The train was much colder today than I was prepared for. Wearing a dingy gray sweater, in which there was no shortage of holes, I could feel my skin freezing over. Despite the overall disgusting appearance of the sweater, it was one of my dearest articles of clothing. Trying as best as I could to retain my body heat, I watched the drops of rain waltz down the cool glass of the window. I could feel the lids of my eyes gradually becoming heavier and heavier . . .
"Attention all passengers! We are now approaching King Street Station! All passengers departing, please watch your step as you exit the train!"
I snapped to attention at the deafening voice of the conductor, and for a moment I felt as if I was about to be attacked. Collecting my belongings, as well as my thoughts, I stepped off of the train and out into the bleak Seattle day. As I walked through the station, I searched for a familiar face in the sea of people, and failed in my attempt.
"Ivy! Ivy, darling! Slow down, do you want me to burst a lung?"
Ah, the sweet serenade of my dearest mother's voice. Only Nancy Bennett could be heard over the roar of such a crowd.
"Sorry, Mom. I didn't see you, so I thought you might already be in the car," I said, laughing to myself at the mess of color standing before me. My mother wore a bright pink rain jacket and a particularly loud rain hat to match. Completely suited to her bright pink personality.
"Well, that's alright. Your father is making dinner at home, and I'm starving. Grab your stuff and let's . . . Oh, Ivy!" I froze, waiting for her to explain her sudden outburst. "Why do you always wear that nasty sweater? It makes you look like one of those drunk bums on the street!" She yelled, drawing more than one annoyed glance in our direction
"I don't know. I just like it, I guess," I said. With all the flighty thoughts going on in her head, she must have forgotten that this was my dad's sweater. It smelled like home, so I tended to disregard the appearance.
"Just promise me you'll wash it when we get home," she sighed.
"I promise I will wash it when we get home," I assured her with a mischievous grin.
She smiled softly. "I'm almost glad you dropped out of that school. It's been so lonely without you here."
"I've missed you too, Mom," I breathed.
