One step, then another. Boarding the train never seemed so daunting. Looking over my shoulder at the city I was leaving behind, tears welled in my eyes. I forced myself to go on, though, considering the greater good. My father would be happy to see me. For him I would do anything, even spend three weeks feeling trapped and helpless at our summer house, like I was a tiny baby child once again. I was especially dreading the visit that year. The forced proximity hadn't ever felt so dismaying. Making my way down the aisle and finding a vacant window seat to endure the journey, I threw my bag in the overhead and sat down. A little bit dazed and with nothing else to do but overthink, I stayed put in my spot, gazing out the window. My mind wandered and I envisioned the place I was headed to. Hills rolling over each other in waves of green, the river currents intertwisting and creating soothing noise. Summer days in the sun, summer nights by the firepit. I suppose I didn't have a very good reason for not wanting to spend my vacation there, but everything had been significantly different since my parents split. No one liked to admit it, but it had a sizable impact on everyone. Still, I liked to believe it was better this way. My daydreaming was interrupted by a tapping on my shoulder.
"Your ticket." I dug through my pockets for my crumpled ticket, without looking at the ticket conductor. Having found it, I tried my best to smooth it out but it was quickly snatched from my grasp. I glanced at the man's vexed expression before looking back at my empty hands. Soon, but not soon enough, he moved on to the woman sitting across from me. "Your ticket, miss," he said and flashed her a grin. The lady, not much older than me but evidently very grown up, rolled her eyes, her blonde hair spilling over her bare shoulders. The off-the-shoulder neckline of her pastel blue dress suited her wonderfully. Where could she be headed? While she searched her purse, the conductor kept the conversation going - with himself at least, the woman wouldn't even glance in his direction. Handing over her ticket, she kept her head turned away. The man, realizing his efforts were in vain, furrowed his brow. Stomping away, he muttered something under his breath.
"Trust me, you don't want this." From the woman, who was adjusting her loosely curled locks. She must've noticed me watching the situation unfold.
"Oh, I wasn't -" I started, but shut my mouth when she shot me an annoyed look. Swiftly turning my attention away from her, my gaze settled on a gentleman not too far from where I was sitting. I had to turn my head completely to see him, but he didn't seem to notice or care that an outlandish woman was observing him. He donned a light grey suit and was reading the paper. 18th July 1959.
Shifting in my seat, I felt a cold breeze at the back of my neck. God, they always overdo the A. C. on these countryside trains. I got up, pulled my bag down, and started digging through the packed garments. I could've sworn that I left my cardigan in there, which my mother ever so slyly slipped into my luggage. My hands still searching the seemingly bottomless bag, I finally felt the comforting, cushiony fabric underneath my fingers. I pulled on it, freeing the shrug from the confines of my baggage. The blasted freezing air. Draped over my shoulders, it was like a familiar warm embrace. Returning my bag to its place and bringing my hands to my pale face, I brushed my messy brown waves out of my eyeview. Then I pulled the sleeves of the brown sweater over my blue inkstained hands. Being in the midst of true adults made me feel, strangely, liked I belonged but also ridiculously out of place. What would you like to do in your life, Elaine? My answer was always met with snickers. Writing constitutes more of a hobby, no? A pitying look. No, not if you do it well enough! I'd always reply. A laugh here, a pat on the shoulder there. Like they felt sorry for me. But I felt sorry for them right back, in a way. Having lost any wonder or passion for life, almost everyone who asked me about my future worked in manufacturing or finance. Just once I would've liked to meet an adult who was still a child.
I crossed my arms and sank further in my seat. The train surged forward, and we were off. Bypassing houses and streets I'd known so long, I kept going over the times I had seen my father in the past year. My birthday, Christmas, Easter. Sadness would always linger. I would just think of when he'd have to travel back to Belgium and I'd stay in Croatia, longing for his return. He visited every summer like clockwork, until one year he didn't. The following year, he decided to visit again, this time with his new family. I had nothing against them per se, but I was used to having my father to myself. In the end, we struck an acceptable balance and all of us were somewhat pleased. Secretly I hated it, but what could I do? They were my family too now.
Reverting my gaze to the hills speeding by, I watched the cattle grazing on the fresh, viridescent grass. What was I even thinking? Being on this train at this moment was nothing short of involuntary.
I didn't really mean that. It's not like anyone could force me to be there.
Or...?
No, surely not.
No. No.
I just missed how things used to be. And what would my mother do while I was away? What if something happened? I couldn't bear it. My eyes stung and I dug my teeth into the inside of my cheek. Covertly, I hoped the train would stop, and I would have no choice but to head back. For a split second my chest tightened, and I felt I was about to burst into a mess of tears and panic. These feeling weren't new to me. The trembling fingers of my right hand brushed against the ring enveloping my left index finger. It came off easily, slipping onto my palm. I pressed it from both sides as hard as I could, but it wouldn't budge. Just as well, I thought. I would've felt terrible if I had so much as made a small dent. Placing it back in its rigtful place, I turned to see a much more crowded train than it had been.
In the booth to my right stood a a young boy with his cheek pressed to the window. Eyes wide with curiosity, he examined everything he could see. With him was an older woman. She kept telling him to sit down, for he was disturbing the other passengers. He'd listen every time, but as soon as the lady turned away, he would promptly spring up again. He was watching the cars go by. Deciding I liked his demeanor - he seemed quite content - I followed suit. A red car, a blue car, a black car; families piled into each and every one. That life used to be mine. Weekend trips with my parents, which were made of nothing but joy and love; I should've appreciated that more. I felt nostalgic but, for the first time in the past hour, I was enjoying myself. A white car, a green car, a grey car.
The grey car.
I would've known that car anywhere. A beautiful 1949 Ford.
It was exactly as my father's, which was promised to me and meant for me the moment I turned 18. That is, of course, until his wife convinced him to sell it. At first I was furious and couldn't get past his perfidy, but over time I'd come to terms with the decision. It was bought by a young college student whose father had had that very same car. Once I was told that, it was easier to get over it. A little resentment was still present, though I hated to admit it.
I stewed in my place until I started to recognize my surroundings sometime in the late afternoon. I didn't know what to think. I had never wanted to go there before, why would anything change now? The thought of my family's control over me made my blood boil, but, having decided there were better things to occupy my mind with - and starting to feel the tension collecting in my shoulders and neck - I forcibly relaxed and let my head fall against the seat. I really didn't know what I was doing at all. I knew it could never be like it was before, but I wasn't so sure my father understood that. A looming feeling of doom settled over me and the desire to to go back home took over my thoughts like a cloud of dark, eye-watering smoke. I felt an overwhelming panic numb my mind and my thinking spiraled out of control. I had to go back home. Just as soon as I started to stand up, the train came to a sudden halt and I fell back into the seat. We had arrived. I couldn't move. I so desperately didn't want to be here; there was nothing here for me.
The train car was empty. I thought I was on my own, but one look out the window proved me wrong; my father was standing right outside. I got up, reached upwards for my bag and then tugged it down. It fell into my arms. I clenched the handles with all my might and moved towards the wide-open doors. I was still going over my memories of this place in the back of my mind and the most recent ones crept up. Sharing meaningful looks with my stepmother, swimming in the river with my new stepbrother, serious late-night conversations with my father. At that moment, I forgot everything else. Was it really as bad as I thought it up to be? My mind was still racing but everything around me seemed to stop in place, and I could hear nothing but the birds' chirping. The sun shone through the green and yellow leaves; suddenly, I was rather glad to be there.
Having descended the stairs and with nowhere left to go, I stepped off the train onto the grassy cobblestone and greeted my father with a smile. He threw himself at me and wrapped his arms around me, causing me to drop my bag. I hugged him back, and as tears welled in both our eyes, I wasn't dreading those three weeks so much anymore. I was in the right place.