I take the first train going my direction and I think about the city. It goes by out my window as the train begins its journey, and through the pane, a gray giant stretching his arms to the sky. From this silver train, the city looks genuinely calm and peaceful and, in some small ways, mystical. If I didn't know the heart of the beast, I would be genuinely saddened by my flight today. Soon, I fall asleep.
"Sometimes, it is hard to look back on one man's life without thinking about all the people he has touched. Sometimes, it is hard to look back on such a life without feeling serious loss. My father, Jack is such a man. Today, we mourn his loss and some of you morn my loss. Since my mother's passing, you have all stood by me and loved me and helped me. None so much as my father. My father was the best he could be. He loved me and helped me. I think that I don't morn his passing as I think that he is in a better place. I mourn my loss of such a good friend and father."
I wake up on the train and I forget for a moment where I am. I forget about the funeral earlier today. I forget about the black suit and the rows and rows of flowers of blue and white. I think about my destination. Have I passed it? Have I slept so long that I'm back to the brown stone world? The conductor calls out "NORWOOD," and I know I still have a few minutes. I know that I am still going forward.
I sit quietly just listening to the gentle percussion of the train as it slowly makes its way to a stop. "FRANKLIN," my stop. I listen as uneasy commuters deboard the train around me. They smell like heavy sweat and overly brewed coffee. I don't notice the smells when I'm outside looking up at the blue sky again. I begin to walk again and I know that I will be where I belong again. I look at the little town and I know that everything there is the same it has always been. I smile thinly. It hasn't changed since I left it six years ago to live in the brown and gray city.
The field is only a few minutes from the train station and normally empty during the winter. The wind is a gentle breeze here near the field and it feels like a cool comforter on my face. I unzip my jacket to reveal my black suit. The field is empty but for one person sitting under the oak tree gazing into the sky, a woman, about my age, but I don't know who she is. Her hair is a shade of yellow mixed with moments of orange and her face is filled with a deep red. As I walk closer, I can smell a faint aroma of jasmine. She is perfect.
"Isn't the sky gorgeous," she asks.
I nod. "Why have you come out on such a cold day?"
"Just to look up at the sky and daydream I guess. How about you?"
"This is my spot."
I point to the craving in the tree. "GULL IS BORN."
"That's my name. This was my father's favorite spot."
"May I join you?"
She scoots over. "My name is Cloud."