Out There

The thing about sleeping with the window open is, the air just smells better. Not to mention how much cooler the room is, because even though its January, it's hotter than blazes in here. South Carolina has never understood winter.

The other thing about sleeping with the window open is the sound of the train. Sometimes it's so loud the whistle makes its way into my dreams as an alarm or an airplane about to crash. It rarely plays the role of itself in my nocturnal dramas. I like to listen to it as I fall asleep. It makes me feel like a kid again, back in my old bedroom with my sister sleeping in the next bed. When I close my eyes and smell the cool breeze drifting through the open window, I almost feel small as an eight year-old, curled up in a ball under my blankets.

When I was a kid, the train rolling through Liberty at night made me wonder about far away places. I knew nothing of any place other than our small town. I watched in amazement whenever we had to stop for the train to pass through on our way to Winn-Dixie or to school. I counted the cars and wondered what was in them. I wondered if hobos were real.

Our preacher loved talking about The Second Coming. Of Jesus, of course. He talked about The Trumpet sounding, the dead rising, hearing The Lord call our names and all of us who were Saved would be transported through the sky right up to heaven. This Rapture he spoke of was supposedly a good thing, but I was too worried about being one of the Lost. Worried that I might hear the trumpet but not my name. Many times in my childhood I awoke in terror to the sound of the train roaring through town, whistle blasting, thinking I was hearing The Trumpet. Even then, the train became something else to me in my dreams.

The thing about having the window open though, is it makes the sheets cooler, and I really like stretching out my legs so my toes can find the coolest spot between them. When I wake up in the morning, the covers feel a little damp, almost like dew has fallen on them while I was sleeping. I want to curl up and stay in bed but Out There is calling so I have to get up and close the window. It's a shame to leave my little pocket of fresh air--my safe-place where I only have to let Out There in a little bit at a time.

I shower and dress--put on my disguise. I look at myself in the mirror by the front door one more time before I reach for the lock. It's a good-enough costume, I suppose, for a girl who is just trying to look as if she belongs Out There.

The air isn't the same when there's so much of it. Then there's all the light and the noise. Neighbors to wave to, cars to watch out for, red lights to wait at. NPR is talking about the Fiscal Cliff again, and I shake my head because I know it's all just bullshit. The car gets too hot, then too cold. Someone is texting me about work already but I'm driving so I can't answer. I don't want to answer anyway.

Dragging myself out of bed took too long and now I'm late. I try to weave through the minivans and SUVs coming from school but they have me trapped and the next thing I know, I hear it. That familiar "ding ding ding ding ding!" Just before the arm falls and I'm stuck waiting for the train to pass. Oh how I wish I could be on it--just to see all the places it passes through--to see what's at the end of the line!

But the car behind me honks and I startle out of my daydream. The train has passed. It kept its course and kept good time and now I must do the same.