How many goodbyes

PROLOGUE

Ella

Friday

I sit on the bench at the train station.

I used to take trains here every time I came back to my hometown when I was studying at college.

Back then, I knew by heart the directions where the trains on each of those four lines went at the specific lunchtime.

Countless times I sat eating a sandwich on this bench while the trains passed by and that automatic robotic voice from the station repeated the same words, changing the line number and the train’s destination.

Many other times I sat down just to catch my breath, after running all the way from the parking lot to here, and watched the train leave the platform in front of my eyes without being able to catch it for barely seconds.

To stop being late was a goal that made it onto my list of personal improvements every January 1st. I justify it by saying I realized it’s actually very hard to put an end to “the distractions of life” (what I call the things that make my mind wander).

Here I am, after a three-hour journey, sitting on that same bench, a decade later, and it feels as if nothing has changed. Though I know everything did.

But not here. Here, it’s a train station, totally frozen in time: the same four train lines, the same robotic voice, the same cold, slippery metal benches.

I’ve just arrived from a Neuroscience conference.

A fascinating one. I spent the three-hour train ride gazing at the familiar landscapes, my thoughts drifting beyond the glass of the window beside me, and jotting down in my notebook everything that felt too interesting to forget: The role of laughter in attenuating stress.

fMRI imaging: the researchers scanned participants’ brains while they watched comedic and neutral video clips.

Increased activity was observed in the ventromedial prefrontal cortex and anterior cingulate cortex, both linked to emotional regulation, decision-making, and reward.

Laughter, particularly spontaneous socially shared laughter, activates brain regions associated with emotional regulation and stress relief.

Participants who laughed more showed reduced cortisol levels post-experiment.

As part of my work in neuropsychology, I get to travel to these international conferences from time to time, where we present findings to fellow scientists and network with researchers from all over the world. Each city brings new topics and new discussions.

It had been a good idea to return home by train. It had always been my preferred mode of transportation. Train journeys lend themselves to self-reflection. The lull of the train’s speed and the passing scenery seem to soothe every nerve in my nervous system.

I could have gone to Verryn, but Bill wasn’t there. He was away at a business conference too. So, instead of returning to the city to an empty apartment, I made a sudden and not-so-frequent-these-days choice to visit the countryside, my small town, and my second home.

Bill and I live in Verryn, in a modern, silent, glassy apartment, with high-end marble decor throughout.

A place that was actually bought by him, for him.

It was a few years ago, right after he got promoted to his very important, very competitive corporate job, that he decided it was time to take that first big step into adulthood. Before we took our big step.

I bought my beautiful country house in my hometown, Evermere, two years ago when a great deal came along, one my mother simply couldn’t let her eldest daughter pass up.

It was so exciting to do it with her: going to see the house together, negotiating for a better (even better) price, discussing the expense calculations, meeting with the bank, signing the mortgage papers — me as the owner, my mom as the co-signer.

And just like that, I had the key to a house.

A space. My space. I had claimed a little piece of the world for myself. Love you, Mom.

That space was now my “second home”, or, as Bill would say, our “vacation house”. Because Bill’s apartment in the city was now “our home”.

And as much as I like that idea, I still find myself happy to escape here. To Evermere, my small town.

Another train pulls into the station. Line number 3.

The sky is already dark, full of stars overshadowed by the streetlamps.

While waiting for my cab, I find myself tracking with my eyes each person who steps out of that train’s carriages onto the platform, and each person who is waiting on the other side for someone to arrive.

Some would be parents, grandparents; others companions, friends, siblings.

How long has it been since they last saw each other?

I smile as I contemplate these moments, these people.

I’d forgotten how much I liked train stations on Friday nights.

I liked being a spectator of all the happiness contained in the moment people reunited.

I liked when they called out for their loved one’s name in the crowd. I liked the smiles. The tight hug that lasted a little longer this time.

I liked the rushing around, the impatience, the tears of joy.

I liked the touch, the coming together, the closeness.

The end of missing someone.