Snapshot

It was a snapshot of life. It portrayed all the happiness, all the carefree a smile could. The problem was it was only one second. One second does not, could not, ever fully show a story, or at least not hers. One thousand words wouldn’t begin to show the journey she had taken to reach this snapshot, or the journey afterwards as well. Because a smile is not a smile unless you have frowned first, and will frown in the future.

Bridget took the train. It was a cold day, a rainy day, or in other words a perfect day. With a black coat on, the darkness of the sky could hide her from the demons she was leaving. She would be able to spot the red horns and fire breath before they could see her blonde hair tucked underneath her hat. She would have time to run. And running was what she was doing. Running away as fast as she could, or at least how fast seventy dollars could take her in February.

She leaned her head against the side of the train, trying to use her arm as some sort of cushion as it vibrated her head, bouncing it enough to give anyone a headache. Bridget already had a headache though. Opening her eyes, she let the tip of her eyelash touch the window, trying to get the best view as the surroundings flew by her. She was leaving, and wanted a memory of it. She snapped her eyes closed, a normal reaction to her eye hitting the window with a hard force. A mutter of dislike filled her lunges, but she held her breath in. The demons might find her faster if she dared to make a sound.

A man sneezed next to her, causing her to jump. He had a very odd sneeze, one not normally associated with the male species. It was high pitched, and caused Bridget to jump in her seat a little bit. Of course, anything would have done that. She couldn’t help but feel slightly jumpy. Looking over at the man, she wondered why he himself would have jumped up as well. Her eyes and mouth opening up in shock, she looked at the empty coffee cup now resting on the ground, it’s peaceful nature as it rolled along with the vibrations of the train. Bridget’s eyes, however, rested on the coffee spilling down the front of his shirt.

More people started turning towards her, and a snapshot went off in the distance. She quickly ducked her head, hoping she was not photographed. How ironic, considering that was her goal in coming to New York. To appear in as many things as possible. She pulled out the piece of paper in her hand, “Molen’s Modeling Agency-Where the New Come-Where the Big Go” It was the first place that had accepted her, but not her first place she had asked. God, she hated the color red. Why was it, ever rejection letter was in red writing? It could never be a calm blue, or a simple black. It was always red, bolded bloody red.

Snapping back into reality, she looked up into the man, his face still fuming red like a strawberry without its sweetness. “I’m so sorry,” she said, looking up at him, “Do you need me to get you anything?”

The man looked backed at her, “Yes. You can. Although you have already caused so much trouble, I don’t know if I can trust you do to anything. I need some paper towels,” He moved up, his hands still flailing everywhere. “Yes, move back everything an hour, I need to buy a new outfit,” He paused, and Bridget looked up at him with a shocked horror. She was terrible with scheduling, and a strangers schedule was a dark nightmare. What did this man expect her to do? “Why? Some stupid girl spilled coffee all over me,”

This time she was confused, and looked down at the ground like it would have the answer. As the lines curved from scratches, graffiti, and unknown objects, she wondered what a fortune teller would see, looking down at these lines. Would it predict the future of the bus? How long before a crash would happen Or the people that stepped on it, picking up the dirt and the echoes of the lines and memories it held. She stood up, and handed the man some napkins, “I don’t know how to move you’re schedule,” She said, looking down at the ground. Surely the demons would be in view now.

The man grabbed the napkins and started dabbing them everywhere, “Yes-Move Lincoln to 7:30. We will reschedule Marvin for tomorrow,” He paused, not paying any attention to the girl who had spilled coffee on him. Why would he? She had served him enough trouble for one ride, there was nothing more he wanted from her. Sitting back down, he continued to talk to himself.

Bridget was baffled. She wasn’t sure if she should once again mention the fact that she couldn’t rearrange this, or start taking notes. She searched through her bag, wondering if she had even taken any paper. A crumbled telephone number, a bag of peanuts, a comb, and an opened lipstick was the first to catch her eyes, although she knew another layer of items lay underneath. How funny were material objects. All your life, you want more and more. And yet-when it is time to go- you can fit everything you need in one bag. Years of life, days of memories, moments of time could fit into a small bag. One single bag.

The man reached up and turned to a woman sitting a few seats ahead of them, who appeared to already be writing some something down. Bridget let out a sigh of relief. Such an easy explanation to so much trouble. If everything could be this easy, the world would be easier. Life would be easier, the world would be happier. But since it wasn’t, Bridget pushed her head back again, an uneven bunch forming where the headrest had been broken in my the many passengers before her.