She watches the workers move like shadows beneath the lights inside the station. They stand behind counters caught in their computers’ glow, or linger in knots and bunches waiting to begin their day.
The girl breathes deeply and tucks her hair behind her hears as she steps from the shadows into the terminal. She feels the eyes of the station workers as their gaze lingers on her jacket’s tears and greasy smudges. She feels their pause as she steps towards the restroom.
In the restroom the girl squeezes out the last of her tooth-paste and she brushes her teeth hard - until her gums feel raw.
She pulls a sweater and track-pants from her knapsack and slips out of her sodden clothes. The girl steps into the warmth of the fleece pants and pulls the sweater over her head.
‘What now?’ She rests her forehead against the tile-wall. The air feels heavy and thick. “Breathe,” she whispers to herself.
The girl turns on the sink-taps to let warm water run into her hands. She washes her face and runs her fingers through the tangles of her hair. Clean enough. She slips her money into the pouch pocket of her track-pants.
She eyes the sodden aged jeans and shirt that lie like an old skin on the bathroom floor. She tries to remember the who she was - once. The girl who’d worn those clothes when they were bright and new. She shrugs and sighs, then she scoops them up and pushes them hard and deep into the garbage can.
The girl loops her back-pack over her shoulders. She steps into the terminal lobby and stops for a moment - uncertain. Outside of the terminal’s glass walls the sky has faded into blue. Another day on the rise. A car slows into the parking-lot, and then another.
She listens to the thump of her heart, as her thoughts turn and flip, and twist behind her eyes. She closes her fingers hard into her palms, until she feels the bite of her nails. She sighs and turns from the window.
Already, people are grouped into small lines in front of the ticket kiosks. She scans the lists of departures and arrivals that shine from a board above the desks. The girl smiles to herself, she has enough money to pay for a passage and to buy a bit of food for the journey.
‘And then?’ The question patters through her. She bites at the inside of cheek. “And then I’ll work it out,” she tells herself. “It’s not -
I’m not running”
From outside comes the sound of a bus grumbling into life. The girl wonders how far it will travel and where it will stop on its journey to somewhere. She rubs her eyes and studies the destinations listed on the board. She feels a hand fall lightly upon her shoulder and she shrugs and ducks away the touch.
The girl turns to see a woman in the pale blue uniform of the station. The woman smiles, but not with her eyes. She feels the woman’s sigh and the slump of her shoulders.
“Where are you off to, today Miss?” The woman asks after a moment, in a voice that feels sharp and brittle - unquestioning. ‘You don’t belong,’ it says.
The girl lifts her hand to point at the departure listings. “There,” she says and she smiles. “That place.” She watches through the window as the wind stirs bits of paper, and plastic into the air.
The girl watches the torn and forgotten pieces dance and twist on the wind as it carries them.
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