Growing Backward

A young woman sits alone in an old train car, her wool hat in her lap and her eyes more on the reflection in the glass than on the snow covered pine trees outside. The car is warm, but she hasn't taken off her yellow jacket even though she had gotten on board five or six stops ago. Her name is Eliana, but sometimes it's Jimena or Natalie, but Eliana is her favorite. She has dark eyes, and dark hair, and dark olive skin. Her features are of the sort where no one can quite place them. She could be from the far-east or the jungles of the south or even the ice covered north. The ambiguity suits her.

The yellow jacket could be seen as a statement when so many on the train wear gray or black, but she hadn't meant it that way. In fact, the bright yellow is a remembrance of an old life. One filled with bright colored scarves and skirts, loud music, crystal balls, perfume oils, and midnight bonfires.

Her favorite life. She lays a hand on her stomach.

A life behind her, now.

It's taking her a while to get used to the reflection in the glass. The same face; a new face. Her eyes are the hardest to change. Instead of dancing dark depths they need to be the eyes of someone who sees what's there at the tip of their nose and no deeper. Her dark hair waves, but it's brushed and clipped and pinned so that not even the smallest strand can escape which only makes her features look sharp and strict. She doesn't look like the woman who, only a fortnight ago, was dancing naked under full moons. It's perfect in that it was her intention, but it'll take some getting used to.

The last stop was a small town, but that was before they started cutting through the mountains. So, it is strange – or at the very least worth taking note of – when the cabin door slides open.

There is nothing outwardly strange about this person. She's an old woman wearing a long black coat and a black fur hat. He wrinkles are the kind that crinkles around the eyes and still dimple when she smiles which she does when she sees Eliana staring.

"Can I sit down?"

The old woman is already moving toward the bench across from her.

As she sits, the frilly ruffles of a bright yellow skirt peek out under the hem of her long coat.

"It's noisy in my car, but that's what happens when your husband is fat. He insisted on sitting right next to the dining car. I suppose it's my fault." She leans in close. "The secret is cake. A person will agree to anything after they've had a big piece of cake and some hot chocolate."

After an assessing stare, she pats the air out of her jacket and adds, "You look like you could use some cake."

The woman she was before, she might have something to say. Nothing mean or angry but something that would be accompanied by her lips teasing at a smile – a smile to completely mask the twinge of annoyance underneath. Then again, if this old woman happened in on someone wrapped in colorful scarves and fingering the long string of beads around her neck while contemplating a scattered array of crystals on the seat beside her, she wouldn't have remarked about that woman needing cake.

After a time, the old woman takes off the fur hat. Her hair is cropped short and pale purple. She mumbles to herself and then takes off her jacket. The yellow skirt is accompanied by a frilling cream blouse. It's an outfit a younger woman would wear and it looks awkward on the older woman. So much so that Eliana almost smiles.

But, she's not that woman anymore.

The old woman primps her hair. "The color is new. But these old things." She tussles her skirts. "Well, they're better than whatever drab you have under that coat of yours."