Smell the Roses

The trees were speeding by almost too quickly to see – a blur of every shade of green you can imagine painted the large observation windows like a living painting. And yet, on a train filled with people, it seemed that no one seemed particularly interested in noticing. 

“Mom!” A few rows behind, a child whined and kicked at the back of the chair before him. It rattled loudly, causing his mother to wince. “I’m bored… are we there yet?”

Across the aisle, a man in a tightly-tailored suit rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his phone. “No, Bill, it’s just some kid. I told you, I’ll call you once we reach Seattle.”

“Ugh, this totally blows.” A teenage girl with spiky hair slumped back in her seat, crossing her arms with a heavy pout. “Next time, we should just fly there, it would be way quicker.”

“Attention!” The overhead display suddenly lit up a bright, unmissable blue as the tinny voice of their conductor rang through the packed car. “All passengers, please be advised that we will be experiencing a brief delay. A herd of bison is currently blocking the tracks, but we’ll be in motion as soon as we safely can.”

The train began to slow to a stop. Several people audibly groaned. 

Pulling her earbuds from her ears, a young woman murmured bitterly to herself, “That’s Montana for you.” However, when the passenger beside her didn’t stir, didn’t so much as turn from her spot at the window, her brow furrowed. “Excuse me, ma’am, but are you alright?”

“It’s so beautiful,” the passenger breathed, her aged voice filled with adoration. 

The young woman eyed the window warily. Spring had just barely broken, so the majority of their view was stagnant water and that faded, far off mountain. Only a few trees had begun growing their leaves back, and the grass was still wet with little patches of snow. Even the clouds served to dull the scenery, casting a grey shadow over the landscape. “I’m… I’m sorry?”

The passenger turned and met her gaze with bright, shining eyes that wrinkled in the corners. Her skin sagged and drooped, weighed down by time itself, yet seemed almost lifted with her infinite joy. “Nine decades I’ve been on this earth, and I’ve never seen anything like it.” She sighed contentedly. “Can you believe that?”

The young woman snuck another glance out the window. An almost cynical look of disbelief colored her features. “You’ve never seen a mountain before?”

The passenger shook her head, smiling a bittersweet smile. The endless ridges on her hands seemed to line up perfectly with the design on her bag as she gripped its handles. “Not a lot of mountains out in the Chicago suburbs, I’m afraid.”

“Chicago!” The young woman’s eyes lit up. “I’ve always wanted to visit. Oh, is it as wonderful as everyone says? The bustling, unsleeping city, the twinkling skyline?”

“It’s my home,” the passenger answered. “I met my Walter in Chicago.”

“Walter?” The young woman’s expression softened. “Is that your husband?”

Her smile never dropped, not fully, but a noticeable sadness had crept into the passenger’s eyes. She gripped her bag tighter, like she was afraid it might not be there if she took her eyes off of it for a second. “We always talked about coming out here, Walter and I. He had always dreamed of seeing the Pacific, but then our oldest was born, and he had to start putting more hours in down at the factory, and then…”

The young woman’s eyes darted down to the bag. It was barely visible, only a centimeter or so, but something metallic and shiny was sticking out from the top. Bronze. The zipper strained against the strange object, like it was just barely too big to fit inside. 

The passenger chuckled lightly to herself, her gaze drifting back out the window. “We never could afford two tickets on a train like this, anyway, not on his salary.”

The young woman, suddenly feeling eons more vulnerable than she had when they began, peered over the passenger’s shoulder so that she might share in her view. When she did speak, her voice came out quietly, as quietly as the human voice could go without dropping below a whisper. “Do you really find this beautiful?”

The passenger nodded, sagely. “I do.”

“I’ve… I’ve been here before.” The young woman admitted. “My mom used to take me to Glacier Park all the time. We lived just south of here, in Whitefish, so we would come out here a lot to walk the trails. She always said the mountains blocked the rain from ever falling here.” A strange, unsettled feeling bubbled in her stomach. “I always begged her to go home early.” 

“Young people don’t always stop to smell the roses,” the passenger said, not unkindly. “After all, what is a lake to a fish, or a mountaintop to snow?”

“I…” The young woman trailed off. 

The passenger turned toward her once more. That soft, deeply-etched look of love still lingered on her wrinkled face, but to the young woman’s surprise, even those features seemed sincerely beautiful now. “I didn’t take enough time in my life to appreciate the world around me. Maybe here, at the end of my journey, I can make up for lost time.”

The young woman looked out the window. For the first time that afternoon, the clouds had parted, and the gentle rays of sunshine were shining down on the lake. The water sparkled like woven diamonds. Just beyond the train, in the corner of her vision, two bison took careful steps onto the glittering grass, and the smaller one leaned its entire body down to take a drink from the water, and the young woman noticed. 

“I think I can see it,” the young woman whispered.

Then, both women returned their gaze to the sprawling countryside below, their thoughts united in subtle appreciation, and the train began to move.