11 March 2005

untitled prose

She’s waiting for the last train out, but no one has told
her there was a problem with the train and it isn’t running. Still,
she waits for three hours, not looking impatient the entire time,
complacently sitting on a wooden bench, her large bag on the
concrete in front of her.

Perhaps it’s because it is she has no place else to go, but
she spends the night on the bench. She does not lie down, does not
even move (except to go to the bathroom in the waiting room at half-
past eleven) but sleeps in her seat. In the morning, as the sun is
rising, she is aware that she looks like a mess—yesterday’s makeup
is still on her face, her hair is windblown, and her neat navy dress
wrinkled—she is glad she has stayed. The first train comes promptly,
and she is one of the three people to board the train. Unsure of
what is to come, she sits in a soft seat, settling into the seat,
feeling the cushiness. She knows whatever will come, it will come;
there is no reason to worry about it, no reason to apprehend it—she
must approach everything, yes, even the future, with open arms.

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