68. Sixty Five
Sixty Five
Eden
The train is stuffy, brimming with bustling people that all live as intricately as the others. No one stops to stare at us, or question us. We’re strangers, blending in with the normalcies of life.
It’s so bizarre, I can’t help the bouncing of my knee.
Our belongings are packed into two duffel bags, one for each of us.
We left the house as it was, and that’s fine by me.
Cecil offered to burn it down in an attempt to offer me closure.
I told him the feelings there were too convoluted, too bittersweet.
While it was a prison for most of my life, it also wasn’t, at the end. I couldn’t destroy where I’d met Creed.
So it sits, just as we left it that day we went into battle. The day before we lost him.
“Tickets?”
The voice startles me, and I flinch despite myself. Cecil slips his palm over my knee, stilling my newfound habit. He presents each of our tickets, and I avert my gaze from the woman. Seemingly pleased, she hands him back the two pieces of paper.
“Thank you. Enjoy the ride, Mister Bastien.” She nods her head at him, then me, adding, “Miss Bastien.”
I can’t force a smile to match hers, so I turn and gaze out the window.
The train station was a full day's worth of driving, and it will take us to the other end of the country, Cecil says. Montana. He promised that it was peaceful, with plenty of animals and all the trees I could imagine. “A lot to draw,” he’d told me. “And not very many people.”
Any place was better than where we’d been, so he didn’t have to sell me on it.
I simply nodded and packed my bag with what little things I wanted to keep.
I left most of my own clothes behind, choosing instead to load up on however much of Creed’s wardrobe could be folded down and squashed together.
Fiddling with my sleeve, I pull the oversized garment over my trembling fingers.
The train lurches, a grind trembling from the wheels. We’re about to take off. Inhaling deeply, my eyes dart around the people that wait outside the locomotive, waving to loved ones onboard.
The unpleasant bite of envy makes my eyes glaze over, and I reach to pull the shade down.
My hand stalls. Out the window, atop the back of a wooden bench, two sparrows hop around one another. My forehead grazes the glass as I lean forward.
They stop in their dance, turning feathered heads in my direction. Looking at me.
My chest spasms. I raise my right hand, fingers forming a sign, but then I drop it back into my lap. Shame burns my cheeks, and I swallow heavily.
Cecil’s hand slips beneath my own, entwining our fingers. He squeezes once, and I tear my eyes from the two birds. He doesn’t speak, simply brushes his lips against my forehead. The words are whispered against my skin, inaudible.
I love you.
The corner of my mouth lifts infinitesimally. With my left hand, I reply, “I know.”
The train begins to crawl forward, and I twist to peer out the window one last time, seeking out the pair of birds.
As if they’d been waiting for me, they leap from the bench when I spot them. Wings flapping, they fly circles around each other, keeping up with the accelerating wheels.
A knit forms in my brow, and I raise my hand to the glass once more. With my index finger out, I spin my wrist in a small circle.
“Always,” I sign. Just in case.
Two sparrows shoot off towards the heavens, soaring through sunlight until I lose sight of them entirely.
THE END