Free me, June | #SouthwestContest

Free me, June

The train crept to a halt at a depot sandwiching Fort William and Mallaig, bringing rolling meadows and toppling summits to a standstill.

He could've eaten the air and swallowed it down with ease, so heady was the fragrance of pine and malt. Out there were things man missed while hunched over in a cubicle with nothing but a lonesome window overlooking midday traffic, none of those chicories and asters or the looming boxelder trees from the nature books Ma always liked. Real things, living things. From the brow of the train, the earth had a pulse at two distinct antediluvian points, a vista of shrouded mountains, peak's aimless in their reaching for whatever infinities awaited above, jutting up into the blue.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

A pair of hands joined his own upon the metal rail leading down to the platform; knuckles tinged a pinkish red. The sort of hands that clung to things and gripped tight. He followed them up to the woman's face and forced a grin to match her own, though it wasn't quite so charming. He didn't smile much but was hopelessly captivated.

"You are-It's beautiful, I mean. The view."

If there was a way to recompense for that inadvertent slew of words, he hoped it wouldn't come, for the young woman merely balled her fists in a handful of cream colored cardigan and nodded along, agreed with him. She seemed to know he'd meant the view and not her, but slight embarrassment pervaded all the same. He'd meant both. Perhaps she knew this too. Below them was concentrated chaos, travelers lugging bags, nameless strangers. He wondered why they'd come and if they saw him standing there and wondered the same.

"What brings you to Scotland?" He wasn't so good at poetry, not sure he understood it at all and opted to avoid it when he could. There was a chilly wind sweeping by as he fingered the strap of his messenger bag.

Shrugging, she slouched forward so that her chin was propped up in her palm, "It's June. I always come here." The wind ceased, and the next waves of heat were undulating, tricks of the mind in the distance. Hazy, waving and wriggling around in the sticky air. "It's sort of a tradition for me." Turning to him again, she flashed another smile that made him forget his name. "What about you? I saw you board at the other station. You don't travel much, do you?"

"What gave it away?" He feared if he explained why he'd come, he'd realize he was an imposter. A glance at his watch shone that it was noon, twelve-fourteen, and he was on a train in Scotland instead of the office. Maybe he'd truly gone mad, left his brains sitting there atop his emptied desk like scrambled eggs.

"You just looked lost," Another shrug and the woman stood fully upright, eyes flickering down to his bag, and he could see the words forming before she spoke, "Your bags unzipped." Before he could move to see for himself, she reached for him, drawing the zipper back to close it properly. Another gust of wind came, rustling their hair and swiping up a packet of papers from the open flap of the bag.

Dread crossed the woman's face as she lunged over the railing to try and grab at the airborne paper, but he gave her pause with a hand atop her shoulder.

"It's fine," He lied through his teeth. Some higher power was giving him a sign. He wasn't meant to be here.

"But your papers..."

Heat was in his face again, pooling together and knotting up in his stomach. "It's fine. It was nothing important." They stood there above the crowd and watched the packet flutter further and further away. He watched his dream spiral like a bird in flight and felt no urge to go after it. Indeed, he was mad.

"What was it?"

"A script," He answered honestly, voice deadpanned. Flat.

"A script? You're an actor?" The woman sounded genuinely apologetic, this wild look in her eyes like she'd readily fling herself over the railing for him and his stupid script.

"No, I wrote it. It's for a film festival here, but," He didn't look at her, "I wasn't actually going to enter." Another lie, more for himself than the woman beside him. Had he truly believed he could leave home for this? Feeling foolish, he moved to speak, but the woman set her glare on him.

"Yes, you are. I'll grab it for you."

"What?"

"You don't just travel to Scotland to enter a film festival and then give up over a little wind."

She was already climbing down, one leg after the other over the rail.

Stunned into silence, he watched as the woman hurried passed the crowd of travelers and into nearby shrubbery to retrieve the lost script. On the platform, passengers readied themselves for departure. He bit at his lip, feeling both relieved and embarrassed when she returned, holding his dampened stack of papers, dirt on her shoes and breathless. They shared sheepish looks.

"Easy enough," She handed it over, returning to her spot beside him to grab for her abandoned suitcase. "Now you can chase your dreams or whatever." Laughter in her voice, in her eyes.

"Thank you." And he meant it. Still holding the script in his hands, he turned to her again, "I never got your name."

"It's June," She told him, offering another smile to weaken his knees. She tossed a wave over her shoulder, descending the steps two at a time. June was off, a slowly fading blur in the distance as she disappeared around the bend. Newcomers climbed aboard to take her spot.

Clutching his script, he turned his chin up at the sky. There wasn't a light quite as brilliant as the one he saw then, and it gave him momentary warmth.

He felt free.