I walk down the cold stairs, my heavy footsteps echoing around the walls into the station below. My hands shake slightly, but I hide that fact by keeping them stuffed in my hoodie pocket, twisting around a bit of thread to keep them occupied. Exhaling causes mist to swirl around my head, tiny crystallized water vapor floating out of my mouth and into the air.
I check the train routes and sigh; I have to wait around ten minutes until the next train arrives and takes me far away, so far that I will never have to look back. Something tightens in my stomach at that thought, but I shake it out. I have decided, and it’s time to go through with it. I stick to the corners and shadows as I make my way to a bench in the corner and sit down with a sigh. I take my shaking hands out of my pocket and rest my head in them. My fingers absentmindedly twist the delicate golden necklace hanging around my neck, Mom’s necklace, my brain supplies, which causes my fingers to still. Mom, whom I am leaving and getting on this train to run away from.
My thoughts are interrupted by a pair of heavy-weight, shuffling footsteps that disturb my thoughts as a man sits beside me. I scowl; so much for choosing a secluded area so I would be left alone. I avoid looking at the person sitting on the far side of the cold, metal bench and elect to tug on a loose piece of thread hanging off the sleeve of my sweatshirt.
Next to me, the man coughs into his fist and takes a swig from a bright red coffee mug. He sighs, settling a book onto his lap and clicking a pen as he jots down various notes and whatnot on the pages. We sit silently for a minute before he shatters it with his bright-toned, northern accent.
“So, what are you running away from?”
I stiffen, my eyes immediately landing on him as he doesn’t even send a glance my way. He instead hums softly, making another mark on his page.
“I’m not running from anything,” I snap back, avoiding a shiver as I bring my knees to my chest.
He laughs, a bright sound that fills the dreary station. “I don’t believe that for a second, kid,” he says good-naturedly, finally looking away from his book to meet my eyes. I glare at him, but it must be evident that my heart is not in it because he continues smiling. “You don’t have to tell me, but,” he shrugs, “I’m a stranger who you’ll never see again, so if you are going to tell anyone, it might as well be me.”
I frown at his skewed logic but open my mouth to respond anyway. “Yeah, I’m running away,” I say gruffly. “It’s not important why, and I don’t see why you’d care, but I am,” I huff. He contemplates me for a moment before sighing and closing his book.
“I care because I ran away once; I was probably a bit younger than you. I thought it would be for the better, I could leave, and no one would care or miss me. I was wrong, and years later, I was forced to confront the issues I had with my past. If I had just thought logically, I would have been able to move on quicker from my struggles.”
This confession has me lost in thought with the similarities to my own situation; how could he have possibly known? Am I that easy to read?
He seems to notice my confusion cause he lets out another huff of laughter, “Based on your expression, I would say you are like me, huh?” I nod, looking away as my cheeks flush slightly. “Well, let me tell you something, kid; leaving home with nothing for your parents to find but a scrappily written note and a missing wad of cash from their drawers is going to be something you’ll never forgive yourself for.”
“But,” I pause, swallowing, “aren’t they going to be mad if I go back now?”
He smiled sadly, “Maybe, but they’d be distraught if you didn’t go back. Do they care about you?” I nod immediately; that answer is easy. “Then talk to them, tell them how you feel, and don’t let yourself run away instead of facing your problems.”
I don’t respond, because right then a whistle echoes through the station, causing me to jump slightly. The man stands up and swirls his coffee mug, warm steam worming its way through the air and swirling around him. “Well, that’s my train. Are you joining me?” he asks kindly. I look at the train hissing to a stop and the bright neon lights before shaking my head. I stand up as well, my once-shaking hands steady at my side.
“No, I’m going to go home.” I pause. “Thank you,” I say quietly.
He smiles at me easily and stretches out his hand, shaking my own. His hand is somehow warm despite the freezing air. He winks once before turning and walking toward the open train doors, one hand holding his notebook and his other the steaming red coffee mug.
I sigh slightly as the train door closes and turn on my heel to walk back up the train station stairs, my chin high in the air and my heart steady. I leave the station feeling like a completely different person than when I entered, all thanks to one man who cared enough to give me his time and some simple advice.
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