The Eighths of April

Recognition

         She looked at me like she knew me or like she wanted to know me. It was as if she had been waiting for me or for someone or for anyone. She glanced up as the train came to its halt and through the grubby window her eyes spied me on the platform, waiting. And on me they rested, stayed like I was familiar, a friend.
         But she didn’t know me, she’d come to realise. She’d move on to the next face and search there for whoever she truly waited for, her crystal eyes gleaming in the sunlight, shining every colour like magic. But for the moment they were focussed on me and on me they stayed. And mine looked back at the timid little figure who sat alone on the train, with a bag and a book and a look so hopeful it could not be missed.
         But I didn’t know her even though I wanted to. I wondered who it was, who she looked for by the side of the train. I wondered if she knew them, or had ever known them or seen them before.  Or was it merely a feeling she yearned for, a hunch that she waited on? And then I wondered if the person she looked out for was out there, somewhere, on the platform. Did they look for her and her magic eyes? I wondered if anyone searched for her or saw her or knew her. And I grew sad to think that no one ever did or would or that I never would or didn’t. So I gave her a name and a life and I got to know her.
         This is April and this is her story.

Excitement

         April’s eyes grew wider. She had found me, she was sure. She raised a small delicate hand to her face to push the hair away, hair that was every different colour all at once. April was like that. She glimmered in the sunlight and her hair could be gold, could be bronze and could be copper at the change of the light. April didn’t know who she was. So she was everyone.
         She bit her lip in anticipation, leaning over to the window, getting a closer look. She looked young and naive. April was twenty-one, but looked more like a young twenty-five. Not to say she looked older than she was. There was just something about her. Youth had left her. Yet at the same time, with her bitten lip and widened eyes, her expression like a child, she seemed so very young. It wasn’t that she was particularly beautiful. She just looked a young twenty-five and she would for awhile.
         April didn’t know where she was going. She just went where the trains could take her and back again. She was off to a class or a drink or a movie, in the city or the suburbs or the town at the next stop. She didn’t choose a direction. She’d been taught about opportunity and its costs. The price was too high to ever be certain. She didn’t often have guns and she never ever stuck to them. Enigmatic and getting by, April just sat on trains all the time.
         But with growing anticipation she gave it a chance and she was certain it was me or rather, I was it. But I wasn’t it. I was the wrong face and soon she would find out.
         

Confusion

         April’s face changed. Her brow tightened and her lips pressed together as she eyed me with speculation. She was the paranoid kind. April didn’t trust people so kept mostly to herself. Would she catch me in my lie? Would she figure I’m a fraud? She was swept up in the mind, how it worked and how it played. Her own was ticking madly as she watched me with her eyes. They narrowed and greyed in the shadows of her face.
         People were a mystery as far as April was concerned. They never said things straight and often changed their minds and April didn’t understand why people passed her by. She would smile and agree and be polite and laugh, but when they asked her questions she was frozen in her place. April didn’t know who she was so she didn’t have the answers. But people are relentless with their curiosities. April wished them all away. She wasn’t one for conversation in the first place. Just leave the girl alone and let her have her peace.
         She looked me up and down. Something wasn’t right. Her own head was a storehouse of images and words. She trekked her way through them like a stroll down memory lane. They flashed behind her eyes as she looked for whoever it was that I wasn’t to be, and I saw the disappointment before it reached her face. She flicked through her whole life and wondered where the time had gone. She was tired of waiting. She was ready to find whatever she was looking for. She was ready to be found. April was a fantasist though she kept that to herself.
         But it didn’t matter what she said, she was about to find me out.

Realisation

         April looked at me with scorn. I was no different from the rest. There was one at every station and we’d all let her down. She knew the world owed her nothing but she’d been hoping for a gift. I wasn’t who she wanted me to be. So was she done?
         Quitting wasn’t something April liked to do. She’d stop and start and hate the world, but with the quietest demeanour she’d slowly get things done. A friend had told her to, but now the friend was gone. It made April want to cry, in public nonetheless. Life had been unfair since time itself had started. She knew it, she did, but she hated the world for it. People don’t come back, she knew, but she waited anyway. I wasn’t who she waited for and I felt terrible about it.
         Sometimes April was a realist and didn’t ask for a thing. Whoever she was looking for was one in however many millions. It was wrong of her to think that they’d be standing by the train. It wasn’t my fault so April took the blame.
         Sometimes April was a liar, but in the best of ways. She was happy to be getting by, unnoticed and unscathed, and to anyone who’d listened she’d tell uplifting stories. April said she was okay. When she was younger she’d been dark but the angst had gone away. Now she was an optimist by trade. No one ever really got her but she didn’t seem to mind. She never understood other people anyway. She’d just smile and agree and be polite and laugh. It was all a lie she’d sooner believe than hold on to imperfect truths. She’d wait it out, to find that face among the crowd.
         But it wasn’t me, she’d realised that, and again her face had changed.

Disappointment

         I was just another stranger to be added to the heap. April looked away like she couldn’t bare it any longer. She looked as if she carried the wait of heavy secrets. She did. April was reliable; you could tell her anything. She wasn’t one for gossip or for giggling or for getting under skin. April was a storehouse in many, many ways.
         She looked about to cry as I got onto the train and I made my way towards her. She rubbed her hands together in the stinging cold air and she let her hair fall back across her face. April had a shell to keep the world at bay. She’d had it for a while to keep her safe, protected and alone. I sat down opposite her but several rows of seats away. I watched her through the bobbling heads of other passengers on the train.
         When April had been young she used to watch the news. It was strange to see the child so enamoured by the world, yet her parents had encouraged it as a sign of things to come. But April saw it differently. When she was nine she’d seen what was left of a family in a road crash. They were gone, simply enough. And April hadn’t understood how quickly it could end and she thought of her own parents and worried for herself. She saw the world as wistful and unreliable. It would only let her down. April wasn’t wrong.
         She tried not to wallow in it; silver linings were her forte. But I was an exception to the way she liked to think. I was another disappointment to be added to the heap.

Frustration

         The train kicked into gear, April tried to read again. The world flashed by the windows in a blur of sunlight and grey but April just ignored it. She was twitching, nostrils flared, and a hint of an emotion twinkled in her eyes. It had all happened again. Was it really too much to ask for her stranger by the train?
         April didn’t like the price that opportunity demanded and as she thought of all the people who had stood beside the train, all the ones she hadn’t checked, she hated me for lying to her. I was sorry I had let her down like so many before. I watched her thumb the page and heard it tear as she turned it over. She was looking at the words but it wasn’t sinking in.
         She was angry with herself. April knew she was growing up because she felt responsible. Her experience of reality was through her own perception; therefore, her experience of reality was consequently her own fault. Sometimes April was naive with the lies she told herself. But she didn’t want to wait anymore, the grief was too unyielding. She was waiting for a face she had only ever seen, for a person she’d been too afraid to talk to. They were gone, they were all gone, and it was her fault.
         April didn’t hold on to the people that she knew. She let them go like the seeds of a dandelion, to float off in the breeze and make a home elsewhere, to grow and to prosper. But not April. April was the lonely stalk devoid of any petals that staggered in the dying garden waiting for an end. And she waited and she waited.

Determination

         And she got a second wind. The world was moving faster now as April looked outside and her crystal eyes were caught once more in the warm rays of the sun. They shone every colour and her hair was gold and bronze and copper and in her mind she put the thought of quitting to the side. She bounced along to the rhythm of the train as it hurtled along the tracks to its predetermined destination. April smiled to herself. She’d make it to her class or for drinks or the movie. April was a dreamer. She was sure she’d see the world one day and everything in it, like she’d once seen me.
         There were other modes of transport. The buses weaved between the streets and cars even more so. They’d take her to wherever and show her all the intricacies of life. And there were planes to take her farther than she’d ever been before, to people who didn’t speak at all. She go and see the exceptions to the mundane way of things, the extravagant monuments of the past. She’d get there one day and learn a little something about everything and about herself, maybe even who she was.
         She liked the idea of flying. April was an escapist in the most fanciful way. She lived the richest fantasy that no one ever knew. But you could see it in her eyes. They were full of magic. April could make anything happen; it was a matter of the mind. It was all just a game, a joke after all. Just a trick of perception and April made a choice. Why believe reality when there was so much more?
         I was but forgotten as the train began to slow.

Hope

         April forgot everything. The train clunked slower as it reached the next station. I watched her, hope dancing in her eyes as she looked out at the platform to another sea of people, of opportunities. Her mind was now at ease. The past all fell away, the friend who’d gone, the stories on the news and me. April was calm, was fine, would tell anyone who asked that she was okay. But no one ever asked. It wasn’t their place.
         April tried not to let the world get her down. It wasn’t always easy and she’d very often fail, but with her charming face, young and knowing as it was, she would find a way to get by, unnoticed and unscathed. She just kept looking out the window, looking for a face, for someone, anyone, me. April was a lot of things, but a quitter she was not. She looked about expectantly at all the different faces, moving from one to the next as I watched her from my seat and I hoped more than anything she’d find what she was looking for. I hoped that she’d be found.
         The train came to a full stop with a jolt and a beep and the doors were set to open. April kept looking at all the people who moved behind the grubby glass of the train’s old window panes. She’d done it all before, time and time again. She was twenty-one after all; she’d been at this for years. People come and go, she knew, and all the while she waited. And all the while she searched, until...

Recognition

         She looked at him, like she knew him or like she wanted to know him. It was as if she had been waiting for him, like he was familiar, a friend. And he looked back.



Thanks for reading. Please feel free to visit my blog: http://mundanedom.blogspot.com/