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CONTRAST - 47

door closed long before he returned.
I read the books I'd brought. I spent time trying to figure out who I wanted to

be, and what qualities I didn't want in myself any longer.
No, I was not the same person.
But I lived alongside her, knew her, acknowledged that she would always be a

part of me.
Without the unwelcome presence of home, I created. I wrote. I turned out

almost 100 pages in that month, just from sitting quietly and watching people.
Just from being with myself and being able to look at my reflection without making
unkind comments. I was able to hear my voice again and acknowledge it as a posi-
tive one, as one I should trust.

THE VERMONTER (2013)

BY EMMA RICHARD

The day I was scheduled to leave Vermont, I was taking the Vermonter from
Greensboro down to New York City to visit my aunt. Traveling alone was an excit-
ing concept to me, and I was satisfied with the idea of sitting alone on a train read-
ing my books. Robin drove me to the train station early that morning in relative
quiet, making uneasy conversation, awkwardly making sure I had all my bags and
my book before hugging me tight.

She really wasn't one for lots of gushy affection, but she held on for a long
moment before hurrying back outside to the car. I clutched my book in one hand
and my heavy duffel bag was squeezing my shoulder.

"It's nice that a young girl like yourself brings a book places." An older woman
commented, and I jumped a little; I hadn't even noticed that she'd sat down next
to me. I smiled slowly- I still wasn't completely awake yet- and nodded once.

"It's not very common anymore, is it?" I mused, letting my fingers slide across
the cover of the novel. It was The Alienist, by Caleb Carr, and the woman next to
me asked if it was a good read.

"Excellent." I leafed through the pages as we spoke.
"Is it a recent book? I haven't heard about it." She patted her silvery hair, and I
shook my head.
"No, it's probably been around since the nineties."
"Oh, so it is recent." The woman joked, allowing a loud guffaw to escape her
thin lips. Her eyes crinkled pleasantly with mirth. I laughed along with her; but my
train ticket was getting sweaty in my palm with anxiousness and I should be
boarding soon.
"It was nice to talk to someone young who enjoys these kind of things. Here,
have some coffee." The woman reached down into a cardboard box by her feet
and handed me a box of K-Cups, which I took obligingly without even realizing I
had absolutely no space for them. My duffel bag was full to the brim; my hands
were occupied. But I stuffed it amongst my various things anyways, thinking how
rude it would be if I didn't accept the box of instant coffee from the older woman.
I flashed a smile at her before shouldering my bag again- uncomfortably- and stood
so that I could see out of the glass frame and onto the tracks.