Tuesday night is still. The distant call of a passing train is familiar, somehow comforting. In her young life she had lived by train tracks in many places, often drifting to sleep as they thundered close by. Her mind is wandering to other times, times sweetly nostalgic, holding the illusive grandeur that all fond memories do. Escaping, remembering, savoring… She lay in a blue room in the city of the queen, window shades pulled back, watching the airplanes light up as they travel under the navy blanket, filled with diamonds. She loved that Carolina sky. Soft sounds of a beloved singer seeped into her consciousness, casting her into a state of deep contentment. Life could be so hurtful, but there she was safe. There, deep in the realm of her thoughts. A private space no one else had so much as glimpsed at before.
She is slowly brought back to reality. A slightly messy room, light grey walls, a skinned knee from an unexpected spill. She hears sirens following someone beyond her window. There were always sirens in Virginia. Lifting her cup of once-hot coffee to her lips, she let her thoughts brush the worry in her heart for a dear friend. One of her very best. He was definitely up at the same hour hundreds of miles away, due to his constant art of procrastination. It was endearing and troubling at the same time, and she couldn’t help but smile at the idea. One day, he’ll use that brilliant mind for something great. Of this, she has no doubt. As of now, however, she’ll simply keep him in line as best she can over such a great distance. Gently raising the volume of her current poetical muse, she almost inhales the words as they come.
“Here’s the day you hoped would never come
Don’t feed me violins, just run with me
Through rows of speeding cars
The paper cuts, the cheating lovers
The coffee’s never strong enough
I know you think it’s more than just bad luck.
Now, now baby, it’s just textbook stuff
It’s in the ABC of growing up
Now, now darling, oh don’t lose your head
‘Cause none of us were angels,
And you know I love you, yeah.”
Imogen Heap. A lady who spoke her alien language. The melody was as much a poem as the words. It comforts her soul, reminding her she isn’t alone. The unfinished Italian cream cake beside her beckons her attention, and she allows herself another bite. Yes, this city is hard. But here are her lessons, and here she has to learn them. She is freshly legal, freshly eighteen. It is an age full of contradictions. You are told you are an adult, but are still looked at as a child. You are expected to take on responsibilities, but are treated with smugness and inferiority. You have to be patient and endure they fact you still aren’t taken seriously. You have to strive to earn your title, to get the ones around you to realize you have transitioned from a child to an adult. But really, you never stop growing. She knows that. And even though it’s painful, even though she wants nothing more than to slide under her bed covers and retreat from the world, letting her white flag wave for all to see, she will still stand if it gives her a chance to grow. Hope is not lost. Not yet. She isn’t out of fight.
Tuesday night is still. The train has passed, its destination unknown, but not unimagined to her. Lilting tunes fade away, and she takes another sip of cold coffee. Even as she finishes typing this, she’s more settled. Tomorrow holds possibilities, scattered like a field of wildflowers. Possibilities for growth and for learning. Perhaps you’ll see her, trying to embrace them. If you do, you’re welcome to join her.
“What are you waiting for? The day is gone.
I said, ‘I’m waiting for dawn.’
What are you aiming for, out here alone?
I said, ‘I’m aiming for home.’
Holding on, holding on.
With red eyes, what are you looking for?
With red eyes, red eyes?
All of my days are spent within this skin,
Within this cage that I’m in.
Nowhere feels safe to me, nowhere feels home.
Even in crowds I’m alone.
Holding on, I’m holding on.
With red eyes, what are you looking for?
With red eyes, red eyes?
With red eyes, what are you looking for?
With red eyes, red eyes?
Every now and then I see you dreaming,
Every now and then I see you cry.
Every now and then I see you reaching,
Reaching for the other side.
What are you waiting for?”
- Red Eyes, Switchfoot
