The door slid open easily enough at the first thrust of my arm. That’s just how train doors are, they stay open or they stay closed; they’re not meant to be in a state of flux. Honestly that’s how he was, like a train door. When I stepped through, whistling was all I could hear after that door opened. It whipped past my ears, drowning all other noise for that brief moment as I adjusted to my new surroundings. Once things quieted I heard him speak, “What took so long?” His voice was calm and his breath offensive; it was something I never could get used to. I never did like smokers anyway, but something about the scene made me think that I was in a movie. I stepped up to his right and leaned heavily against the railing. Dusk turning into twilight is my favorite moment in the day, when the orange dulls into purple, and the cold hues fade into black. I don’t really know why I like it, to be quite honest it’s a bit depressing. Even still, my eyes were fixated forward on the passing landscape, the fields passing like bullets in front of me. “I didn’t know you were waiting.” I said to him only half paying attention. He murmured something back but all I could do was nod my head and respond with, “yeah.” We stood there, him smoking and me staring. After what seemed like mere seconds, twilight took its final steps into night and I lost interest. The struggle wasn’t there anymore. It looked like the day had given way to the moon. I don’t really like night to be frank, and I don’t really like day either. It’s that in between period that I love, that fight between what was and what is to be. I guess that’s why I don’t really like train doors.
Post written by Javier Chiriboga