Derailed

Now:

Being alone isn't as terrifying as it seems. At first going to a public place with no companion seems impossible, all you feel is the judgment of others drowning your confidence. Their eyes land on you and you can actually feel their disgust pour over every inch of your body.

On the other hand, being alone, for any amount of time, is oddly comforting. You feel free. For that short amount of time, you hold the power. You could leave and never come back, or you could continue living your life as if the thought never crossed your mind. With being alone you hold great power, you create the stories for the passing faces. The cute blonde girl who walks past you and smiles, instead of glimpsing at her, and predicting her going off to teach at some preschool. You make her go to work as the head dominatrix at a sex shop. Or the punk guy in front of you at the coffee shop, isn't on his way to spray paint the side of a building, instead you envision him on his way to work, fixing a child's heart in surgery. It's all the power being alone, because you are no longer the story, you are the author.

So, sitting in the cabin of the observation dome on a Pullman Train isn't so scary for me anymore.

I sipped my coffee and chills ran rampant up my arms. The steam from my coffee slithered around my face making the pores on my pale skin surge and transform into mountains. I always thought goose bumps were revolting, but looking at my forearms now, I see that it's something tantalizingly beautiful. My own skin is using all the power in its realm to latch onto the heat that my coffee is dispensing, so in retrospect, my skin only wants to be enveloped in warmth.

The windows of the train were frosted which made the outside world more unclear than it already is. The only thing I have ever appreciated about riding the train is the luxury of the observation dome. The whole roof of the car is crystal clear glass so when im not sleeping on the train im staring at the canopy of trees that line the railway. I don't quite understand why they spent the thousands of dollars on a luxury Observation dome car if they wouldn't spend any money to cut back the over grown trees.

Only in some sections of the train's long run the cut down, revealing the sky. Of course the trees were not cut down to make the view better but, to make room for the homes of the evr expanding population.

The leaves have already fallen off of the trees and the branches were skeletal, surrounded by the lonely chill of the winter's day, a chill that couldn't quite reach me inside the train's cabin. The sun was rising and the sky was a dark shade of purple. Not a lovely lavender how people always say it is, and how it is always the pretty cotton candy purple pink, in paintings, and overly edited photographs. No the sky was a depressing plum, one you would find when the sun was setting after a long day of raining. The sun being so depressed after not given the chance to shine through the storm clouds all day, the sun would mourn the lost day of sunshine with a special depressing purple.

I think the sun is sad today, I wonder who she is morning. Maybe it's the impending winter, that threatens to cover up the beautiful greens of nature, or maybe she is mourning the fact that as she rises the moon falls.

The train speeds along the railroad until it reaches the last stop before it enters the city. The train screeches to a stop and halts momentarily. While no one leaves but hundreds join us on the commute to the city. I close my eyes anticipating my fellow commuter, the one I met in a turn of beautifully extravagant set of accidents.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back till my neck was fully bare and my head rested on the seat. I could hear the rumble of the passengers as they entered the car and began to find their seats. I felt the seat opposite of mine give way as the passenger took their designated spot. I could smell the aroma of my chestnut coffee soar its way up my nose. I relaxed my neck, leaving my head hanging loosely down, the smirk I held on my face would be one that surly looked demonic. My eyes were still closed letting the little light the train station provided fluttered through my eyelids causing the usual black from my eyelids turn a light red. I watched the veins of my eyelids, as they looked like paths, and I could imagine traveling them one day.

The train lurched forward and I had to place my hands on the table to steady myself. My left hand almost knocked over my coffee. The nighty-eight cent coffee started its dramatic decent until I felt pressure on the other side of the travel mug. The opposite pressurE steadied it so it didn't tip and spill all over the expensive wooden table, and nicely leathered seats.

My right hand fell perfectly onto my fellow commuter's hand. I kept my eyes closed to savor the sweet touch that sent lightning bolts up threw my entire hand. This time the goose bumps on my hands that I could feel traveling up and over my entire body, wasn't gravitating to warmth as much as it was searching for the enchanting pulse of the magical limb. I ran my fingers across its knuckles savoring the peaks and valleys that each joint created. My fingers trailed down the pinky finger to caress the tips of the fingers, where the nails were bitten down into stubs. My fingers exploring ever part of the hand found comfort in its soft palm, swirling in circles till the hand shied away from the tickling sensation. My fingers continued its exploration by gently skating up its stubby thumb, around the soft tissue web area between the thumb and index finger, soaring up to the top of the index finger following back down to the palm and swooping back to the middle finger. The all American salute, a single appendage holding such a vile meaning, leaving the middle I found myself rubbing where the forefinger meets the knuckle, another appendage, lanky and slender holding yet another powerful message, except this one is of love not hate. I could caress this finger for eternity, just for the fact that the finger is alleged to be the only finger that has a vein shooting directly to the heart. Touching that finger could bring me closer to its life source. When I arrived at the pinky I tickled each bend in the finger, and then clasped my both my hands around the hand of the mystifying pulse. Knowing every nook and cranny, having memorized the entire layout of the hands, I smiled and retracted my hands. Light poured into the car, singling our entry into the city, and soon the entire train would be dark, signaling our arrival at the station. Before I lost my chance of seeing beauty in the sunshine.

I gently fluttered my eyes open, trying to adjust to the new bright industrial light of the city. Sitting opposite of me was a love I didn't entire understand.