Oceans Apart

The drizzle sprinkles across the edge of your umbrella like the graininess of a record player.  The early morning light feels like waking up in a queen sized bed and reaching out, only to find vacant sheets. On the way to the train station, you watch your feet to keep them out of puddles despite the rain boots you adorn. The little pools were to remain undisturbed. They are mirrors that reflect the sky and your passing silhouette, framed by the other passengers arriving to wait. You scan your prepaid train card on the little gate as you make your way through the shiny metal turnstile. There are many people crowded around the seating and vending machines. You claim one of the bucket seats as your own and arrange yourself comfortably. It should be a little while before your train arrives. You become an observer. There are people standing in line with the yellow markings on the ground indicating where the doors will open. Someone sitting next to you is reading a book. You try and see what has their attention, but it's just white pages with unfamiliar black markings that run up and down the pages. The stranger doesn’t notice you and flips the page backward from what you’re used to. You’re startled out of your investigation by the shrill giggles of some high school girls over by the vending machine. They become very animated, but you have no idea what they could be saying, as you do not speak their language. Everyone around you is wearing muted clothing. Their faces are blurred out, just the presence of hands and shiny shoes.

Your trance is broken every few minutes by the sound of the train approaching, doors opening, sudden mechanical rotation of bodies passing in and out, then silence before the murmur of waiting resumes. You know the name of the place you are heading towards, and have repeated it over and over in your head in preparation to take this trip. The anxiety of getting lost in this place tends to make you over-prepared. You even took a screenshot of the name of the location in its traditional symbols in case you are forced into asking for assistance from one of the faceless figures around you. The cadence of the language here is something you decided months ago that you were not confident enough to attempt. In comes another train with more sound, pressure, and passengers. The soft, almost robotic, feminine voice that announces the trains eventually catches your attention with the word you were waiting for. You gather yourself and join the line of strangers.  

Your heart skips a beat as the doors open. Remember to stand aside and allow movement out before flowing back in. A wave on the shoreline. It is always an odd sensation when boarding the train. Suddenly, personal space becomes an unspoken impermanence. Strangers with different lives and destinations come close enough to touch in the swaying motion of the train car. You are met by yourself in the window’s reflection surrounded by faceless figures. It is now time to put in your earbuds and close your eyes to regain some inner isolation. Every time the train stops, you keep count in your head. The motion slows and the doors open. Pressure changes as bodies move in and out around you. Only a few more stops until it is your turn to flow out with the rest of them. Your eyes open when it is time and you feel weighed down by the strange lull of the train that has a few of the passengers slumped in their seats. You shake it off and press out the door. 

You blink as you emerge from the station. The ground is damp here, but the sun warms your face. You mutter learned apologies as you bump into bodies. It feels strange because you notice that is the first thing you have said out loud all day. Your mouth feels as foreign as the phrases you memorize. A wisp of something sweet entices your attention to the small food stand to the right of you. The warmth of the smell causes you to salivate. The faceless man in the stand greets you in a native phrase. You bob your head politely and point to the picture menu in the window, holding up a number of fingers for how many of each. You exchange coins on a tray placed between you for warm bags that you take to the side to examine. The bag holds a small assortment of little fried fish-shaped pastries. You can’t help but open the bag for a direct sniff of the sweetness. The custard ones always remind you of the mornings you used to have brunch with friends back home, like pancakes and laughter. Chocolate is always the messiest, and it brings back memories of your mother scolding you for getting dessert all over you as a child. The other pastries are what you have learned is red bean paste. They are a new contrast to the places and faces you are used to; they smell like new experiences and taste like a foreign language on your tongue. 

Folding the paper bag again, you head towards your destination. You occasionally check your location on your phone to make sure you’re headed in the right direction, but as you get closer, that is no longer necessary. The smell of roasting coffee beans guides you the rest of the way. The cafe is notated with a simple symbol above the door. All the tables outside are filled. You have the passing thought to turn back, but the smell of caffeine is enough to draw you inside. You follow the pattern you took before; point and order, one finger held up, money exchanged on the interception tray, and food delivered. You find a two person table in the corner and sit with your back to the wall. Your treat is something you have never tried before, but it looked interesting enough. It is a delicate ice cream swirl topped with thin almond slivers that look so perfect they could have been individually placed for your enjoyment. To the side is a small silver container of steaming espresso. You see your face reflected in it, stretched and distorted. You take the delicate spoon and dip it into the espresso to taste. It is darkly rich and bitter. It burns your eager tongue a bit. You taste that the ice cream is sweet, making your eyes sting. It tastes like home and companionship. The girls seated at the table only a foot away from you make excited exclamations. They are sitting across from each other, wearing matching hair pins and have matching shirts. They take pictures of their desserts just like yours and enjoy them together. They make happy sounds, and you leave them to it. You glance at the empty chair in front of you as you pour the espresso over the ice cream. The first spoonful is warm, but not scalding. The sweetness is mellowed out by the freshly roasted espresso, accented by the intermittent crunches of the almond slivers.

You close your eyes. Your exhale is a resignation. The loneliness is palpable. It is more than a state of being. It is as heavy as morning fog, a denseness that surrounds you and muffles ambient noises. It lingers between the busy passengers of life, almost at a standstill between the flowing pathways we take. It is a friend in passing, someone you think of while enjoying a parfait alone in a foreign cafe.