Dreams Grayson
I was smiling even before my eyes opened. That, my friends, was some dream. All wrapped up in feminine perfection. Long legs. Soft hair falling all over my pillow. Small noises of contented pleasure. Until my headache interrupted the euphoria. I swore I wouldn't drink that much again. At least that was what I always promised myself the morning after.
My bathroom was alive, and above the sound of running water, I heard, "what should we do for breakfast?" No.No.No. Not again. And soon, my lucid dream joined me. In the bed. Her minty breath wanted more. What was her name? God help me. Something that started with a "J," I thought. Jane...Julie...? Or was that last week's nightmare?
Trust Laurabelle
Profound experiences caught us by surprise, involved nouns, and changed things. Forever. Mine were measurable. Mainly because of the metaphorical umbilical cord still tethered to my parental unit. It was hard to quit a seventeen year habit.
"Where's my camera?" I called down the hall from my bedroom.
"Top shelf, coat closet," Mom answered from the kitchen. She was making a goodie bag for me in honor of my first semi-profound taste of independence. One that came in the form of a seven hour train ride.
One more backward glance, and I was ready to leave the place I called home. Mom started the car as soon as I got in. Her face couldn't hide the crinkled worry around her eyes. My impending lack of supervision was a big deal for all of us. I was pretty sure it meant my parents trusted me. "Got your ticket?"
"Yes, Mom." I smiled because I knew she had an extra copy in her pocket. Just in case.
Believe it or not, my liberator—Kansas City's Union Station—was once a condemned landmark. A building I could photograph for days and never comprehend its soul. Her magnificent ceilings always drew my attention...upward. Up to the beautifully-restored painted patterns and embellishments which were often taken for granted by the average person but never lost on me.
"We're here," mom said, still holding the goodie bag as if holding it longer added more love.
"You always take care of me," I told her; then, I hugged her. One of those big hugs that lasted too long.
"You're going to have the time of your life," Mom said. Her eyes threatened an outpouring of transparent concern, and I thought that the saddest part of parenting must be the end of the next stage. When the child's life (mine) went on. Without her.
"I love you more than sugar," Mom whispered in my ear. She always said that.
Superhero Grayson
She needed me. My sister. My Lilly. To her, I was Superman. Her savior. Which meant I needed to go to her even though it was beyond inconvenient. No child should have to be a parent when they were still a child.
Lisa. Lilly's mother, not mine. Strung out, tired, depressed. Grief was the reason. The cause. The excuse. Only it wasn't an excusable excuse, not really. Because we all missed him. My dad. The one who left before his time.
Seat 63 Laurabelle
Mom wouldn't worry long because as soon as I got to Chicago, I'd be with Shanna, my best friend thanks to Shedd Aquarium's love of Lake Ecology. Shane found me at a selective summer high school program ran through Chicago's famous aquarium. A program that linked art and applied science, the former of which was my reason for applying and why I attended. Anyways, Shanna was responsible. Definitely more responsible than Saige, my fraternal womb sharer. My sister, Saige, was the perfect twin: straight teeth, long legs, and dimples. I equalled the epitome of average. I was the ordinary to Saige's extraordinary, and my greatest accomplishment thus far was breathing the earth's atmosphere a full five minutes before her.
The Amtrak attendant scanned my ticket and handed it back before pointing to a door behind her. Through the door, I found a long, covered sidewalk partially filled with travelers on a journey. Travelers just like me. My first independent decision presented itself at the end of the sidewalk. Two roads...one lead to a narrow case of descending stairs, and the other to an elevator, and although they didn't diverge in Frost's yellow wood, they still seemed important to my future. My family always took the elevator because of Saige brought the biggest suitcase known to mankind. Not me, I traveled light. So, I took the stairs. My first act of independence.
The conductor assigned seats to every passenger boarding the train in Kansas City; the train was the last leg of a two day journey from Los Angeles to Chicago. My assigned seat number was 63 which was in the back of the super liner's upper deck, so when I entered the train car, I took the narrow stairs up by two. But, when I found my seat...it was already occupied by some guy's legs. He was asleep and all stretched out across both seats. I looked for another possibility, scanned the train car ten more times for any other way. No luck. It seemed the only option was to wake him and claim his sleeping spot as my own. "Excuse me," I muttered, lightly tapping his shoulder. He stirred, but only long enough to adjust the pillow behind his head. "Umm, excuse me," I said louder. He finally opened his would-rather-be-sleeping eyes, and look up at me. Some sort of heat flashed inside of me and reached all the way up to my cheeks, but I managed to say, "sorry." He furrowed his brow in sleepy confusion. "I'm supposed to sit here," I whispered.
"Window or aisle?" He (who was way beyond cute) inquired.
"Seat 63," I said.
"Well, I'm 65, and the seat next to me is 64...so, not your seat after all."
And, just like that, I equalled the dictionary's definition of a loser. A river of curse words flowed through my head and my voice betrayed my wish to cry. Finally, I said, "I am so...sorry. I feel terrible for waking you."
He readjusted his pillow and whispered something cool like, "don't feel bad. It's all good."
I saw them now, the seat numbers. They were on the backside of the seats. All that time, I should have been bothering the elderly lady sitting in front of the cute boy. She didn't hear my first two attempts to wake her, and the last thing I needed on my conscience was an old lady's heart attack. I really wanted my mom.
Acts of Kindness Are Overrated Grayson
I tried to go back to sleep, but I heard her talking loud enough to wake the dead. "EXCUSE ME. I need to sit here." I heard her desperation. Her mortification.
Ignore her. Go back to sleep. Not your problem.
"What's going on?" Asked a frail, old, scratchy voice. It came from the seat diagonally in front of me where a gray haired woman clutched a purse close to her body and tried to stand. But she couldn't stand on her own due to her aged lack of strength. I'm a terrible person.
That girl who woke me up was explaining, "...Kansas City, Ma'am...just got on the train...my seat is..." I heard bits and pieces before the old lady said something under her breath. Not to the girl but very likely about her. "I'm really sorry," the girl stuttered. I actually heard the deep red spread across her face. She'd most likely have a good cry when she finally sat down.
Someone intervened, "here, let me help you with that." The deep voice startled me. Probably because it was my own. My rebellious hand took the girl's duffle bag and put it above seat 65. I answered the girl's unspoken question with a smile before I tended to the elderly. "Ma'am, I didn't realize until just now that this...uh...passenger needs to sit by me." Who was this guy so compelled to care for a stranger? To the girl, my finger pointed its command, Sit. But after that, my mouth softened the blow, "...next to me." She moved into the seat but kept her eyes hidden. I refused to seem too eager for her thankfulness. Her peripheral caught me watching her, so she shielded me from the content of a text message to Mom. Fine. So what if she didn't acknowledge what I gave up for her willingly.
I heard her whisper "thank you" in the middle of my pillow fluffing.
"You're most welcome," I replied.
She turned and looked at me. Not in my eyes. I smiled briefly, before it dawned on me that she was staring at my lips.
Words Laurabelle
"Laurabelle Bennett," I said apologetically.
"Hello, I'm Grayson Miller, and I'm so glad you're here." Three shades of pink accompanied my expression and laughter was my automatic awkward response in this and every situation, but he kept talking to me anyway. "Finally...I see your smile." Grayson elbowed me playfully and silence spoke for a while. Then, he asked, "are you going all the way to Chicago?"
I nodded. "Are you going to Chicago, too?"
"Yes, Laurabelle," his mouth tried out my name, "you can't get rid of me."
A big, goofy grin spread across my face. His too. My mind was pondering the possibilities of a seven hour train ride. With this guy.
Missouri Grayson
"So...Laurabelle, do you actually live in Kansas City?" What's wrong with me? It was pointless to talk to someone I'd never see again.
"Yes, the Missouri side." Obviously an important detail.
"Okay? I didn't realize there were sides to Kansas City."
"Oh, yeah, well...it's just...the downtown...," she started, another blush forfeited, "...the city part of Kansas City is in Missouri, and Kansas City, Kansas is...well, there's not much to it." Her face told me she mistook my frown for something it wasn't. "Oh, sorry, I only told you because most people don't know..." Her voice faded into nothingness.
"Well, I really appreciate the geography lesson, Laurabelle. It's not everyday a person can get an education on a train."
Her laughter—a stifled snort—humored me enough to raise one eyebrow. She met my eyes with her own. Those eyes, wow! They were the lightest shade of brown I'd ever seen. And, upon further examination, I saw tiny flecks of yellow swimming around in the brownness. My eyes traveled up to her hair. Wavy, brown. Then to her lips. Full and pouty. I forced my eyes to look beyond her. Out of the window instead. that was much safer for both of us.
Montana Laurabelle
The train passed over a bridge, a very long bridge above the Missouri River. Normally, when I drove across bridges, I fought a natural reflex to close my eyes. The train passenger in me did shut them and concentrated on my breathing. My wild imagination envisioned the train plummeting into the water below. How would I get out? I wouldn't. I'd drown. Drowning equalled one of my greatest fears and currently, my worst nightmare. The train-falling-off-a-bridge-and-plunging-into-the-water-below thing made me crazy, and so, before I could stop myself, I said, "Joe Montana didn't know."
Grayson raised an eyebrow. "Not sure I follow," he said.
"Oh...it's just...well...when Joe Montana retired from playing with the Kansas City Chiefs...he failed to acknowledge Missouri. Joe thanked the great people of Kansas for his football experience, at least that's what my dad says. It never fails...we'll be watching the Chiefs game and Dad brings up Montana...and the time he was our quarterback but didn't know what state his own football team was in."
Grayson had a funny look on his face. Probably amusement...I got that a lot because I had this mind of non-stop thoughts. Thoughts that made perfect sense to me because I did all the thinking that got from here to there. Often, my thoughts weren't so clever when they spewed out of my mouth. I abandoned thinking and started praying. Dear God, shut me up! And while You're at it, erase everything I said after "hello." Grayson shifted in his seat, and I wanted to say, "damn you, Joe Montana!" But I didn't. At least those words stayed inside.