A gentle breeze swayed the trees making the leaves rustle and birds chirped merrily overhead. The scent of newly cut grass tickled my noise fighting to be recognized over my mum’s lavender perfume. She was hugging me tightly and wishing me well. I almost felt guilty for leaving so I was acting more upset than I really was.
I hugged her back gently and soothed her worries. But glancing up at the clear blue sky I broke into a smile. By this evening, I would be in my dorm at The Institute of Art. A prestigious school in for the artistically gifted. Well at least that’s what it said on the brochure. Everything just felt right like that moment you slot the final jigsaw piece into place. I had no idea things would change so suddenly.
In my mind I kept repeating that everyone gets their moment, their one chance, and their choice. To fly, to soar or to hide among the flock and merge with the others who wouldn’t take the risk of being caught in the wind. That’s how I had explained it to my mum.
She was wary at my choice to transfer to a school of art on a scholarship. She asked me a million times if I was sure. But are you every really sure of anything? You’re only sure of what you know, you know from what you’re taught. What if you were taught wrong, what u were sure u knew would suddenly be what u know to be wrong. So no I was not sure. But I couldn’t let her know that.
I recalled looking stoically in my mum’s darting grey eyes and speaking with a clear confidence I didn’t really posses, “Mum, remember that girl who gave up on her ambition when the road got rough?” Her eyes met mine, puzzled, and I smiled gently. “Exactly, neither does anybody else.” She’d squeezed my hands gently in her wrinkled ones and let the side of her mouth tug up. “That won’t ever be you Rachael, you’re destined for something great. Something magical.”
I relived the conversation now as I was staring out the window of the train. Her eyes had glowed fiercely when she’d said those last words. I’d assumed it was just over proud mother encouragement. But now glaring out at the world rushing past the grimy window. The words seemed to sparkle in my mind like they were spelt out with golden fireworks against an infinite ebony sky. I kept turning the words in my mind. Like holding a mirror at a different angle to see things in a different perspective. Digesting those words made the glow seem more knowing. Her smiles less forelong, more wistful. Like a woman talking about things she wished she’d been part of. Or memories of secrets never told but held dearly.
I was interrupted from mulling over this further or dismembering any other words. By a short, but insistent tap on my shoulder. I lifted my head from the window pane and turned to the person who had tapped me. My eyes snapped to her hair instantly, making my lips stretch into a wide smile. It was dyed a bright scarlet the exact shade I wished mine’s was. She radiated happiness like huge sun beams bursting from her skin. Even standing still it felt like she was bouncing with excitement. She was the kind of person who you couldn’t help smiling just by being next to her. Her sing-song voice lightened the empty carriage, “Hey I’m Abigail!” she chirped. Her rosy lips stretched over a set of pearly teeth. I returned the smile “Rachael,” I beamed completely intoxicated be her contagious mirth. “Hey, squidge over,” she laughed shimmying in beside me “my butt is never going to be that small.” I edged over obediently. I decided then, that I liked Abigail. She acted as if we were already best friends instead of complete strangers. She was totally unconventional and yet completely perfect.
“Sorry to disrupt you,” Abigail apologized widening her startling blue eyes, “it’s just there’s nobody else in this entire carriage and well I don’t think I’d survive the next two hours to Dublin without speaking to some one. I’d go insane and they’d have to hire the men in white suits to drag me out. I figured this saves the bother.” I laughed genuinely, “You’re going to Dublin too?” I asked hopefully. She caught my expectant eyes and grinned “Yep, I’m enrolling in,” her tone became mockingly formal and she puffed out her chest, “The Institute of Art for the gifted youth.” I couldn’t believe my luck. My bottom jaw drop and a giggle escaped “No way!” I cried “Me too!” Abigail smiled brilliantly “Yes! At least now I will actually know somebody, who’s not some pugnacious snob! We can be roomies!” she
