Observation

She sat in a crowded train full of restless people awaiting their arrival. The atmosphere smelt of garden-picked berries and freshly brewed coffee from the cafe at the end of the car. The speaker overhead screeched of direction for our estimated time of arrival and pressured conductor humor. “On your right-hand side, you will notice a field of stray sheep and brown cows wandering the grounds in search of tall grass. On your left, you will see an arrangement of sights. Beginning with a glimpse of the Smoky Mountains, which are nearly 300 million years old, and were discovered by...,” I watched her attention nod off and her eyelids fall so heavy from exhaustion. Her rest has begun. Unlike me, sleeping in a crowd of so many I find to be nearly impossible. With the sound of the creaking wheels pushing us across the terrain and the raucous of conversation, rest is not a viable option. She looks peaceful. Her rosy pink cheeks and soft pale skin appear porcelain. Her irises were closed to the public, but if I were to guess, they are colored a deep brown. Her hair fell below her shoulders in a dirty blonde shade. The dress she wore, pink. She didn't ask for attention, but she certainly did not neglect any. Her head fell to her left shoulder, peaking its way into the center aisle. Should I wake her to tell her? Should I let her rest in peace? Do I offer my spare pillow? The little boy to her right wasn't interested in anything but the games on his Nintendo. She quickly jolted herself away, merely a bad dream. I can only imagine what she dreamt of. Does she think in pictures or words? I think in pictures. Anything my brain absorbs is a concept. I've never understood how people think in mere letters, nevertheless, it's quite interesting. The voice in my head as I read isn't my own, it's the sound of someone I know or who I think them to be, but never my own. I take the tour train because it's the cheapest form of transportation to get to where I need to be. I don't take the train that often, but when I do, it's always the same. Same speech, same historical landmarks, same humor, every time. Shakes, again, she awoke. Appears as if she cannot sleep either. We are the same. She pulled out her matte black journal, riddles with stories from times past. She begins her entry. 

Again, I can't escape it. I'm stuck in a room aflame. Surrounded by four identical walls that create a room I am trapped in. Except, two other figures are hiding in the shadows. Their bodies are dark and their faces ambiguous. I hide behind one of the four pillars that encompass the symmetrical space. Seems as if they are out to get someone, me. I always wake up before I'm found, but never before my entire body fills with fear.

I wonder what she wrote about. Her dreams? Her fears? Either way, it's not meant for me to know. I fiddled with my watch. The time was never right and the band was worn, but I always had it on my person. It was my grandfather's. Wishing the time away, I stared at its face. The time read 11:06 pm, but the sun outside projected rays farther than I could see. The smell of freshly brewery coffee filled the air. The attendant was pouring the brown liquid into paper cups, offering to any and all who desired. I knew this signified we were close. She was following the routine. “Sir, would you like any coffee or water to drink before we depart today?” She asked politely. 

“No thank you.” I declined. Caffeine made me jittery and unsettled. I work best when my thoughts are calm and my shoulders are at rest, not tense. The conversation took off and the atmosphere became lively. People, restless. I, observant. I watch. I distinguish. I take note; with my profession, I have to be. Writing is more than gossip on a page. I write about my perception of you in comparison to the outside world. 

“Please gather your belongings and prepare to depart. The train is coming to a stop.” Announced the conductor. I sat up and placed my laptop back in my bag, along with any of my belongings. The train came to a screeching halt as the exhaust trail caught up with us and our windows were fogged with black smoke. I stood to gather my luggage stored up ahead as I bumped into her. “I'm sorry,” I apologized in embarrassment.

“That's okay,” she said with a smile. 

I stepped off the train onto the platform where many fled to explore their next destination. I waited in line behind many others to gather my luggage. I packed light. One, vibrant green, duffle bag. Green, of course, to stand out from the rest. I took a strong, confident step towards my exit, only to trip on the uneven sidewalk. I watched all my belongings fumble out of my arms in mere slow motion. My briefcase scratched. My papers, scattered. My watch, face down on the concrete. I bent down with my right arm extended to gently pick up all that had fallen out of my arms. I turned the watch face up to see if I shattered the glass. Luckily, I didn't. The train blared its whistle as it was off for its next journey. The cargo shook and the train's wheelset began forward. I looked up to see the cloud of black smoke released as the engine rumbled, only to see the blond-haired woman walking in the distance. Her pink dress flowed with the motion of the wind, like a conductor and his symphony. I picked up my bags off the floor and started my way in the opposite direction. Breathtaking landscapes ahead and a beautiful blue sky, I have never seen such beautiful scenery.