This one is based on my solo travel adventures in the Summer of 2023. I had a lot of Donna Sheridan moments so I decided to write a fic with this good material. I figured I'd write it and publish it once I head off on my, as I call it, Europe era. (And when I finally defended my thesis — lol she's a Master now.)
(I lowkey wrote this back in July when I processed that I was going and had an emotional day over it.)
That Kind of Girl:
Usually, Donna Sheridan is a woman who prefers cheap travel.
Hitchhiking after watching and signalling cars on the road? Dangerous, but sometimes she loves living life with a thrill and getting to know people she's met along the way. The subway? A viable option if heading somewhere more local. She always enjoys sitting on a train, putting her bag on the seat next to her and looking out the window. A cheaper way to relax and watch the landscapes pass her. She'd usually have her journal out and scribble memories and thoughts of her trip so she'd never forget.
And if she were to have a daughter one day, she could share these stories. (Specifically a daughter, she wants a mini-me).
But today?
Donna's taking a cab to the train station. Usually, she would avoid cabs. She's been a victim of taxi-related tourist traps many times to count. The extra loops, the chatty ones striking up a conversation to distract you, conveniently being caught in traffic so the metre continues running—Donna's sat in the backseat to them all.
But sometimes the taxi is her only option, like today. On a normal day, she would've walked to the train station. It was only 30 minutes to the train station where her bus dropped her off and the weather was overcast. She could've stopped somewhere along the way, maybe a local cafe, vintage thrift store, or a record place. A chance to take her final steps in the in-between city before heading home.
She would've loved that, but it would've been challenging walking the streets and maneuvering through shops with a giant suitcase. (Hence the choice for the cab against her morals.) It didn't also help that her suitcase was the heaviest she'd travelled with and she was running on a few hours of sleep. Don't get Donna started on how she had to make sure her hostel room was left spick and span, cleaner than when she received the room or else she would be fined. She couldn't complain given that it was cheap board. So she had to wake up early not only to clean but to pack.
Still, though, taxi tourist trap aside, she can appreciate seeing the city roll past her. Although she wasn't in this city but one about an hour away, she still feels as if she was leaving a good part of her life behind. It's been two whole months away from her home, and her friends, and immersed in a new city and culture.
"Ma'am, is this good?"
And now it's over.
Donna blinks out of her daydream and realizes they've arrived at the train station. They're inside the parking garage, right outside a fast-food restaurant.
"Perfect," Donna responds. She initially thought she'd be dropped off outside. "Thank you."
Donna hands over some cash to the driver before hopping out of the taxi. She circles the car and opens the back. Her dark brown suitcase covered in stickers of places she's been to makes her smile. Trying to lug her suitcase out the back without ruining the car wasn't fun. She heaves with all her might before letting the bag drop on the curb. What does she even have in there? It's out of character for her to be such a heavy traveller.
As she goes to grab the handle of her suitcase to bring inside the station, a car honks and she jumps. At first, Donna thought it was the taxi leaving, but she turns around and it's a car of young men driving past her.
The one in the passenger seat rolls down the window and the driver leans forwards, as if he was getting closer to her without leaving his seat.
Donna straightens and looks at them, arms crossed as she eyes them both. Where were they when she was getting off the bus and waiting for a cab to hail? It would've saved her the bills she spent on the cab ride here. Besides, it might've also been fun to ride with them. She's that kind of girl.
"Hey," the driver greets.
"Can I help you boys with something?" Donna asks, grinning a little.
"No," the passenger responds. They both have strong accents but great English. "My friend and I were driving through and wanted to let you know that you look beautiful today."
"Oh…" Donna mutters. "Thank you."
Her posture softens as she looks down at herself. A cute outfit if she says so herself: jean shorts torn at the leg hems, a tight and cropped sleeveless top with a maroon and orange pattern with accents of baby blue and white. The neckline plunges a bit and is covered by her long and wavy blonde hair, but one can use their imagination. Her sandals are a fun touch. They're tanned and have straps that wrap all around her calves. Also, they ironically gave her a funky tan line along her calves.
"The earrings!" The driver exclaims. "I love them!"
Donna instinctively touches her earrings and she brightens instantly. They were large and fun earrings of an outline of a face, like a theatrical mask.
One day during her stay, she wandered into a vintage thrift store that was across the street from a cafe she frequented often. The store was small, with racks upon racks of old fashion made up of various fabrics and a bounty of colours. Each shirt and dress had a life before coming here and waiting for a new beginning, a sentiment Donna always has when looking at fellow travellers such as herself. The store herself smelled of classic perfumes Donna could've only dreamed of owning as a little girl. All the rich ladies she would see would don that scent. She imagined someone donated that scent, thinking it wasn't in style or in their style anymore.
And now it was the scent of the store. Donna could never forget it.
Then she approached the cash register and saw a small rack of earrings on the countertop. There were lots of loud and funky designs: neon high-heeled shoes, phrases, comic speech and thought bubbles, jelly-like flowers or mushrooms— but Donna's eyes immediately fell on the gold faces. She couldn't explain why but there was something so captivating. Maybe it was the thought of wearing them on her ears so that people would see 3 faces even when looking at her bright blue eyes.
"Good choice," the merchant told her in a heavily-accent English. "I made those myself."
"They're beautiful," Donna responded.
That was her favourite purchase of her trip, and right on her final week too. It always felt nice when people noticed and acknowledged it. That's just the kind of girl she is.
"Thank you!" Donna responds to the two men excitedly. "They're new. You two have a beautiful day."
"Safe travels!" They wish before driving off. The passenger waves and Donna returns the small yet sweet gesture.
Donna exhales happily before lugging her suitcase and rolling it along the pathway. She opens the door to the fast-food restaurant and kicks her suitcase through with all her might. The strong scent of reused oil and the crisp sound of potatoes hitting the fryer. Her shoes stick to the floor as she passes some tables filled with families catching a meal before, during, or even after a travel day. She doesn't know.
Many nights during her trip were spent at bars and clubs, singing karaoke and sometimes using bottles as microphones to sing loudly to the gods. A beautiful hazy mess of lyrics, lipstick-stained kisses, sweat, and glitter. She didn't know the people around her, except maybe the people from the hostel she'd join on nights out. Sometimes, she ruled that club by singing and dancing on the sticky bar top, much chagrin to the bartender but sometimes they gave her free shots.
Donna makes her way to the centre of the train station. It's nothing new to her. People rushing to their trains or tiredly debarking, bags upon suitcases, people wrangling children. Train attendants weigh bags, help people find where to board, stamp and tear tickets— the whole shebang. The schedule above her catches her eye. An organized and overwhelming mess of different places and times for people going and coming from there, at least for a newbie traveller.
"Anything I can help you with, ma'am?"
Donna turns around and sees a young train attendant behind her. He must've caught her gazing up at the schedule looking lost.
"No…" she mutters before an idea comes to mind. "My train is in an hour or so. Actually, can I weigh my bag now? I have a feeling it's overweight and I figure that I could see if I have to rearrange it beforehand and not awkwardly in line."
He nods. "Smart girl. There's a scale over there. Just follow me."
"I just travel often," Donna tells him. She's that kind of girl. (She also had an instance of weighing her bag while in line to board the train and she thought she was right on the dot, maybe a pound or so over or under. Nope. She was 10 pounds over and had to reorganize her suitcase in front of everyone. Never again.)
When they approach the scale, Donna heaves her bag onto the scale and watches the dial spin.
"Oh no," Donna mutters, watching the number continue to go up. For a moment, she didn't think she could lift that much. There was no way she had that much stuff on her.
"His foot is on the scale," one of the attendant's colleagues mutters bitterly as she passes him.
"You didn't have to tell her that!" He exclaims before turning back to Donna with a charming smile and takes his foot off the scale.
Donna laughs as the dial spins the other way. "God, I didn't know I was that strong to lift that much around."
"You definitely are. You know," he tells her, "if you want, you could catch an earlier train that has baggage claim. You won't have to heave this bag around and you could be home earlier. It's an extra fee, though, but you could talk to the ticket booth."
Donna nods. "Of course it is."
A chance not to carry her heavy bag on and off the train and to have the chance to run into Rosie and Tanya's arms when they pick her up? Tempting. But for $40? Not a chance.
"I'll consider it," Donna says although she's already made up her mind. "I won't mind waiting extra, though. I'm used to travelling a ton and have some journal entries to finish."
She's that kind of girl.
That line gives quirky vibes, but it's an ABBA song so leave it alone.
I won't promise anything, but I'm definitely considering writing another Donna-centric story about my Europe era. We'll see what happens.
Thank you to anyone who has read this story. Please let me know what you thought. If you have a story idea that you want me to write or a story that you want me to beta, don't be afraid to ask!
~ MysteryGal5