The Green Ocean

The train whistle echoes off the concrete walls of the station, announcing it prepares to depart. My lungs burn and my feet ache inside my heels. With my bag in hand, I race to the nearest open door to board. Somehow, I managed to slip through the doors as they shut behind me.

“Your ticket, ma’am?” A lengthy man asked with an outreached hand. I hand it over and he directs me to my seat.

The train is at maximum capacity this morning. Passengers fill every seat and the car roars with conversation and laughter. Annoyed, I put in my headphones and attempt to drown out the noise.

My coffee burns the tip of my tongue as I take the first sip. After removing my laptop from its case, I begin to type. Clacking away at the keyboard, I stress knowing it is only a matter of time before the train arrives and I will have to deliver my presentation. As a new author, I never would have expected my first novel to make The New York Times Best Seller list. Now I must go before a crowd of fans and other professionals to explain to them how I got here. Storytelling is my strong suit, but telling my story is not.

About an hour into the ride, an announcement informed us we are going to have to stop at the next station. Due to the number of passengers on the train, some people are going to have to deboard. Suddenly, the passenger car erupted with colorful words. I watch as panicked faces surround the only employee in sight. Our ride is a total of three hours and we are not even halfway to our destination.

“Anyone who volunteers to deboard will get a full refund. You will also be put onto the next train to your destination at no cost to you,” the lengthy man shouted.

The car was silent for a couple seconds before a man in the back shouted, “I don’t care about the money, I need to get to my meeting on time!” The car roared back to life.

The money was no issue to me either because I did not pay for this. I knew I had to be there on time but some of these people appeared genuinely concerned. Cooperate America has always been the same, they never care about the little guy. If people like that man do not make it to their meetings, their careers would be on the line. Fortunately, I no longer live that lifestyle.

“I volunteer as tribute,” I say as I raise my hand. I chuckle to myself for quoting one of my favorite fiction series. No one else seemed to get it or find it comical.

“Thank you, ma’am. If you wouldn’t mind coming up here to give me your information, I will get you set up for the next train out,” the lengthy man smiled. “That is all I need for volunteers, folks. If you did not volunteer, please stay boarded when the train stops.”

“What’s the name on the ticket?” He asks as I approach.

“Fauna Green.”

“Hey, aren’t you that famous writer?” He recognized me.

“I wouldn’t consider myself famous quite yet, but yes I am a writer,” I blush feeling flattered. This is the first time someone has recognized me as a professional writer.

“Would you mind if I got a picture with you?” He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. I nod and turn to face the same direction a s him.

Click. Just like that, I have taken my first photo with a fan.

* * * * *

The weight of my body pulls me forward in my seat as the momentum of the train starts to slow. I close the lid of my laptop and slide it back into its case, my headphones follow it. As I step off onto the train station, I reach for my cell phone and call my agent.

“Hey, so there’s been a slight change of plans,” I begin to explain my current situation to him. I remind him of how I used to stress over attending similar meetings at my previous workplace. I told him how I was confident I could still make it on time, even considering the delay. He showed his confidence in me and informed me that if I were to be late, he would take care of any issues at the event.

The Sun felt warm on my skin as I sat on the train station bench. The breeze carried scents of flowers and pine from the surrounding area. This train station was in the middle of nowhere. All I could hear were the chirping birds in the distance and the wind wisping past my ears. Something gravitated my attention towards a dirt path climbing up the side of a nearby hill. With time to kill, I decided to explore my new environment.

“Note to self, do not wear heels on trails,” I mutter under my breath. I refuse to stop now; my curiosity was getting the best of me. I had to see what was at the top of the hill. I look up to discover the trees slightly swaying from the wind rushing over the hill. The grass matched the rhythm of the wind and created waves, like a green ocean. If I had more time, it would tempt me to stop and lay in it for a while.

Out of breath and sore, I make it to the top of the hill.

I am speechless. The green ocean flows as far as the eye can see, layering all the land in between. More hills round off the land in the distance, some much taller than the one I climbed today. Trees bundled together in patches across the open field, changing color for Spring. Every color complimenting the clear blue sky which blanketed the landscape, as if it were straight from a painting. The wind rushed up the front of the hill, building speed until it pushed through me. The wind threw my hair behind me, joining the same rhythm as the grassy ocean beneath my feet. I stood with open arms and thought of soaring through the sky like a bird. I thought of freedom and felt overwhelming gratitude for the life I built for myself. This is what dreams are made of.

I removed my laptop from its case, sat up against a tree, and wrote. I wrote what I was seeing, what I was feeling. I was writing for myself and for moments like this. All the late nights, tears, and rejection were worth it. I achieved my ultimate goal, peaceful happiness.