A Regular Bonnie and Clyde
The clock chimes twelve times somewhere in the dense fog, high above the city tops. And it echoes sorrowfully through the mist and I look down at my old timepiece. My watch is off. Time... The way we live, it seems that time is a commodity that we have so much of. But I have found that is a rarer and precious thing that we should all hold onto.
I am all alone on the platform. I suppose I like it this way. The feeling of a world all my own, that being able to pull away from the rush and the hurry of life, to just be able to waltz among the early morning mist and not have a dozen prying eyes strip away the your layers, digging into who you are.
There is a stifled cough from behind. I was wrong; there is yet another soul here in this deserted place-- the porter. He shifts in his seat and I hear the gentle rustling of a newspaper.
The train doesn't arrive for yet another hour. But it seemed easier this way-- to leave without a look behind my shoulder. Just up and off, as easy as that. My heart clenches gently. Setting my small valise bag by the bench, I plop down. Taking deep breath, the tight pull in my chest eases slowly.
As my lungs pull at the early morning air, an airy cloud puffs from my lips. And how! It's cold enough to freeze a pail of water out here. I rub my hands together, then stick them in my pockets. In the right pocket, my hands secure around the ticket-- the small piece of paper that holds my future.
My eyes are a bit bit with the cold and I blink furiously. I won't close them-- I won't. I know what happens in the darkness of your mind. Figures from the past-- things better left in the recesses of your mind... and her.
A soft lulling tune floats from the porter's office. He adjusts the volume on the small radio and something low and melodious flows clear and true through the silence of the morning. I rub the flat of my hands against my eyes to drive away the sleep. I'll sleep on the train. Some silly notion: the farther away, the less hold this place will have over me. Thirteen days and I will reach California and my new life.
It's funny the things you do over a woman... but she was not just any woman; she was the woman I loved.
I slouch down on the wrought iron bench, breathing out slowly and that misty breath travels up towards the starless sky. And on that deserted platform only one sound remains, that of the crackled radio and it's soulful voice, something as old as time...
"The way you wear your hat... the way you sip your tea... the mem'ry of all that...no, no! they can't take that away from me!"
And oh, how I wish they would...
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