Green To Green

Twelve

Itching: the only sensation I could feel under the bandages on my arms and wrists as I waited at the train station. It didn’t hurt, not like I thought it would. The heat of the summer made the bandages heavy on the healing wounds.

The God of Death’s call was faint but beautiful – a lullaby that a mother would sing to her child. I knew what it, no, what I wanted, so I tried. When I woke up, they said I was lucky to be alive. They asked why, but I had no answer. My life had no complications or conflicts or even any periods of elation. It was just there. A place that existed only to be affected by its surroundings but never by itself. This feeling followed me for as long as I could remember.

A breath. The wheels of the train clatter as it slowed and stopped. Through the window I saw a woman looking off into the distance, a man next to her. She talked with him, a smile on her face but her green eyes darkened. I could tell that whatever she was saying was either a lie or a platitude, just something to give the other person the illusion of interest. He reached out and touched her arm as he deboarded.

As the passengers departed to catch their next train or meet their friends at the gate, they all moved past her, never once disturbing her. She looked up; her eyes locked onto me. Green grew lighter. I shifted uncomfortably as her stare trapped me. A faint smile formed, as if she was remembering a day long since passed. The train had begun to leave and I looked up, watching as it departed. A song that I had just heard a few days ago filled the air. I walked up to the gate, preparing to step out as the next train approached, but the thought of those eyes restrained me as it passed by, uneventfully. Yet another unchanged place.

Eighteen

Diploma in hand, the cool spring air blew through the train station. Friends prater on about colleges they will go to and plans for the future.

“What would I do?” they asked. Lies fell from my lips as I listened to their praises and words of congratulations. The pressure to go out into the world and do “great things” hung over my head like the Sword of Damocles. Top marks, top college, top student, top cut.

But nothing changed. Nothing was too remarkable, but not unremarkable. Enough that I did well, but not enough to do too well. A phantom itch appeared on my arms, the faint lines on them a physical reminder of a memory long ago. Wheels clattered, the train stopped, hugs given, tears shed, goodbyes said, feet moved, and I was alone again.

Another train approached. I looked up and saw those unmistakable green eyes again for the first time in six years. Unchanged green eyes stared out, vacant and darkened in heavy thought.

One by one the people departed the train. She looked up; her eyes once again locked onto mine. A look of confusion paned across her face, then of thought, and finally of recognition. Her eyes grew brighter; wrinkles next to her eyes formed as she made a real smile. A decision had been made.

Did I know her? Did she know me?

The allure of the questions and her smile entranced me. A familiar song flowed through the air, its rhythm nostalgic and comforting. I took a step forward, readying to board the train and speak with her.

My feet rose and fell with each step until I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around. A train conductor stood there yelling at me, his voice was blocking out the sweet melody from earlier. My head twisted back; the train was no longer there and no sound existed of it leaving.

I walked away, wrists itching, traces of the song lingered in my head. Another instance of a place unchanged.

Twenty-Seven

A sigh escaped me as I took in the surroundings of the train: children were laughing, couples chatted under hushed breaths, workers were sleeping after a long day of work. My head hung low. My hair was longer, clothes new, apartment freshly moved into, and work was busy, but all were just physical changes to cover up the fact that the insides remained the same as they did fifteen years ago.

The August heat from the outside invaded the train car as people departed, hanging around my neck and choking like a noose. The boy I had met and been messaging sat next to me, readying to get off. He said he was worried about the messages but never understood why I messaged him. Something else yet unchanged. I looked up as we approached the first station. A young girl, no more than twelve, stood waiting on the platform, head hanging down, itching her bandaged-covered wrists. Her small face and green eyes made contact with mine as the train readied to depart for the next station. A memory played through my mind and the sweet song that followed me rang louder in my ears.

The train approached the next station. A girl in unseasonable clothes held a diploma in her hands, her too itching at something on her wrist.

Was it a late ceremony? Most students already graduated in the spring. Was she hiding something? Was that why she wore the winter school uniform?

Her face lifted and matched the reflection of my face in the window.

Green to green.

A smile crossed my face, cracking the perfect mirror that faced me. That same never-ending song played louder in my ears than any time it had before. The train departed. My stop reached. I sent him a message; this was the fourth but this one I’m sure will be the last.

I ran to my apartment, passing by the photos of myself throughout the years. I gave a word of thanks to them as I went up to the top of the building, the music growing.

The song played through the muggy air, clearer and more beautiful than ever before as a door slammed open behind me.