Sojourn
It was dark by the time they pulled into Paddington station. She spent the forty- minute journey with her head tilted against the glass, looking outside as the world passed her by - there a little, hunched old woman bundled up in her great coat and shawl walking her geriatric Yorkshire terrier, there a hulking afro-carribean man in shades and ripped jeans dwarfing his oriental girlfriend, leaning down to kiss her gently on the lips. There an oriental boy lost in thought as he sips his lukewarm coffee at a cheap and cheerful al-fresco cafe, his textbook on quantum mechanics lying neglected next to his cold croissant. There in the park a white labrador running free with his mouth open wide and his tongue lolling, laughing with his eyes and making friends with everyone and everything he encounters. London can be quite an eyeful when you're just watching it eating, breathing, loving, hurting... living. Watching with your eyes open and your mind blank.
Roadworks, and more roadworks; traffic lights, traffic cones; convenience stores, cafes, Subway, Pret A' Manger, Cafe Nero, Costa coffee - the heart and soul of humdrum, everyday london slid by her passive, watchful eyes.
Off on holiday? The black top cabbie asked conversationally, without taking his eyes off the road as he deftly dodged back into his lane, out of the path of instant obliteration by an oncoming bus.
"No, I'm..."
She let the words trail off as she wondered, why Paddington station, exactly?
She hadn't really thought about it, hadn't thought where she was going to go or what she wanted to do. It just felt... right.
"I guess I am."
But who am I?
I was born Kirsten Brough, twenty two years ago to an ordinary, middle class family. I went to school and grew up an ordinary teenager. I have a regular job as a registered nurse with the NHS, that pays just enough. I've just come out of a pleasant but mundane relationship with a man I think I might have loved once, for a while. Or perhaps not. I'm due on shift in another two hours. I should ring in sick today.
But who am I?
The taxi came to a stop.
"We're here, miss. Twelve pound forty."
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Monday, November 07, 2005
Chapter 1
Relief
Breakups are usually messy. This one, thankfully, wasn't.
She hugged him close, ear to cheek, her arm tight around the nape of his neck, and breathed him in.
"Goodbye."
"Goodbye."
They stepped back, and smiled at each other as friends for a second, their eyes finally speaking to each other after so many months of casual evasion as lovers.
It wasn't that things had gone bad, or that there had been someone else. They'd just drifted apart gradually as their pathways in life had diverged. Idealists often preach mutual tolerance and accomodation. Realists realise that sometimes... you just need something... else.
They were both realists.
She broke their visual embrance and turned away, leaning over to slide into the seat of the waiting cab.
"Paddington station, please."
She didn't look back as the cab pulled away, and she knew that he wouldn't either. Instead she watched the vivid red and gold hues that autumn, freshly risen from the dead had painted in the trees, the sky and the sidewalks. She watched the way the sunlight streamed almost parallel to the ground, creeping around street corners, probing its way under closed doors, catching her eyes at certain angles and blinding her, even in its dying moments. She watched pedestrians hurrying on their ways, pulling their long coats tight around them as the wind, for the first time in a long while caressed then with icy tendrils, as a spring day metamorphosed into an autumn evening.
She was surprised. She'd expected to feel something... sadness. Regret. Resentment.
But all she felt was relief.
Breakups are usually messy. This one, thankfully, wasn't.
She hugged him close, ear to cheek, her arm tight around the nape of his neck, and breathed him in.
"Goodbye."
"Goodbye."
They stepped back, and smiled at each other as friends for a second, their eyes finally speaking to each other after so many months of casual evasion as lovers.
It wasn't that things had gone bad, or that there had been someone else. They'd just drifted apart gradually as their pathways in life had diverged. Idealists often preach mutual tolerance and accomodation. Realists realise that sometimes... you just need something... else.
They were both realists.
She broke their visual embrance and turned away, leaning over to slide into the seat of the waiting cab.
"Paddington station, please."
She didn't look back as the cab pulled away, and she knew that he wouldn't either. Instead she watched the vivid red and gold hues that autumn, freshly risen from the dead had painted in the trees, the sky and the sidewalks. She watched the way the sunlight streamed almost parallel to the ground, creeping around street corners, probing its way under closed doors, catching her eyes at certain angles and blinding her, even in its dying moments. She watched pedestrians hurrying on their ways, pulling their long coats tight around them as the wind, for the first time in a long while caressed then with icy tendrils, as a spring day metamorphosed into an autumn evening.
She was surprised. She'd expected to feel something... sadness. Regret. Resentment.
But all she felt was relief.
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