A Question

The first train to Midtown sits at the station, idling quietly. I take a seat in an empty car. Outside, the early rays of sunlight welcome the day, pushing aside a curtain of pinks and purples. I close my eyes, hoping to sleep through the ride; movement makes me ill.

The seat across from me creaks; my eyes pop open.

“Good morning.” The man’s blue eyes crinkle as he smiles.

“Morning.”

“Beautiful day out there.” Manners beat desire; I smile.

“It really is.” Short and sweet, hopefully the end of the conversation.

“Might I ask you a question, miss?” Not my lucky day, clearly. I’d love to say no, but the way he looks at me gives me pause.

“Sure, why not?”

“What is it that scares you about living?” A nervous laugh escapes my lips.

“Not one for small talk, I guess.” Lies dance on my tongue, easy answers I won’t have to explain. I bite them back, take a deep breath.

“Right now? Everything.” A slight twitch pulls at his mouth, but he remains quiet. Tears choke my words and I stumble over them. “I wasn’t always this way. But right now I feel frozen. I can’t move forward. I don’t want to stand still. I’m terrified of both. Afraid of failure, but just as scared of success. And that’s just the start.”

“Some days it’s all I can do to talk myself into getting out of bed and doing what I need to do to take care of my children. Every new experience, every new relationship, every new endeavor scares me to death.”

Cerulean shimmers in the sunlight.

“And yet,” he finally says. “Scared as you might be, you are still here.”

Warmth under my skin soars, urging my mouth towards the sky.

“Believe in yourself. You are stronger than you know.” He reaches out a hand, an offer of comfort.

Before our skin connects, the train jolts into motion. I blink.

The car is quiet. The seat in front of me is empty. I turn around, eyes sweeping the vacant space around me.

Fresh tears sting my cheeks, burning as they fall. My heart races.

The man is gone.