With the shaking hands of a sleepless junkie, Sadie fumbled witht he clasp on her wallet. Pulling out a paid off creditcard, she handed it through the window of the train station asking for a one way to Seattle. With her packed bags, empty eyes and forlorn shoulders, Sadie possessed all of the elements of a runaway taking flight from her known world. It was only a matter of time before she landed on her decision to move on. Without any immediate family holding her close, friends as mere acquaintances and a job that was going nowhere fast, a fresh start in a fresh city seemed to be the best move.
Seattle (or portland, who knew) fir the bill as a young urban rtrendy metropolis where blending would be as easy as arriving. Walking the streets in a daze the past few days, Sadie had barely eaten, hardly slept and only went to her apartment to assure herself that she exisited. With each successive sunrise after the accident she became more and more attached to the idea of leaving it behind and starting over. She had talent, looks, a little bit of money, no debt, no boyfriend (anymore), no bills and nothing substantial to keep her in lock step with this miserable city quickly sinking to the bottom of her favorites list.
On the fourth day after, she arrived at Amtrak ready to be lulled by the rails inot unconsciousness. From here it was the California Zephyr to Denver, then Oakland, change trains to the Coast Starlight and up the coast to seattle (or portland). A place of wet hope, damp enthusiasm,and a foggy sense of individuality. With Starbucks, the Mariners and fishing the rule, she was sure she could sit down and make herself comfortable.
The windows of the half empty train were streaked with the grime of this worn out city and its seeping tunnels of darkness it pulled through on its retreat from the reaches of poverty, filth and despair. Sadie eased her chair back to half-recline, putting here shoeless feet up on the chair in front of her so that she could feel like she was escaping the ties flying by below. R eachinginto her bag, the familiar smoothness of a lonely pint of Beam caressed her searching hands and she grabbed it by the throat thereby freeing it from its dark confines. Twisting its neck the cap cracked with a friendly"how do you do?", immediately wafting a smell of of Kentucky into her inhaling nostrils. The first pulll of a new bottle is always the best, akin to the first drag of the first cigarette in the morning, it luxuriates and placates, reaching those places in the brain that need soothing.
Tipping the bottle to her lips, the amber slid down her throat, dragging a bit of tension, stress, and fear with it. Spreading outward to her extremities with each successive pull, Sadie felt the warm glow start to envelop her like her favorite blanket, as she leaned her head back, closed her eyes and felt the rhythm of the tracks start to lull her into an empty space.
Space was what she needed and craved, in her mind, in the train car, in the soon to be wide open country ahead of her, and most importantly, as much of it as possible between her and 28th street. Taking refuge in the lee of the bottle, it was easy to see the whys, the who's, the what's and the how's. The pace of 20/20 hindsightis a trot, allowing one to fixate on specific points of interest and examine the impending reslults of spur of the moment decisions. Why did she fire that gun? Who was that man walking away? What did he do withthe gun with her fingerprints on them? Ho many people wer dead? and why was she scared of staying and facing the music?
Her imagination ran wild in those moments of near disbelief following the accident. THe police had found nothing but the dirty residue of two dead bodies, a wrecked car, a bar full of empty leads and an interest level below the curb. Memories of Jimmy at the pool tables were vague as the cops showed pictures around the neighborhood to try and indentify the girl who was with the shy man who died. Jack could place her at the bar, recalling what she drank, that she paid with cash and that she was hot. Other than that, it was blank. Bartenders have memories for certain things; a too loud order, a bizarre drink, a sexy dress, a haughty laugh, a big tip (or no), distinguishable characteristics that makes one stand out in a disorderly room full of loud people. They make caricatures of thier patrons, preying on their insecurities by referring to them by their most attractive, dominant, or ugliest feature. It becomes a game to guys like Madjack, keeping tabs open on a sheet of paper next to the register with names like 'moleface', 'three earring man', 'leather asshole', that nobody but him will see or know about.
And so he fills them in on 'CC and water' and 'Beam and coke' as best he can, finally recalling the 'CC' didnt pay for his second drink.
call it on the house, jack chuckled, as the poor fuck is dead.
Through heavily lidded eyes and the enveloping warmth of whiskey, Sadie Tordello felt the weighty pull of sleep. Leaving the city, as well as the day's sun, she can feel, albeit only slightly, the past receding behind her on those tracks. She wants to leave it among the spikes, the hobos, the grease and tar, abandon it on the rails and yards of industry, the comfort of steel parallels stretching forward and backward. Leaving behind her pieces of a life willingly left to be scavenged by authorities, landlords, employers, random acquaintances with a curiosity, and a society with a penchant for not letting mysteries die.
Opening up in her polluted dreams were scenes of domesticity, normalcy, and a sunny day at the park with her husband, two kids and the dog abby. The kids, a boy and a girl, being pushed on teh swing by a figure she didnt recognize, a cross possibly between her last few boyfriends with his face obscured by the cloudy sun filtering over the soap opera sappy scene. Off to one side, Sadie could see herself as a stranger, taller and heavier with a spray of moles across her jawline. Placidly smiling this woman who was her but not, stood detached from the scene as if observing the beauty of a regular family in all its quaint Rockwellian poses.
The kids were nearing three and five, bubbly giggly packages of life oblivious to guns, accidents,dreams, trains, and tomorrow. The man pushed the swings with a determined yet carefree effort, his boots shuffling in the cedar bark of the enclosure as his eyes wandered over the park and into the far off street. A siren sang distantly but all Sadie heard was the muffled cries of the kids and the singsong of fluttering birds. It woke her up and the blurring line between dream and reality took seconds to erase.
Darkness had fallen outside the train and city lights receded into the background. Wiping her bloody eyes with dirty hands , Sadie realized she needed a shower. And a long uninterrupted sleep in an empty bed stuffed with pillows and blankets. Dreams would attempt to be her friend as she tried to shake off the drowsiness caused by mr. Beam and too many sleepless nights to no avail.
Falling over the cliff, muscles twitching, she was unable to stop the surging power of fatigue and exhaustion, and sank more heavily into the uncomfortably hard seat of a lonely Amtrak train heading south by southwest. This time, blackness filled the space of dreams, as her consciousness plummeted right through the levels of coherent REM and into that dark place of anaesthesia. Turning inward on herself, her conscious mind dove deep down into her soul, swimming among the discarded values, lost morals, and the handicapped ideals of youth. A mosaic of abstract emotional art suffuse in the dreary glow of a crescent moon. Wandering the corridors of Sadie's unconscious, guilt,pain,sadness, and remorse try to duck behind closed doors hoping to avoid the light of truth threatening to expose them. Running from yourself, it is impossible to hide among your own self erected barriers. Sadie's interior defense was made of 12th century Italian marble , but was beginning to crumble under the persistent water torture of her own mind.
Hours passed in the blink of an eye and they were pulling into Cheyenne. The wind swept morning spread far and wide over the emptiness of central Wyoming. Bands of clouds raced over the early light chasing the receding dawn into morning. Sadie woke to find aches in muscles she forgot she had, cursing her cheapness for not getting a sleeper car. Looking around the nearly empty car, a couple she saw last night was getting ready to debark, the woman worn hard while her husband was straight Ivy league. What were they doing in Wyoming? The man had some garish class ring on his right hand and signs of pre mature balding, while his wife fortified her paid for boobs with expensive lingerie and enough makeup for the entire state of Texas. What would it be like to live in Cheyenne, Sadie wondered. Cowboys, tumbleweeds, hoedowns, cattle, rodeo and emptiness. Itwas certainly a place you could lose yourself, including your sanity.
She stayed on the train and went to look for a cup of coffee. Maybe the bar is open, she thought, and I could back that caffeine with a bloody mary. Stumbling like a teetering drunk, she made her way to the exit and opened the partition door searching for an employee or the peace of mind of the bar. Finding neither in that car, she continued her pursuit down the line as the train slowed noticeably the closer it got to the station. Beyond the flickering windows she saw a city like any other, with cars, traffic, stop lights, but with one little difference. Cheyenne had an over abundance of cowboy hats.
As the train neared its morning terminus, so too did Sadie eventually find what whe was looking for. Another empty car save for a man wiping down a linoleum bar with six stools in front of it and a shelf of peace of mind behind it. His name was Arnold and his blad black head shined like a fresh eight ball, contrasted with his cue ball white smile, he was instantly Sadie's new friend.
Are you open? are the three most hopeful words to a thirsty woman looking to salve her
wounded being.
Arnold grinned slightly and said, not til ten my dear.
Sadie's internal clock realized it was close, but apparently not close enough for Arnold.
coffe, she asked.
of course, milk or sugar?
sweet and creamy. so, yes on both counts.
Having never taken to the bitterness of black coffee, like her father had, she preferred the doctored method of additives. Bailey's was the top choice but as a last resort she would accept cream and sugar.
Settling onto the stool, she wanted to make conversation with this stranger, if for no other reason than to hear her own voice. Loneliness had taken ahold of her overnight and the weight of what she was doing was slowly sinking in. It wasnt the loneliness of being alone that was creeping up her spine, but the newly discovered and realized abandonment of Sadie Tordello.
And the slow transformation she would undergo in the upcoming months, years to another woman with a new story trying to make her way in a new town. Pushing aside those fears of survival, she let herself get excited over the prospect of starting over. New friends, new life, new job, new state, new attitud, and a brand new pair of eyes to which the world would color.
Her eyes, once an innocent mottled brown, had now become hardened, darker, yet still retained their magnetism. Off to the corners of both irises, lay five black dots, freckles she called them, that truly showed in indirect sunlight. They were a point of pride as she had never seen anyone else with anything similar and it was one facet of individuality nobody would ever be able to take away.
Sipping her coffee, she didnt notice the moving hands of the clock walk right by ten and into 10;15.
Can i have a bloody mary please?
and with artful precision, Arnold hand crafted one of the finest stoli bloodys she had ever had, complete with celery, pickled asparagus and two tear drop tomatos bookending a skewered pimiento olive.
Outsid, the train had pulled to a stop and passengers were waddling along the platform, including the irrascible couple from earlier. She tried to imagine their conversation in the rental car heading into the morning for breakfast at Polly's Diner, Hungry Joe's or even the locao IHOP. Putting words in peoples mouths, giving them a story and playing on stereotypes wa something that amused and entertained her. Whether at bus stops, bars, elevators, laundromats or any other public convenience where people meet by chance and circumstance is fair game to her imagination.
Alone in the barcar, her her head and in her life, Sadie knew what it meant to face an unknown future. Her hard charging father had never slowed down from his twenties, providing enough fodder for ridicule and humor long into his forties. Paul had died five years ago come May in a blindly random car accident that ended his days painlessly. Her mother passed away from cancer when she was a little girl, almost nine, and Sadie remembered vaguely the far away look in her eyes as she lay pale and decomposed on the hospital bed. With no sisters or brothers, Paul was left shouldering the nine year old by himself. Paul went about his business, running the bar called Logan's in little Italy. She was his sidekick, confidant, co-worker, best friend and, among other things, his chick magnet. Sadie was bred from attractive stock and Paul was ever the player in the ladie's game. And what's more attractive than a good looking man who owned his own business, raising a daughter single handedly and had a personality to boot? During that day and age, Paul had the city in his hand, economic times were up and he was a having his slice of pie.
But all good things do come to an end and thoughLogan's remains a beacon for the displaced and unpossessed, Paul was forced to sell to fend off the collection agencies that eventually started coming for his dead wife's hospital bills. He called it 'morbid money', collecting from the grave like that. A curiously obscene practice which he believed cultivates the dog eat dog world of today's politics, businesses, and even friendships. To pay off a dead man's debt with a living man's life made about as much sense as frosty the snowman standing post at the gates of Hell. Sadie had inherited her father's penchant for good times, good tliquor, and sense of humor while gleaning from her mother a sense of responsibility, honesty and a flair for the dramatic. She was the perfect combination of grace and grit, grunge and style, equally comfortable in a four star restaurant or hotel as in a two bit hostel or low cieling dive bar.
With the clock pushing eleven, and departure still thirty minutes away, she paid Arnold, slipped him a smile and a few ones, and said she'd see him later.
At Denver she would upgrade to a sleeper car, but for now, her corner of the train with her possessions spread upon the four seats, would do. She thought about the possibilities, the promise and the anticipation of her not yet adopted home. Bartending, waitressing, bike courier, teaching, computer teching were all options, all ways to a means. But the most lucrative and most quickly attainable was tending bar. Her back stash of money was cushion enough to float on for a month or two, but the need for a bed and a tidy place to prop her feet up would take a fair bite out of her pocket. Finding solace in her thoughts for the first time in a week relaxed her to the point of heaving a sigh of unguarded relief.
In the rear view of her memory's eye she recalled the phone booth that was home to her tears and where the seeds for her fateful decision to leave were sown. That enclosed glass box, protected from the wind, rain, sun and dark, proved to be the beginnning of her journey to today. Walkiing along the platform, the whistle for embarkation blew, and with that she took one more step in walking away from her past.
Seattle (or portland, who knew) fir the bill as a young urban rtrendy metropolis where blending would be as easy as arriving. Walking the streets in a daze the past few days, Sadie had barely eaten, hardly slept and only went to her apartment to assure herself that she exisited. With each successive sunrise after the accident she became more and more attached to the idea of leaving it behind and starting over. She had talent, looks, a little bit of money, no debt, no boyfriend (anymore), no bills and nothing substantial to keep her in lock step with this miserable city quickly sinking to the bottom of her favorites list.
On the fourth day after, she arrived at Amtrak ready to be lulled by the rails inot unconsciousness. From here it was the California Zephyr to Denver, then Oakland, change trains to the Coast Starlight and up the coast to seattle (or portland). A place of wet hope, damp enthusiasm,and a foggy sense of individuality. With Starbucks, the Mariners and fishing the rule, she was sure she could sit down and make herself comfortable.
The windows of the half empty train were streaked with the grime of this worn out city and its seeping tunnels of darkness it pulled through on its retreat from the reaches of poverty, filth and despair. Sadie eased her chair back to half-recline, putting here shoeless feet up on the chair in front of her so that she could feel like she was escaping the ties flying by below. R eachinginto her bag, the familiar smoothness of a lonely pint of Beam caressed her searching hands and she grabbed it by the throat thereby freeing it from its dark confines. Twisting its neck the cap cracked with a friendly"how do you do?", immediately wafting a smell of of Kentucky into her inhaling nostrils. The first pulll of a new bottle is always the best, akin to the first drag of the first cigarette in the morning, it luxuriates and placates, reaching those places in the brain that need soothing.
Tipping the bottle to her lips, the amber slid down her throat, dragging a bit of tension, stress, and fear with it. Spreading outward to her extremities with each successive pull, Sadie felt the warm glow start to envelop her like her favorite blanket, as she leaned her head back, closed her eyes and felt the rhythm of the tracks start to lull her into an empty space.
Space was what she needed and craved, in her mind, in the train car, in the soon to be wide open country ahead of her, and most importantly, as much of it as possible between her and 28th street. Taking refuge in the lee of the bottle, it was easy to see the whys, the who's, the what's and the how's. The pace of 20/20 hindsightis a trot, allowing one to fixate on specific points of interest and examine the impending reslults of spur of the moment decisions. Why did she fire that gun? Who was that man walking away? What did he do withthe gun with her fingerprints on them? Ho many people wer dead? and why was she scared of staying and facing the music?
Her imagination ran wild in those moments of near disbelief following the accident. THe police had found nothing but the dirty residue of two dead bodies, a wrecked car, a bar full of empty leads and an interest level below the curb. Memories of Jimmy at the pool tables were vague as the cops showed pictures around the neighborhood to try and indentify the girl who was with the shy man who died. Jack could place her at the bar, recalling what she drank, that she paid with cash and that she was hot. Other than that, it was blank. Bartenders have memories for certain things; a too loud order, a bizarre drink, a sexy dress, a haughty laugh, a big tip (or no), distinguishable characteristics that makes one stand out in a disorderly room full of loud people. They make caricatures of thier patrons, preying on their insecurities by referring to them by their most attractive, dominant, or ugliest feature. It becomes a game to guys like Madjack, keeping tabs open on a sheet of paper next to the register with names like 'moleface', 'three earring man', 'leather asshole', that nobody but him will see or know about.
And so he fills them in on 'CC and water' and 'Beam and coke' as best he can, finally recalling the 'CC' didnt pay for his second drink.
call it on the house, jack chuckled, as the poor fuck is dead.
Through heavily lidded eyes and the enveloping warmth of whiskey, Sadie Tordello felt the weighty pull of sleep. Leaving the city, as well as the day's sun, she can feel, albeit only slightly, the past receding behind her on those tracks. She wants to leave it among the spikes, the hobos, the grease and tar, abandon it on the rails and yards of industry, the comfort of steel parallels stretching forward and backward. Leaving behind her pieces of a life willingly left to be scavenged by authorities, landlords, employers, random acquaintances with a curiosity, and a society with a penchant for not letting mysteries die.
Opening up in her polluted dreams were scenes of domesticity, normalcy, and a sunny day at the park with her husband, two kids and the dog abby. The kids, a boy and a girl, being pushed on teh swing by a figure she didnt recognize, a cross possibly between her last few boyfriends with his face obscured by the cloudy sun filtering over the soap opera sappy scene. Off to one side, Sadie could see herself as a stranger, taller and heavier with a spray of moles across her jawline. Placidly smiling this woman who was her but not, stood detached from the scene as if observing the beauty of a regular family in all its quaint Rockwellian poses.
The kids were nearing three and five, bubbly giggly packages of life oblivious to guns, accidents,dreams, trains, and tomorrow. The man pushed the swings with a determined yet carefree effort, his boots shuffling in the cedar bark of the enclosure as his eyes wandered over the park and into the far off street. A siren sang distantly but all Sadie heard was the muffled cries of the kids and the singsong of fluttering birds. It woke her up and the blurring line between dream and reality took seconds to erase.
Darkness had fallen outside the train and city lights receded into the background. Wiping her bloody eyes with dirty hands , Sadie realized she needed a shower. And a long uninterrupted sleep in an empty bed stuffed with pillows and blankets. Dreams would attempt to be her friend as she tried to shake off the drowsiness caused by mr. Beam and too many sleepless nights to no avail.
Falling over the cliff, muscles twitching, she was unable to stop the surging power of fatigue and exhaustion, and sank more heavily into the uncomfortably hard seat of a lonely Amtrak train heading south by southwest. This time, blackness filled the space of dreams, as her consciousness plummeted right through the levels of coherent REM and into that dark place of anaesthesia. Turning inward on herself, her conscious mind dove deep down into her soul, swimming among the discarded values, lost morals, and the handicapped ideals of youth. A mosaic of abstract emotional art suffuse in the dreary glow of a crescent moon. Wandering the corridors of Sadie's unconscious, guilt,pain,sadness, and remorse try to duck behind closed doors hoping to avoid the light of truth threatening to expose them. Running from yourself, it is impossible to hide among your own self erected barriers. Sadie's interior defense was made of 12th century Italian marble , but was beginning to crumble under the persistent water torture of her own mind.
Hours passed in the blink of an eye and they were pulling into Cheyenne. The wind swept morning spread far and wide over the emptiness of central Wyoming. Bands of clouds raced over the early light chasing the receding dawn into morning. Sadie woke to find aches in muscles she forgot she had, cursing her cheapness for not getting a sleeper car. Looking around the nearly empty car, a couple she saw last night was getting ready to debark, the woman worn hard while her husband was straight Ivy league. What were they doing in Wyoming? The man had some garish class ring on his right hand and signs of pre mature balding, while his wife fortified her paid for boobs with expensive lingerie and enough makeup for the entire state of Texas. What would it be like to live in Cheyenne, Sadie wondered. Cowboys, tumbleweeds, hoedowns, cattle, rodeo and emptiness. Itwas certainly a place you could lose yourself, including your sanity.
She stayed on the train and went to look for a cup of coffee. Maybe the bar is open, she thought, and I could back that caffeine with a bloody mary. Stumbling like a teetering drunk, she made her way to the exit and opened the partition door searching for an employee or the peace of mind of the bar. Finding neither in that car, she continued her pursuit down the line as the train slowed noticeably the closer it got to the station. Beyond the flickering windows she saw a city like any other, with cars, traffic, stop lights, but with one little difference. Cheyenne had an over abundance of cowboy hats.
As the train neared its morning terminus, so too did Sadie eventually find what whe was looking for. Another empty car save for a man wiping down a linoleum bar with six stools in front of it and a shelf of peace of mind behind it. His name was Arnold and his blad black head shined like a fresh eight ball, contrasted with his cue ball white smile, he was instantly Sadie's new friend.
Are you open? are the three most hopeful words to a thirsty woman looking to salve her
wounded being.
Arnold grinned slightly and said, not til ten my dear.
Sadie's internal clock realized it was close, but apparently not close enough for Arnold.
coffe, she asked.
of course, milk or sugar?
sweet and creamy. so, yes on both counts.
Having never taken to the bitterness of black coffee, like her father had, she preferred the doctored method of additives. Bailey's was the top choice but as a last resort she would accept cream and sugar.
Settling onto the stool, she wanted to make conversation with this stranger, if for no other reason than to hear her own voice. Loneliness had taken ahold of her overnight and the weight of what she was doing was slowly sinking in. It wasnt the loneliness of being alone that was creeping up her spine, but the newly discovered and realized abandonment of Sadie Tordello.
And the slow transformation she would undergo in the upcoming months, years to another woman with a new story trying to make her way in a new town. Pushing aside those fears of survival, she let herself get excited over the prospect of starting over. New friends, new life, new job, new state, new attitud, and a brand new pair of eyes to which the world would color.
Her eyes, once an innocent mottled brown, had now become hardened, darker, yet still retained their magnetism. Off to the corners of both irises, lay five black dots, freckles she called them, that truly showed in indirect sunlight. They were a point of pride as she had never seen anyone else with anything similar and it was one facet of individuality nobody would ever be able to take away.
Sipping her coffee, she didnt notice the moving hands of the clock walk right by ten and into 10;15.
Can i have a bloody mary please?
and with artful precision, Arnold hand crafted one of the finest stoli bloodys she had ever had, complete with celery, pickled asparagus and two tear drop tomatos bookending a skewered pimiento olive.
Outsid, the train had pulled to a stop and passengers were waddling along the platform, including the irrascible couple from earlier. She tried to imagine their conversation in the rental car heading into the morning for breakfast at Polly's Diner, Hungry Joe's or even the locao IHOP. Putting words in peoples mouths, giving them a story and playing on stereotypes wa something that amused and entertained her. Whether at bus stops, bars, elevators, laundromats or any other public convenience where people meet by chance and circumstance is fair game to her imagination.
Alone in the barcar, her her head and in her life, Sadie knew what it meant to face an unknown future. Her hard charging father had never slowed down from his twenties, providing enough fodder for ridicule and humor long into his forties. Paul had died five years ago come May in a blindly random car accident that ended his days painlessly. Her mother passed away from cancer when she was a little girl, almost nine, and Sadie remembered vaguely the far away look in her eyes as she lay pale and decomposed on the hospital bed. With no sisters or brothers, Paul was left shouldering the nine year old by himself. Paul went about his business, running the bar called Logan's in little Italy. She was his sidekick, confidant, co-worker, best friend and, among other things, his chick magnet. Sadie was bred from attractive stock and Paul was ever the player in the ladie's game. And what's more attractive than a good looking man who owned his own business, raising a daughter single handedly and had a personality to boot? During that day and age, Paul had the city in his hand, economic times were up and he was a having his slice of pie.
But all good things do come to an end and thoughLogan's remains a beacon for the displaced and unpossessed, Paul was forced to sell to fend off the collection agencies that eventually started coming for his dead wife's hospital bills. He called it 'morbid money', collecting from the grave like that. A curiously obscene practice which he believed cultivates the dog eat dog world of today's politics, businesses, and even friendships. To pay off a dead man's debt with a living man's life made about as much sense as frosty the snowman standing post at the gates of Hell. Sadie had inherited her father's penchant for good times, good tliquor, and sense of humor while gleaning from her mother a sense of responsibility, honesty and a flair for the dramatic. She was the perfect combination of grace and grit, grunge and style, equally comfortable in a four star restaurant or hotel as in a two bit hostel or low cieling dive bar.
With the clock pushing eleven, and departure still thirty minutes away, she paid Arnold, slipped him a smile and a few ones, and said she'd see him later.
At Denver she would upgrade to a sleeper car, but for now, her corner of the train with her possessions spread upon the four seats, would do. She thought about the possibilities, the promise and the anticipation of her not yet adopted home. Bartending, waitressing, bike courier, teaching, computer teching were all options, all ways to a means. But the most lucrative and most quickly attainable was tending bar. Her back stash of money was cushion enough to float on for a month or two, but the need for a bed and a tidy place to prop her feet up would take a fair bite out of her pocket. Finding solace in her thoughts for the first time in a week relaxed her to the point of heaving a sigh of unguarded relief.
In the rear view of her memory's eye she recalled the phone booth that was home to her tears and where the seeds for her fateful decision to leave were sown. That enclosed glass box, protected from the wind, rain, sun and dark, proved to be the beginnning of her journey to today. Walkiing along the platform, the whistle for embarkation blew, and with that she took one more step in walking away from her past.
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