Her sweet embrace is like the last thing I'd ever see of her. It leaves this ghostly feeling, of a warm palm on my back as I jump into the cherry red train, and grip the handle on the side for my life. I feel my skin tingle as I leave the misty cloudy air.
I'd walked into the coffee shop; gotten a latte like most people do. It was a bright day; the sun was shining with a September laziness. And then my brain just stopped going through its monotonous cycle. It was a break from reality. Her boots were worn, they were hatched on to tight, acid-washed jeans that were tucked over her bright orange shirt. Her skin was warm and radiated like a March sun. Her eyes were knowing and doing; they were like the little clovers that popped out of the ground when Spring was coming to town. I smiled at her; my smile wasn't even worth mentioning. My smile was hesitant, 'should I show my teeth or should I not' smile. But hers was like a glimpse of heaven; and it was angelic.
"Hello," I said, looking over at her. She was far away, very far, on one of the corner tables. She smiled back, but that smile was probably the thing that gave me this one-of-a-kind feeling that refused to leave my soul.
I peek, through a smoggy window. Then, straighten my hair; the wind is bracingly quick on the train and I continue to wave with all my might. My hand will probably be sore the next morning.
She waves and I stare at her shiny green eyes that are collecting with droplets.
"Goodbye!" I yell; trying to keep my voice smooth, but it cracks towards the end.
I walked out of the shop; holding my last latte. I really had to spend all this money to feel normal. But feeling normal wasn't real. I through the half-finished latte into the trash which lined the side of the shop.
I saw as she watched me through the frosted-over window; which was starting to melt. I didn't want to smile. I looked away.
"What would you like to have ma'am?" a man asks; holding a large cart filled with thick-breaded sandwiches and ripe apples.
I shake my head; feeling the emptiness in my pocket. I finally grasp on a coin. I pull it out; it's a small rusty penny.
I sat against a wall; it's crooked bricks hurt my back. A cloth is draped over me; it's torn. I shivered as snow collected on my ripped shoes; the water soaked into my toes. I flipped through the pages; some were torn out but it was good enough. I managed to steal it from the library. The front was velvety; "Alice in the Wonderland". It's a kid's read, but I still enjoyed it. A rumble sounded from my stomach, I walked down to the meat shop; eyeing cooked meat. I looked; left then right.
I reached my hand to grab the meat; ready to sprint when I heard a grumbly voice.
"Nuh-uh. Not so fast. Get yer hands off." I looked at the man; he's bald and his eyes are little half-moons dotted with lined of dark brown.
I backed away; ready to turn back to my spot; when I saw her again. Her hair was tied up and finished with a pearly clip. She was dressed in a cozy wool jacket; my teeth clattered. She handed the bald man her money and picked up a large piece of medium-rare meat.
Then she walked over to me. I froze. Why was she coming?
"Here. Take it." she handed over the meat into my muddy hands, every part of her smiling.
First I refused to take it from her bright, spotless hands. My stomach growled. Then, I surrendered and took the meat whole-heartedly.
"Thank you." I smiled at her. And then I turned my back.
"It's Kesha, by the way," she said as I walk back to my pike of soaked blankets.
She fades away as the man walks away with his food cart. All I see is cement walls flying past through the small glass window.
I pick out a small, grey, thin picture. She's in it. Both of us; my hands wrapped around her shoulder. Her hands wrapped around mine. Both of our eyes are twinking with happiness, my fiery red hair is brushing against her glowing cheek; her hair is tied into a sleek braid.
A small tear dampens the page, I can't look. I picture her waving, she's so far. My tears become a waterfall.
I walked into a small apartment. The bed was firm as brick and there was a small, little telephone sitting in the bedside table. The carpet was stained. I cringed. It was pretty good for my job; after I finished my victory jump on the bed. I walked over to the phone. My hand reached it, then fell back. My hands finally held onto the phone and my other slid down to the numbers. The meat had come with a slip of paper; her number.
I dialled the numbers and waited as the phone ringed. It stopped; I slid the phone to my ear.
"Hello," I said.
"Good Morning," she said with a short laugh afterwards.
"You are Kesha, correct," I said, trying to sound formal.
"Yes, I am. I never got your name."
"Oh, It's Samantha. Call me Sam."
"I'd like to thank you for the meat. And in return, would-would you like to visit my house one day, for tea."
"Sure thing-that sounds great." I could almost picture her, marking the date on her calendar.
"It's not much, my home."
"What do you mean by 'much'."
"Well-umm-never mind. I'll see you then."
She hung up and I smiled, stuffing the slip back into my pocket.
I leave my seat, pick up my rag of a handbag and start to pace the aisle. I find the telephone; it is hidden behind a few coat hangers.
I type her number.
"Kesha. I am coming back."
I don't wait to hear her answer. She will probably tell me to stay. I don't want to.
I yell stop and fly off the train.