A) A wicked party the night before consisting of half of LCBO’s alcohol.
B) A catfight gone bad, probably over a brainless boy or sh**-talking.
C) A sexual encounter, ridiculously rough, likely with a stranger that was met at a club two-and-a-half hours ago.
To me, the bluish-purple bruise only signaled to one thing; utter confusion combined with excruciating pain. Let’s leave my new year’s eve story for another day.
It has always been my bucket-list-item to go on an impulsive train adventure, so this afternoon, that is exactly what I did. I picked up a there-and-back ticket to X, Ontario and got on a train right at 4:10 p.m. That was right after I picked up a hazelnut coffee, that I kind of wished was a triple-triple instead, and the cutest bottle of coca-cola I have ever laid eyes on.
I made my way to the concourse, or whatever it’s called, and I hopped rolled on the train with my two beverages, whilst chasing the sunset and feeling temporarily liberated from the thought of waking up at 6 a.m. tomorrow. I was thinking about a lot of things, particularly about the notions of romance that are attached to trains.
That is when somebody in X, Ontario crossed my mind, (which is not where I traveled to this evening) and how his company would have filled my tummy with butterflies if we philosophized over a glass of wine and a wicked make-out session exchange of thoughts, concepts, and witty banter. I also thought about how much more romantic our philosophizing would be, if the train journeyed through Russia, on an old train that probably isn’t even accessible, and my wheelchair itself is more high-tech.
Then, I started to think about train-riding turning into a regular hobby of mine, once I live on my own, as the peace dominating my worry-filled mind was nice for a change. I thought about the idea of changing Universities, since the thought of rolling around outdoors in minus-fifty-degree weather was making me uneasy, and of course, full of anxiety. I also envisioned running into Holden Caulfield on the train ride, and wondered how he would describe our encounter in Catcher in the Rye, Part II.
Suddenly, the train came to a stop and I arrived in X, Ontario. As I departed from my seat, I made my way to the train station’s waiting area. I smiled at some strangers, purchased a third beverage, which was by the way, a large triple-triple, and I was sort of wishing I had purchased a ticket to Montreal, instead. Then I waited about X minutes for my train back to Toronto.
As I rode my way back into the transformed sky of darkness, I text-messaged some people that I craved to converse with, and received an odd glance or two from the lady sitting across from me, but I wasn't offended – I was in the company of three beverages, and I would have thought I was a psychopath too.
The next thing I did was glance at my wheelchair, which I got out of, by the way. I happened to glance at it because I thought about new year’s eve and the friend-of-a-friend that reminded me not to forget my wheelchair after checking out of the hotel. I was sort of thankful for running into such thoughtful people, because imagine how my life would be if I actually forgot it!
The very last thing I did before arriving in Toronto, was observe my bruised elbow for awhile, and come to the shocking discovery that it is in fact a burn I woke up with. If I collect my memories in order, I will tell you that story another time.
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