That Guy on the Train

I graduated high school a year early. I had the credits, so why not. I enjoyed high school, but I didn't thrive in the environment I was living in. I moved across the country to live with my dad and stepmom and go to commnity college until I figured out a plan. To get across the country I wanted to travel by train so my mom bought me a ticket and off I went.

My "boyfriend" at the time of graduation moved to Chicago, so I planned a stop there for a couple of days to hang out with him and his mom. (What a mess, and an entirely different story.)

The ride from VA to IL was long enough that when I got my seat I knew I had to settle in and make nice with the man sitting next to me. Looking back, I was such a fool, but nonetheless...

When I went to introduce myself I made up a fake name and an entire back story about who I was, where I was going, and why I was going there. I crafted an amazing story, I flirted, I lied threw my teeth. My sixteen year old self may have graduated high school, but clearly was not ready to jump into the world.

The elaborate lie lasted hours, the entire trip in fact. It was exhausting! It was fun at first, but then it became tiresome, keeping up with my story. I didn't cave, but I wanted to just confess everything. I was too embaraassed so I kept on.

It was the first time I was truly on my own and my story was mine alone to tell. No one was there to fact check, to verify my story, and deny my falsehoods. It was fun. Then it wasn't. I learned that even when no one is watching, the allure of Escape is just that, a lure. I also learned that what I had suspected to be true, was indeed true: If desired, I could lie quite effectively.

So thanks, Man on the Train, for teaching me two lessons. One lesson was the first in series of moments that really set me on a path to change my life from the way I had been living, to the way I wanted to be living and one that reminded me of the person I didn't want to become.the photo is of me and my friends right before I left town. Yikes, floral explosion! I blame 1993. And that hat? Although not sure which is worse, my hat or the choker? Aye!