taking the train alone

There are certain milestones in life that make you feel, "yes--I am growing up." Moments where adulthood feels so close, independence is within reach, and you reckon you could pass for eighteen, what with how mature you are. As teenagers, I think we are so fixed on what we can do and where we want to get to and what our lives will become, that really any small event can be blown up into this amazing stepping stone to adulthood. In the thoughts of people older than us, it might seem a bit silly, but these tiny steps, to me at least, feel like a start to Getting Somewhere.
And Wednesday 28th October 2011 was one such day for me.
It marked the first time I would travel out of my village and town on my own. My mum drove me to the train station, told me to be sensible, and then drove away as I walked into the train station.
It was a day of firsts. The first time I asked politely for a "child return to Norwich, please". The first time I had to consider if I had enough time to get a drink. (I didn't) The first time I had to find my way to platform six by myself.
The 10:12 train was incredibly empty. Across the aisle, a man and a woman were filling out the crossword in The Sun, and behind me there was a boy, perhaps a year or so older than me, travelling alone too. Other than that, I was alone with my book and my thoughts.
It was strange to be sat alone. To have no one to talk to about the scenery. There wasn't anyone to laugh with. I was sat alone, and I was aware.
When you are alone, no matter where you are, your senses are heightened. Everything is an exercise in observation. But sat on the itchy seat of a rumbling and empty train, you soon run out of things to consider and admire. The drop-down tray was sticky and had a piece of gum stuck to it. The maroon carpeting had a geometric diamond pattern, and the blue seat had a wild colourful print. The velour material scratched my hands, the window was cool, and the book in my hands.
I was ready to pull out my phone and send inane texts to my brother, who was waiting for me at the other end of my journey. Suddenly, a voice crackled through the speakers.
There had been a crash ahead.
Our train stopped.
There was no one for me to roll my eyes at. Instead, I had to find it in myself to stay, sat in the itchy blue seat, waiting for the train to move again.
Eventually--it moved.
I left the train, and stood in the huge echoing station, staring around for my brother.
That was the scariest bit. More than the lonely carriage and the unexpected halt and the blue seats. Not knowing where my brother was for those few short minutes sent me into a flurry of fear and worry. Had I got off at the wrong city? Was my brother safe? Did I have the right day?
Then I saw him, just around the corner. I knew then--
I could travel alone. I could be by myself. I could cope with these tiny problems.
I was a baby step closer to growing up and travelling further afield.


xx
Libby