Final Departure

I was waiting for a train. It was morning when I arrived, and I haven't kept track of time since. My bright red suitcase was always visible from the corner of my eye no matter where I turned, and I turned a lot. The bench wasn’t as comfortable as when I first sat on it, and it wasn’t very comfortable even then. Another train passed me by. I’d lost count. I hadn’t been keeping count to begin with. 

A woman sat beside me and moved her stroller near my suitcase. They bumped into each other and I heard her mutter a small sorry. Her voice was sweet. Motherly. It made me miss my mom. I pulled my hat down a little. The wind screamed against my body, barely shielded away from it’s harshness. I looked at my old shoes, ratty and uncared for. He would kill me for wearing this out in public. Said everyone would notice. Said it made him look bad. The wind blew again, louder. Angrier. 

I looked up. Another train. 

People came out. Too many.

I found a pair of eyes and immediately looked down at my shoes, tucking them under the bench so they were less visible. God, I stick out like a sore thumb. I pulled my hat down even further. 

The people spread out, walking with purpose, intention, with a place to go home. I pulled my suitcase closer to me. Maybe it would hide me with how big it was and how small I felt. I could hear his voice in the back of my head yelling at me to stop being so shy. You're a grown woman. Nobody is looking at you. That's right. Nobody is looking at me.

Except that they are. I can just tell. They’re scrutinizing me. Is it my hair? It's always been kind of frizzy. Untamed. I would brush it but I’m in public right now, and the wind will just mess it up again anyway. There was no point. I thought that but my breathing was becoming more frantic, enough for the mother beside me to stop rocking her stroller and shift her focus to me. 

“Sweetie, are you okay?”

I hadn't looked up to her till now. I still couldn't. 

I'm barely able to nod my head, and then I can't stop. Even when she turns away my head is still slightly bobbing up and down. I am okay. See? You're showing her you're okay. Look at how okay you are.

I should go back. 

This was pointless. Just like everything else I did. How would leaving solve the problem? Would mom even take me in? After I’d stayed with dad for so many years? Would she think all the missed calls were because I didn't want to talk? I did. I did want to talk. I wanted to pick up so many times and tell her I wanted out. I wanted to leave and never ever ever ever ever look back again. Just like he said, she would never let me stay. Not with her new life. Not with her nice, normal friends and family who aren’t messed up like us. He was right. Oh God, he was right all along. 

The next train came. I stood up but didn't get on. I don't know if I was going to leave or stay. It didn't matter because I might leave either way.

No. I should stay. 

Actually, you know what, I should call. 

Maybe hearing her tell me she doesn’t want me will be what it takes to go back. Stay with him. Rot away. It'll be where I belong.

I take out my phone and finally see the time. Five thirty. I dial her number with shaky fingers that feel like they’ll fall off any second. It starts to ring. After the 5th ring she picks up. I bring the phone up to my ear.

“Mom?”

She is silent. My chapped lips part again.

“Mom.”

I hear her voice crack into a sob. I say nothing until she regains her composure.

“Are you coming? Please tell me that's why you're calling.” Her voice is crackling like pop rocks. I hate that. I almost hang up.

“Mom, I'm coming over.” She sobs again. “Mom. Mom, is that okay?” 

She sniffles and sputters out multiple yes’s and okay’s and says, “It'll all be okay. I’m here, I'll be waiting. Please come home soon.”

I give a simple OK and hang up, hand barely gripping onto the phone.

I wanted to break down and die.

The voice was a loud headache, pounding on my skull, grating my ears. He wasn't here but I could hear him, demanding I go back, demanding I take back what I said and never speak to her again. I sat down on the bench, visibly shaking, my grip on the handle of my suitcase and phone. I was sweating in all the wrong places but my eyes were as dry as my lips. 

I waited for the next train in silence, repeating the phone call and her voice in my head over and over and over again. She sounded a little older now. She sounded better. The same couldn't be said for me. I knew the mother to my left was looking over at me, but I ignored it. You're okay, you're fine. You didn't do anything conspicuous. You are unnoticable, like a speck of dust. A grain of an old memory. Nobody here will even remember the sound of your monotonous voice over the phone. 

I hear the next train coming. 

I sit still, like a deer caught in headlights, like a squirrel about to become roadkill. It's darker now, the sun beginning to set. The orange of the sky falls on me just like it does everyone else. I look down to my shoes. The murmurs of people around me move towards the train, and I hear the mother beside me stand up, ground scraping beneath her feet. She moves towards the train with her stroller, and for the first time I look up at her. Her back is turned and growing further away, urging me to get up and walk towards her.

I stop in front of the entry, feeling eyes on me. I don't pull my hat down, even though I want to. The time is six thirty. My mother's voice telling me to come home soon echoes against my skull, gently, gently. Almost like a lullaby I forgot. I hear the mother's soft voice, and when I look up I see her eyes, big, gentle, almost comforting. 

"Are you getting on, sweetie?"

I'm still standing right outside the entry, sticking out like a sore thumb. The voices repeat in my head. Come back, come home. Stay or leave. Neither of them were actually there, but she was. Her voice was real. She wasn't beckoning me to come but she wasn't telling me to go either. I look behind me, lamp lights and sunset being the only things left to illuminate the darkness. I ignore the eyes, ignore the voices.

I am here, I am present. 

And I am going home.