The color of a queen

I plop myself down on the cold, hard seat. I breathe in the smell of the train. Smoke -weed, if we’re being technical- and urine. It was a familiar smell. A smell which my nose had already grown to be acquainted with. I don’t put my headphones on. Instead, I just stare straight ahead and listen to the silence that seems to be defining. I take a long, deep breath and smile to myself. The smile falls immediately. I try again, this time with my head held up a little higher and my shoulders a little straighter. Princesses always smile and never slouch. A voice from the back of my head says. It takes everything in my power not to punch myself in the face. Instead, I close my eyes and rest my head against the window that was behind my seat. “Hi, nana,” I whisper back to the voice. I feel the edges of my lips twitch. I stay like that for a moment, waiting for a response. There isn’t one, as usual, so I open my eyes and continue my staring match with the seat across from me. I break it off when my boredom gets the best of me. 

Since there is really nothing better to do, I reach into my pocket and pull out a pocket knife. I stare down at it, and for the first time tonight, a real smile appears on my face. I pull out the knife part and run the blade over my palm lightly. It tickles so I giggle. I press a little harder until a gash opens. I watch as the ruby-red blood oozes out. The color of a queen is what Nana had always called it. I swirl the blood around my palm with a finger. As always, It’s warm and thick. I let my eyes rest as I breathe in my blood’s sweet, iron-like smell. 

From somewhere on the train I hear a cough. I open my eyes and look over. A woman is sitting a few feet away, a child on her lap. The baby is drooling while his mother looks at me with an odd yet familiar expression on her face. It’s the same look almost every stranger gives me when they see me. I don’t quite understand why, but I think it’s funny. It’s like everyone is in on a joke except me. That’d be fun, wouldn’t it? 

I look back at the child and smile. He smiles back. The woman, though, isn’t smiling. In fact, she’s scowling and as soon as the train pulls up to its next stop, she holds her baby tight and hurries off. I wonder where she’s rushing off to? It couldn’t possibly be off to a meeting. I mean, she has her baby with her. An image of a board room with a baby in a suit sitting in one of the big leathered chairs pops into my head. I laugh because it’s a funny thought. No baby should have to wear a suit.

 I’m about to close my eyes again when I see a different woman to my left staring at me. She’s older, much older. Maybe she’s one of Nana’s friends, I think. I look at this lady and smile. She doesn’t scowl like the other woman did. Instead, she looks sad. Why would this sweet looking old lady be sad? I want to ask her but that might be offensive. And if she is friends with Nana, I’d be scolded for it later. “Hello,” I decided to say instead. She cocks her head and looks down at my bloodied hand. “My dear, Are you hurt?” she asks. I like her voice. It’s soft and raspy, just like Nana’s. I shake my head. “No,” is all I say. “But, your hand is bleeding,” she says, while cautiously moving closer to my seat.

“I know,” I say a bit puzzled. Isn’t it obvious that I’m bleeding? Why does she need to tell me that? Then I remember Nana’s eyesight isn’t great. Maybe this lady’s eyes are also starting to fail her. Yes, that must be it. She must be confused. Maybe that’s why she’s sad. I feel bad for her now. 

 “Do you have a phone?” She asks.  “Are you in trouble? Do you need me to call someone for you?” 

I just look at her and blink. Why does she think I’m in any kind of trouble? My head starts to hurt from all this thinking. I don’t know what else to say so I just settle on being polite. Old people love young polite girls. “No thank you, Ma’am, I’m okay. But thank you for your concern,” is all I say with a small smile. I’m really getting tired of this smile. It’s okay, though, because this lady will leave me alone and I won’t have to keep it on much longer. But she doesn’t leave. She just sits there and watches me. Poor old lady, she must be. Her eyesight must really be declining. She probably doesn’t even realize she’s staring at me. I imagine her accidentally mistaking her cat for a rag and her only realizing her mistake when the cat scratches her for wiping the wall down with it. I laugh at the funny thought.  I try to stop but I can’t. The more I think about it the more I laugh. When my eyes meet the lady’s again I see something I didn’t see before. It makes me stop laughing. Why does she look scared? 

“There is something wrong with you, child.” When she says this, my earlier smile is gone and is replaced with a blank look. Why would she say such a thing? I sit up straighter and I shake my head. “No there isn’t,” I say. 

The lady just stares at me so I continue. “We are all created differently. Just because I’m different from you doesn’t mean there is something wrong with me.” For some reason, my hands begin to shake. I look down at them and shrug. They do this from time to time. I look back up at the lady. She is now seated a little further down than from where she first was. 

Just like my bloodied hands, the lady’s voice begins to shake. “You’re a crazy girl.”

When she says this, a real smile forms on my face. I know which smile it is. It’s Nana’s favorite. The one she says is fit for a throne. I turn to face the wall in front of me as I sit up higher and raise my shoulders. I cross my legs and lay my hands, gloved with blood, gently down on my lap. “No, I’m not,” I say softly as I feel the warmth of my blood drip down my bare legs. I think of Nana and how proud she'd be. “I’m nothing but a princess.”