I touched the warm window and waved goodbye to the place I had known all my life. With a shaky breath I reached solemnly into a hand purse I had once been given and I pulled out my most prized possession. A photo of my family. I stroked it, as I might have stroked a cat, very lovingly. The three people who I had cared about ,for the part of my life that I remembered, were all huddled together in this one picture. It was obvious they too cared for me. All of them beamed up at me with love in their hearts. These people had been my family, and if I couldn't have my whole family then what was the point in having one?
That's what I was about to find out. I picked a person to examine first.As my finger fled to Spot, I smiled. He was much younger in this picture, his face still wearing that cocky smile he was ever so good at. In his pocket an all to well know trademark stuck out obviously, his magical slingshot. In one he gripped Ruth protectively her hand resting on his head absently. The other free hand of Spot's was not free, but held by a little girl who I knew was just looking for the assurance of her older brother. Spot's eyes were mischievous even then. But inside he was such a loving little boy, secretly afraid of the giant's great laughs shaking the skies.
In front of the little boy stood a little girl. Her hair could hardly be tamed by a brush, it was so full of curls and tangles. But in the picture, in a desperate effort to look somewhat tidy, she had drawn it into a tight ponytail, tied back with a ribbon. This way you could better see her emerald eyes twinkling with happiness, comfort, and a tiny glimmer of wickedness. But that was reserved for nasty little boys who deserved it. She had well sculpted cheekbones and fairly sized lips of a fair pink. Over her nose was a dash of freckles scattered around so carefully it was as if someone had placed them there. You could see the ambition in her eyes and knew, already, that she would accomplish whatever she wanted to. The girl's arm wrapped lovingly around the other girl.
Behind the wild haired girl was the mother. Her face glowing with the strength of this love. But really, if you listened to her at night, you could hear her asking the same question over and over... never getting the hint of a reply. And then after yet again receiving that same no answer question. Probably if you saw this picture, or had met her once in a market, you would shame me for having said such things, saying I MUST be making it up. There was just no possible way there could be any sadness or bitterness in her heart.
But I know her. I look at the details of her and I see the things I have once missed. In her smile, there is a frown. Under her eyes are dark circles, hinting at those sleepless nights. Her cheeks are drawn and her face is pale.
She never used to look this way, or perhaps I just didn't want to see her this way. Speaking of me, I am the girl next to the wild haired girl in this picture. My braids fell across my shoulders, my sparkling eyes twinkling in anticipation of what I do not know, I am wrapped in love as though a quilt is draped over me. My lips are full and a bit darker than my mother's. My brother and I shared my da's nose . We used to share a lot of things... that is before he changed.
"When is dis train gonna staht dumbass" someone's angry comments slashed through my thoughts as if a knife separated me . I noticed, for the first time, the smell of rotting eggs and heavy cigar smoke. As if it had imprinted itself on the seats. I noticed the seat I sat in was red, pink, and a curious blotch of orange stained my seat. The stuffing stuck out and angrily scratched the back of my neck. I shook my head thoughtfully.
What am I doing here? Everyone must be wondering the same thing. But I do know why, I'm running. Running from what already know and what I don't want to find out.
My blonde lashes caught my tears and some thought of me thought that if I allowed myself to cry, I would melt. Melt because the heat of my tears is too much. Looking down at this fading picture, I realize that, yes, my past and I will both eventually be forgotten so why not melt? Why not...
