Patrick ran for the train, annoyed at himself for being unable to push back on the extra work heaped on him by his boss who didn't seem to understand that now was not a good time to be taking on new clients.
3:14.
Each breath felt like it was being dragged along a bed of coals. He tried to focus his mind on moving one foot in front of the other. The station had come into view, only a little bit left to go. As he passed by the news kiosk, he saw that the train was already there, waiting at the platform.
Second carriage from the back. Third last row of seats on the left-hand side.
The thought of seeing her again pushed him harder and he dug his train pass out of his bag with one hand as he deftly swiped it against the validator and hopped onto the platform. Sweat dripped unnoticed from his forehead onto his shoe as he made his way to the second last carriage. A quick glance inside showed that his favourite seat was free. He propped himself up against the window and waited.
3:19.
Did something happen to her? Why wasn't she on the train yet? Patrick thought to himself. Through the window, he watched the people on the platform, unable to see the telltale ponytail of auburn hair that was the highlight of his day.
3:20.
He looked at his watch, trying to fight back a feeling of disappointment. What would his wife say if she saw him like this? He peered anxiously out of the window again and spotted her making her way through the ticket barrier. He could pick her out of a crowd instantly. She raced towards the train, but the doors began to beep, indicating that the train was about to depart. Patrick leaped out of his seat and jammed his foot between the closing doors.
"Thanks," she panted, her lips parting in that familiar smile. The crinkle in the corner was out of place, but it gave her an adorable lopsidedness that made his heart feel heavy. He searched her face for a hint of recognition, but was both relieved and sad to see none. "Are those flowers for me?" she joked, her eyes looking mischievous.
Patrick froze, unable to think of a suitable response. Yes. Wait, no, don't say that, that's creepy!
"I'm just kidding," she laughed, as she went to sit down. Patrick returned to his seat.
Maria.
Her mother insisted on that name, as The Sound of Music was her favourite movie. Whenever Maria was called into detention for yet another high school prank, she could often be heard singing:
How do you solve a problem like Maria?Patrick always found it funny thought he never said so out loud. He wished his parents had been as casual when he was in detention.
How do you catch a cloud and pin it down?
He picked this seat because it allowed him to watch her in the reflection of the window under the guise of staring as the city flew by. Always a creature of habit, she always picked the same seat. Leaning against the window, with her legs sprawled out on the second seat, she would pull out her sketchbook, her pencil moving smoothly across the page to create whatever had captured her imagination that day. Her shoes bobbed up and down to the beat of the song spilling out of her headphones, but it wasn't loud enough for him to catch what it was.
He remembered that Maria had loved to draw and paint as a kid. Art class was her favourite, despite the fact that she struggled to pay attention and never drew what the teacher asked her to draw. He had asked her about it at the time, and she said that she couldn't help but draw the pictures in her head, and that drawing fruit bowls was boring.
After school was his favourite. They would meet behind the shed a block away from the school, and cycle home together. He understood that it was too embarrassing for her to be seen with him. Even now, 14 years later, the memory of her smiling as she walked her bike up to him brought a fresh wave of pain to his heart. She was always talkative, telling him about her day. If she had a lot she wanted to talk about, she'd ask if it was OK if they just walked. He secretly enjoyed those days the most, as it meant he got to spend twice as much time with her.
The memory haunted him. 10 years since he had last spoken to Maria. Her angry insistence that he couldn't tell her what to do, followed by him screaming that she was making a huge mistake. She drove off saying that she never wanted to speak to him again. If there was one thing she was good at, it was keeping her word.
A lock of hair had fallen out of her ponytail, and she absentmindedly tucked it behind her ear as she erased some lines. He wondered if she posted any of her drawings online. Would that be creepy of him to search for them? Last week, he had walked around a bit, pretending he needed to stretch his legs, and caught a glimpse of one of her drawings - a grandiose castle with a fire princess standing on a balcony. He rarely saw her with coloured pencils, so seeing the colourful array of pencils she had lying at her feet made him curious.
He felt his phone buzz, and he knew it was a message from his wife, but he couldn't bring himself to read it right now. Not while she was here. He only had a few more minutes until her stop. His thoughts were drawn back to that day. After she had driven off, he had stewed at home. He had done so much for her, and she just wanted to throw it all away for some stupid guy!
The train slowed to a stop, and she quickly packed up her sketchbook and went to stand by the door. Patrick was tempted to follow her, but his wife was waiting, and he couldn't think of a good explanation for being late. Not today.
His stop was next, and he stared wistfully at the now vacant seat as he stood up to leave. His wife was waiting at the platform. The sight of her puffy eyes filled him with guilt.
"You saw her again today, didn't you?" she said, accusingly, as they walked out of the station.
"I can't help that we catch the same train!" Patrick responded, defensively.
"We've talked about this. The therapist says it's not healthy. How can you move on if you keep putting yourself in that situation?"
"What situation? It's a girl on a train. One in a sea of hundreds."
"You know what I'm talking about, it's not just any girl. It's her."
"It's not as bad as you think."
"Urgh!" his wife sighed, in exasperation. "I can't deal with this right now. Not today." She stormed ahead and Patrick followed her silently. They followed a familiar path, bodies moving slowly, as though they were robots marching into battle.
His wife broke into a sob. "It's been 10 years."
"I know." Patrick replied sadly, as he put his arm around her. The tears began pouring out in earnest. "Maybe you should come and see her some time." Patrick offered.
"It's weird!"
"I know, but she really does look just like her, and she's the same age Maria would have been. It's a bit peaceful, seeing her. Thinking about what could have been."
His words hung in the air as he lay the flowers down at the gravestone.
Here lies Maria Abernathy.---------------------------
Beloved daughter
The cloud that could never be pinned down
1989-2007
I've gotten a bit sick of writing about my own life, so I thought I'd try more fiction. So today is Fiction Friday! Though I doubt it'll be a regular thing, and it'll be more like Fiction Whenever I Feel Like It Day!
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