She saw him again. The man from the train.
josh
She stood silently and watched him move. She watched his feet, those dragging feet that begrudgingly pulled him forwards. For a moment she doubted herself, doubted her foggy memory. She doubted everything at first. Straining her temples to the point of agony, she forced a memory to the surface, and all at once she was sure it was him. It had to be him. Watching the way the gentle sunlight bounced from his head, the way his hands parted the waves of air before him, she was overcome with longing.
She approached him with caution, sure that too aggressive an approach would send him running once more. The fluid air was kinetic, filled with uncertainty, but laced with possibility. Her hands brushed down her thighs as she smoothed the pleats of her skirt into the crisp, clean lines she knew he liked. As her fingertips reached her knees, her skin tingled with anticipation. The same anticipation that was buzzing all around her, bouncing off of every surface. It was infectious, and her mind wondered to that train journey. It must have only been last week, but it felt like an eternity ago. Thinking about it, she realised that she couldn’t actually remember the last time she had seen him. The last time their fingers, lips, bodies, had met. Was it the train? When did he leave?
The crowd on the terrace thinned as she edged closer and closer, allowing her a proper look at his face. On came another flicker of doubt. Something wasn’t quite right. There was a line where there hadn’t been a line before. The brow sunk a little too far south than she remembered. She tried desperately to recall the way she traced his jaw with her lips, and was sure the two didn’t align. She shook it off as nothing more than her mind playing tricks on her again. As he turned their eyes met. She forced away the doubt and ran to him, completely overwhelmed with emotion. She threw herself into his arms, engulfing him in infatuation.
“What’s happening?” She heard against her trembling ears. Tears pricked at her eyes. The waiting, the wanting, it had all been worth it for this beautiful reunion, everything she had pictured it to be.
“I know, I can’t believe it either!” Words were a struggle, getting them out was even harder, syllables fighting against the ever-growing lump in her throat. Her hands pulled his head closer into her, pulling his soul into hers as hard as she could. Sure they would combine as one if she tried hard enough.
“No, I mean… what is happening? Who are you?” Slowly she pulled away, sure she hadn’t heard him properly. His face was ashen, and a look of contemplative fury mixed with irreparable confusion glossed across his skin. She had his face in her hands, sure it was a face she knew so well. She studied the rise and fall of his facial topography, making her way to his eyes, looking into them, looking through them, desperately seeking the recognition she desired.
There it was again. Instead of recognition, in flooded that flicker of doubt. Something in his face changed. His eyes were no longer green, and the natural curl of his hair morphed into lank, lifeless locks, a shade of mousy brown she didn’t know. His broad shoulders shrank before her eyes and suddenly he was a stranger. She recoiled, the illusion instantly shattered. Who was this man?
“Get away from me!” She hissed, throwing his face from her fingers, tearing at the beard that wasn’t there before. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. The knots inside of her tightened and contracted, and a wave of nausea threw her to the ground. Slowly he backed away, murmuring anxious notions as he retreated back into the crowd. Why did she recognise this sick feeling more than she now recognised this man? She was sure it was him. Granted it wasn’t a mirror image, but she thought she could see him in there. How had she gotten it so wrong? Memories flooded through her mind, clouding her sight. Visions of the man leaving her on the train flashed in front of her eyes, and a flurry of dread and fear filled her. Who was he? Where did he go? Could she even remember what he looked like any more? She exhaled.
All at once, there was nothing. She may have fainted, she may have merely blinked for a second too long, but when she came back around she was at a market stall. She must have fallen into a daydream and wandered outside, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d done that without realising. She wondered what had happened, but could recall nothing. She looked at her hands, and they were laced with a gentle film of perspiration, facial hair scattered along her fingertips, clinging to the moist surface. Where did those come from? This feeling was becoming all too familiar, the lack of any clarity, of any real memories. How many times had she shrugged off her inability to remember anything?
Pulling herself back into reality, she put down the scarf she was holding, letting the silk fall through her fingers. It was hot. Sun was blaring down and she regretted her choice of jeans, the thick material clinging to her as she strolled through the narrow lanes of the crowd. The heat tickled her forehead, and a gentle bead of sweat appeared. A train passed in the distance, its horn pulling her attention. Something niggled at the back of her mind, a memory surfacing. Suddenly she remembered.
He stood and he walked towards the carriage door. He turned and faced her, his blue eyes locking onto hers. He opened his mouth.
This was it, this was the memory she was willing to die for. Suddenly a light blonde curl caught her eye across the crowd. She couldn’t believe it. She saw him again. The man from the train.