Personal Narrative: A Christmas Break

I miss them already. Despite the freezing cold snow and the nipping air, we had a lovely Christmas break. As I inspect my child, now grown with children of her own, holding tickets back to their home, longing envelopes me. Hoards of people push past, unaware of my pain, on their own schedules and heading toward different trains, talking and texting on their cell phones. My family boards, time as if in slow-motion, and waves goodbye until I see them again. I can't do anything but wave, a fake smile upon my face as my heart breaks and sadness washes over me. The wheels grind on the track, creating sparks that fall like shooting stars, and they speed away and off into the distance. A piercing whistle blows out, echoing against the high …show more content…
I beg of you, stop the train!" My cries rang out, responded to by a few concerned and annoyed stares from passersby and a continually moving train. One or two passengers sitting by the windows took notice of my stressed exterior and quick pace, but they couldn't do anything to help me, the train too far gone. The train picked up more and more speed, leaving the station and venturing out, leaving me behind. I stopped, defeated. The thought of missing another family dinner made me sick to my stomach. My brain seemed unable to comprehend that I remained in the station, and the train had went off on its journey. I had to sit …show more content…
“I’m Susan. I’ve missed my train,” I sighed.
The man - James - inspected me with his storm cloud eyes. “Well, why don’t you just get the next one?” he wondered aloud, making me feel unintelligent, as if I could not have thought of that myself, although I knew that his intention didn't lie there.
I shook my head. “There are no more trains to Newark. And even if there was, I'd be late to my dinner, anyway.”
He searched for something invisible off in the distance, then nodded, deciding something. “I’ll stay with you. My meeting isn’t even that important, anyway.” And as much as I told him he didn’t have to, he insisted. After some back-and-forth, I finally agreed to let him stay with me.
"So, James, where are you from?" I asked, and not twenty minutes later I had learned all about him; that he, too, lived in Ridgefield, that he worked as a businessman, and much more. After that, I shared with him, and we got to talking for quite a while. An hour turned into two, time feeling meaningless, before we decided to take our conversation over to the nearest coffee house, the strong smell drifting up into our noses, and we stayed there talking until late at night. After that, I scribbled down my number for him to call, and he helped me get a cab home. On the ride to my house, I couldn't help but smile, thinking of James and our long