The train slowed down and the name of the station was announced. I stood to gather my belongings and staggered to the exit door of the train. Squinting to adjust to the natural light, I held on tightly to a bar as the train halted, soon I was hoisting up my suitcase, clutching on to the straggly tote bag and planted my weighted feet onto the platform.
I noticed something strange about this station but it didn’t occur to me at once. I searched around for a seat and a newspaper caught my eye. It was a large broadsheet; The Financial Times, only the colour seemed brighter; it wasn’t your usual peachy colour, it was bright orange.
The man holding his newspaper was resting his head against the black wooden panels behind him. I tried to look for a facial expression. I was still standing at the platform and remained in that spot. Why is he wearing a top hat and a tailcoat? I thought to myself. Where am I?
I walked towards the empty bench adjacent to the man with the orange newspaper. He was reading intently. I shuddered as my cheeks clenched against the cold steely feel of the seat. I looked around once again. The atmosphere was solemn and serious. All I could hear were calculated footsteps. I felt out of place, I looked out of place. Everyone was dressed up. I couldn’t see what I was wearing. I didn’t try to look. All I could see were the sullen faces….
Wait a minute. There was no colour in their faces. Paper white.
I saw another passenger, he had the features of a black man but yet again, there was no colour on his face. It looked like someone had painted his face marble white, with a heavy and caked coat.
I’m Day Dreamin’
The feeling is baseless. It’s a live montage and the colours are soft, the movements are in slow motion and the sounds are muffled. Silence. In that moment there is silence.
A lady sits on a bed; she is wearing a purple t-shirt and wearing my polkadot shorts. Her hair is full, it’s curled and wiry like my own but it is longer and pointing outwards in different directions. Her skin is not like mine, it’s a rich brown. Her back is straight and her eyes are closed. They are no movements under her eyelids.
We seemed happy. My grin was wide and it didn’t feel strained, my head was light. I touched his beard and he held my hips. I played with the drawstrings of his pyjamas. I was confident, I was safe and I was comfortable. We were talking, I’m not sure what I said. His eyes widened and then his low chuckle vibrated against my breasts. I kissed him. First on his lips. Again on his neck. Again on his chest. Now there were no drawstrings hanging. He stood there groaning….it echoed and wafted into the third scene.
White walls. Hmmm. Grey floors. You could tell the floors were dusty. The room seemed to large for me. It swallowed my thoughts. I heard a knock on the door and I stood up from the swivel chair in an attempt to answer. I sat down and called out, “Come in!”.
“Hi, my name is Mary, your assistant said you were ready to see me.”, the girl blurted out and extended her arm out for a handshake. Her skirt was long and flowy, it was dark blue with green lines wrapped around it , between the lines were patterns. Her shirt was buttoned up but the pointed collars sat loosely against her neck. I smiled and replied “that’s fine”. I looked at her resume on the desk. I can’t remember what the table looked like but I remember noticing how far back it was in the room next to the windows. I could see the clumsy paintwork, as the splatters next to the panes were visible.
I couldn’t hear what was being said. All I did was notice the unfinished things that sat in the room. There was a pile of boxes at the opposite end of it.
My hair was packed in two buns, sticking out at the side of my head. I was looking sheepishly at something. I wanted attention and I wanted to be seen. The heels of my black shiny shoes with white socks were perched on something. My chest stuck out , asserting the stretched bow at the top of my dress. My arms were spread out, leaning against the gas heater in the living room. I swayed from side to side. The dots on the dress would overlap each other as I continued to twist and turn.