Alas. The scent of her perfume floating together with the bacon, eggs and coffee. She must have been here standing waiting for me; now probably fixing her hair up real nice in the ladies washroom. I fiddled in my pocket to find the lipstick covered letter she had sent just a few months prior. She had included a recent photo. I should have been, then again was not, surprised to find she had changed the color of her hair. A brunette now a reddish brown with curls. Her smile just as infectious; making my heart tingle with a just a tad bit of joy. A tap on my shoulder reminded me I was standing amidst the chaos of commuters. The security guard had directed me to step forward past the yellow line. My heart beating faster with each step toward the diner. Scanning endlessly for a head of curls, I saw what seemed to be her. As I saw the curls in slow motion turning toward me, the blood in my throat began to boil. I couldn’t breathe. My eyes began to shut way behind a cloud of smoke. My thoughts disappearing into a tight soundproof shell that existed in my mind just for these moments. Putting my best foot forward, my notepad fell into a puddle. My hand landed on a taxi door and I crawled inside asking to be driven to the nearest park. The rain started to pour as I saw a silhouette of curls in the back window, trying to wave me down. Mouthing words that were now washing away into the sewers of the street. I will never have known their utterance. A callous on my heart grows daily as a build up of regret slowly kills me. A floating dust particle always surrounds me. We shall have never met again.