Winter

Please note; Sexual References.

The train platform was damp. I could hear the train rattling in, its noise echoing off the tunnel walls. My educated guess was that it was only a minute away at the most. Frigid winds swirled around me, causing the soggy fallen leaves at my feet to lift their tips slightly as if longing to dance.

I pulled my dark parka tight, trying to trap warmth around my torso. I wrapped my long, bright scarf around my neck and over my mouth and nose, hoping to warm the wisps of breath escaping me. The hood, made heavy by its faux fur trim, slipped down over my eyes, so I pushed it aside while I fished out my old Nokia phone from my pocket. 

My fingers, numb and gloveless, struggled to type a message on the uneven buttons of the outdated phone: a – b – C, [space], t – U, [space], S, and m – n – O, m – n – O, m – N. I finally managed to send the text: “C U SOON.”

I boarded the train and quickly looked around to the back of the carriage. I wasn't surprised to find my usual torn seat by the "fishbowl" window against the back wall empty. It was almost guaranteed that no one ever sat there; the vent and light were broken, and worst of all, there was no Wi-Fi—something most people find unacceptable these days! It had become my cosy, undisturbed sanctuary, where people avoided not only that area but also, in the almost dark, my lonely awkward figure every day after work.

I could feel the damp. The small area smelt slightly musty. I felt the seat; good, it was dry! I tucked myself into the corner of it and placed my bag between myself and the carpeted wall. Buzz, the overhead light glowed. My hope raised and dropped when it flickered again to cast shadows that spun and swayed to the sound of static onto the many flat surfaces surrounding me. Someone’s audible ring sounded a harpsicord tune which added a sort of mirth to my tiny chaos before they answered, “Hello.”

The train hurtled forward, mirroring my desperate desire to get somewhere. Outside, the world zipped past. I counted on my fingers the train stations I needed to tolerate before I reached David's stop: 1. Indooroopilly, 2. Chelmer, 3. Graceville, 4. Sherwood, 5. Corinda, 6. Oxley. Yes, I definitely had only six more stations to go.

I wanted to kill time. I pressed my face against the cold glass and impishly exhaled on it to make fog and finger draw a smiley face. I then tried to focus on the flashes of indistinct houses, office buildings and reflective black streets that blurred between the raindrops that traced diagonal streaks across the pane.

The rhythmic clatter of the wheels stopped and the slam of brakes rocked our carriage, if not the whole train.

A formal voice spoke over the intercom, “Attention customers: We are experiencing a slight delay of approximately ten minutes on the tracks. We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you. Thank you.”

I glanced at my watch: it was sixteen minutes past four. How frustrating! We had stopped in the middle of the wastelands. The old flood plains were squashed by the lumpy, spitting clouds. The trees, brushed in shades of grey, slumped like drenched ghosts. Close-up , train spotlight caused the long thick blades of clump grass to glow an unnatural, fluorescent sap green.

Bored, I turned my attention to some flying birds. The medium-sized ones like pigeons, magpies, and lorikeets all seem to struggle to stay airborne as water droplets collected on their wings. Like a scientist, I noticed in mid-flight, they would shake themselves vigorously and then water-free reset their trajectory. In stark contrast, unfazed crows with their broader wingspan glided effortlessly through the clouds.

Suddenly, I sensed a gaze upon me. I looked around the carriage, most people were immersed in their phones. Obviously, my mind was playing tricks on me and redirected my attention back to outdoors. An unusually large crow had landed in one of the nearby gumtrees. Without warning, the crow swooped down erratically, calling out and smashed into my window. I jumped with a fright, as it dropped to the ground, then casually swaggered off triumphantly with a razed grasshopper held in its beak.

“Customers, the next station will be Darra!”

****

It was David's stop. Just before stepping onto the train, he closed his umbrella and shook the wet off. As he boarded, the rich, earthy scent from his cologne filled the air. His hair was disheveled and he had that travel weary appearance, or more like a 'roused from sleep' look. A curl escaped from his loosening tied fringe, and he tried to push it back into his elastic hair band. He preened his crumpled clothing, as if he was embarassed it was very noticible had hastily pulled it from the afternoon's ironing basket.

As the train lurched into motion, to steady himself, he grabbed a rail and pressed his bi-coloured tan and black Oxfords into the floor. He pushed open his shabby green corduroy jacket with its curling large pocket flaps and placed his hand on his hip revealing his pleated trousers - his pleated, cuffed trousers! To me, there was something undeniably arousing and captivating about him, like he was an actor straight from a Hollywood silent movie!

Finally, he noticed me! I felt a sense of relief when his familiar smiling eyes widened and he strode towards my seat. I could sense he was hungry for me, my red matted lipstick stretched over my plumped lips. 

In one smooth motion, he slipped into the space beside me. With effortless ease, he set his bag down by my feet before settling in closer. “Hiya,” he greeted me, his American accent warm and inviting. His arm glided over my shoulders. He turned my face gently toward him so he could gaze deep into my eyes. I shivered and replied softly, “Hiya,” just as he captured my lips in a fervent kiss. 

“I’ve missed you,” I whispered.

Breathing in the smell of Orris root pheromones onto the nape of my neck, he was close enough to discreetly tug the zipper of my parka down and slip his hand inside and handle my breast.

I squirmed as goose bumps covered my whole body. A mixture of feelings glared at the passengers, “No David!" I blurted out, "Please, they might see!”

Realising his error, he straightened himself, and wiped the large red smudge on and around his mouth with a white handerchief he pulled from his trouser pocket. “I’m sorry, Lola. I wasn't thinking straight - It’s been another year without you” 

This time he reached into his own jacket and pulled out a notepad and pen. He kicked off one shoe and rested his socked foot on his knee which curved towards me. Then farrowing his brow in a gesture that made me smile. “Ms. Edwards, I noticed you watching the sky? What have you observed about the sky?” 

The being watched feeling and crazy bird flashed into my mind but I blocked that nonsense out.

David asked me again, "So Ms. Edwards tell me about your sky?"

I lightened up remembering when we first crossed paths online in a writing forum, he had addressed me in that same formal way. Perhaps he was flirting with me way back then too? Who knows? I cleared my throat theatrically and replied, “Mr. Kennedy, if you had been paying attention to the sky yourself, you wouldn’t need to ask me!” 

He winked and wrote down my words with a flourish, then noted, “Ms. Edwards has noticed my inattentiveness. So, where does Ms. Edwards think my attention lies?” 

As if to give thought to his statement, I teasingly rubbed my finger along my chin and raised my eyebrow. “Oh my, Mr. Kennedy might not like to hear my answer!” 

Being cheeky only drew David closer. “And what might Ms. Edward’s answer be today?” 

Closely locking my eyes with his, I replied with a smirk, “Hmm, Do I want you to hold my plump, small round breast in your hand? Or has my heart become frigid towards you? In your absence, has my bed been warmed by other men?” 

David nudge me and rolled his eyes.

I continued, “Yes indeed Mr. Kennedy, have I been callous, perhaps had another writer or writers, to view my soft, sexy curvy hips and pale, pale scented legs…?” 

The train announcement interrupted us.: “This is Ipswich Station. For safety reasons, please remember to take all your bags and personal items with you before you disembark.”

***

At my home, we both found physical release; our minds and bodies relaxed. David stretched, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on my lips. "I'm heading to grab a glass of water. Want one?" 

I nodded. I could hear his footsteps stop at the creak of the door, to the sleep out or enclosed veranda, opened . I listened to his silence, and a few minutes later, the tap rattle and water flow.

David returned, a curious glint in his eye. "Did you paint that picture?" 

"Yes," I replied, a hint of pride in my voice.

"It's stunning, but there's something eerie about it too!" he remarked.

I raised both eyebrows. "So?"

"What does the crow, peering at you after plucking a line of its own feathers, say to you? And that old, creaky gate—what's its story?"

His words hung in the air, and I added, "Did you see the naked woman with an apple hidden in her hand, making her way to the gate?"

His eyes widened in mock surprise. "No! I completely missed her, but I see you!" Taking my empty glass. He playfully growled, pushing me with his body against the wall.

Laughter bubbled up inside me, a cackle breaking free. I retorted, "Oh, I see what you saying?"

He smoothed my long brunette hair and brushed a strand behind my ear and pulled my hip towards himself "Maybe you’re a witch, conjuring up a very, very, witchy painting!"

He settled me onto the bed. On top of me, a playful smirk danced on his lips. "Are you sure you’re not hiding some witchy secrets? I mean, I get greys while you seem to defy age and time. Perhaps I’m cradling a sorceress in my arms?" 

I twitched my nose and pretended to invoked a Goddess, "Aphrodite Abracadabra." David pushed the long tiger necklace off my breast with his mouth. He licked and sucked my nipple and then played between my legs. The ecstasy forced out what I never had consciously toyed with, "I wish I could be with you all the time!"

A hush fell over the fun. David sat up straight, "So why doesn’t my Australian girl visit me in my winter this Christmas?"

I gulped and stooped when hearing his authorative tone, "I’m sorry I didn't mean that. It just came out of my mouth, and seriously, I can’t afford it."

"I’ll cover your flight and other expenses. Please say you’ll come," he urged.

I replied, "Why not?"

***

A Christmas wreath was pinned on his door, which was slightly ajar; I couldn't help but smile at his early morning invitation. The dull glow from the streetlights filtered through the old wooden frame of the patchwork, carnival glass. It created a mostly warm orange glow amongst a kaleidoscope of green, blue and yellow in his studio apartment.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I noticed the outline of his silhouette resting on the single bed. Not wanting to disturb him, I leaned against the doorframe, slipped off my shoes, and quietly made my way to his bedside. Carefully, I set down my backpack and then placed his Christmas gift - a painting, my painting - against his bedside table. Click! I froze. Had I disturb him? I did not want to startle him! He rolled towards the wall. I was relieved when I heard him snore. “Good,” I thought.

There was enough space on the bed for me to sit on his bed now. I settled down on his crocheted rug waiting quietly, hoping he might soon register my presence. After a few minutes past, my eyes grew more accustomed to the room. I noticed a book on the bedside table. I thought it might be ok to touch the base of the lamp for a smidgen of more light, so I could read. Besides, I could pass the time by flipping through its pages while I waited for David to wake.

Illumined, I recognized my Otherworldly Crow painting on the book's front cover. Surprised I refocused to read the book title, "Where Swallows Fly," by David John Kennedy.

David stirred. Rolling towards me, his arm flopped onto my lap as he took a reflexive gasp and then settled his head deeper into his pillow. Curious, I opened the book and saw the inscription: "For my dearly loved, darling Lola." My eyes widened in astonishment. 

David's exhaled. One eye opened and focused, followed by the other. “Hello, Lola," David interrupted. He wrapped his arms around my hips and pressed a kiss on my groin area and then up to my stomach. 

I whispered in his ear, "You didn't tell me! Well done on your book!"

David gave a loud yawn. He growled, grabbed my body, and flattened and straddled me. "Why, thank you, my lovely Lola but that is the last thing on my mind."

I laughed, then my mind shunted. I clenched my pained head as my eyes looked away with cast shadows in them. 

"What's wrong?" David asked.

 "It must be jet lag."

I scanned the room, "Where the hell was I?" I struggled to tell him, "David, I don't remember how I got here."

Returning with a filled glass and Paracetamol. David touched my forehead. "This might help?" He tilted my head upward. "Drink!" he said.

Worried, he questioned me further, "Do you remember your name?"

I replied, "Lola"

"How about the journey here?"

"No, but I remember a taxi driver leaning on his cab smoking and telling me, "It's on the house, lady," when I went to pay. Umm, Your apartment block looked like an old shop front. I was distracted by that nice tinsel and Christmas baubles near your open lobby door and then nearly slipped in the melting snow near that curb.”

David interrupted, “Did you fall? Maybe hit your head?”

“No! But, I was really happy when walking up your stairwell. I could still smell the cigarette smoke from that Taxi Driver though and I was overjoyed You left your door ajar too!"

David's voice pitch raised as he rushed away adding, "Rest! I've just got to check something!"

His inspected his front door; it was deadlocked and bolted, just as it had been before he went to sleep! He nervously scratched his head as if something did not add up. Wandering, he decided to check his surveillance camera footage.

Glancing at Me, David leaned into his laptop on the kitchen bench.

"Checking my security footage Babe."

"OK."

"Yes, the taxi driver was indeed smoking and leaning against his taxi."

He scrolled through the screen in silence, his face turned pale as he fumbled perplexed over and over what looked like a honeycomb shape filled with myriads of moving images.

Hroset the computer on my lap and played several clips.

"Did you arrive here between 2 a.m. and 3 a.m.?"

I could see, the Taxi stop, the driver smoke near his door and then drove off.

I exclaimed, "Where am I? I don't understand."

David moved the cursor, " Here's the lobby from several angles Lola."

I gasped, "The door is always shut and locked!"

"Look at the stairs? My door Lola?"

I couldn't see any hint of myself being there.

The footage from his apartment's security camera showed him sleeping peacefully at 1:47 AM. Suddenly, he turned the screen away and shook his head, exclaiming, "It's not possible!"

Feeling a mix of resistance and trembling, he stared at me. He touched me and murmured in disbelief, "Yes, you're real. You're solid."

I defended myself, "Out with it! What do you mean David?"

Turning his back from the argument and shaking with emotion, he started hysterically swayed. It looked like he was about to faint. He grabbed his book, licked his finger, and frantically flipped through the pages like a man on a mission until he stumbled upon the underlined passages.

He pointed and commanded, “Read!”

I had never seen him like this—he seemed regressed and very confused. Fearfully, I did as has he said and read aloud:

"Against the grey backdrop of the common Australian sky, along with all other dull surroundings, people, and things, she managed to navigate the presence of medium-sized birds—crows, pigeons, Lorikeets and magpies. For some reason, the absence of swallows during that season comforted her, which allowed her fears and avoidance to primarily linger in mostly the seasons of spring and summer. I believe this kept her suspended between two worlds; My world and her world."

David sweated as he irrationally paced the floor. He bellowed further instructions, "Continue!"

I felt like a cornered animal. A tear fell from my eye as I recited:

"Our wish—to be together—split the moment the car skidded off the road and landed on its side. Above her sprawled body, the car headlights flickered weakly and its tires spun and wobbled off centre. In the background, the radio crackled, sparingly transmitting the sharp sound of harpsichord music. She wheezed and everything heard her death rattle."

David eyes widened with horror, "Art imitates Life!" Mindlessly he threw my painting of a golden spiny sun, that cunningly mocked a screaming infant, as it was cast from heaven, from its glory, onto the adorned earth of fresh spring daisies and sprouting trees.

"Have you lost your mind?" I yelled.

He laughed hysterically heckled me and screamed out the message I had lovely written on the back of the painting, "I did not want to be reborn as your child. Ha ha! I wanted to stay your lover. Ha ha! I'll meet you here in the June 30, 2044."

I cautiosly walked towards him, "It was a dream David. It's called artistic license."

Placing his hand in the air, "Stop Lola or whatever you are!"

"Whatever, I am?"

Confused, I chose a palatable acceptance of his strange outburst and finished reading the last of his two paragraphs:

"The swallows ceased their playful dives for insects and gathered in pairs near her, trying to rouse her from her stillness. She was gone, yet in my dreams, she lingered in this liminal space as we made love within the confines of our shared memories."

Bailed against the wall he gasped as a soft, white vortex of light opened up. He swallowed, "Ms. Edwards, I believed we both lied to ourselves. I believe you're a ghost - youre not living!"

I briefly sobbed as I acknowledged my fate, "I love you Mr. Kennedy."

David calmed when seeing a beautiful spring- like heaven appear in my distance, he replied, "C U SOON Ms. Edwards."