I saw the movement before I felt it. I had already been staring out the window for a solid ten minutes, unblinking, as I willed the metal mechanisms to pull the train forward. Then, the flowers began to move outside the window—slowly, at first, then faster, as the car lurched forward. Gears moaned and clunked together, and I heard the engine puff and wheeze with the effort. The whistle sounded.
We were moving.
The attendant had told me to sit still, especially if this was my first time, but the energy and excitement and anticipation had built too high. I was overflowing, and like the wooden cars surrounding me,, I needed to move.
I pushed myself out of my seat and started walking, then running, then flying down the aisle. I leaped over bags and dodged passengers, yelling their complaints to my vanishing figure. I jumped from one car to the next, running opposite from where the train was taking me, my feet no longer fast enough to keep up as the scenery began to whiz by the windows.
I pushed open a final door and felt the rush of fresh air, the wind grabbing my silk hair and running wild with it. I caught myself on the railing of the caboose, watching as the city already started to disappear from view. So it wasn’t as big as everyone thought, after all.
The whistle blew again as the train reached full speed, pulling my away from the place I had hated for so long. I closed my eyes and breathed in the freedom, the relief, and the peace.
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