My skin is shiny with sweat. My clothes stick to my body. Like always, I’m dressed to warm for the first warm days. It’s a miracle I wasn’t milling about in my winter coat through Utrecht, while it’s 24 degrees. The sun is still shining and even in the silence section of the train, it’s muggy and warm with a taste of sweat in the air.
I’m right across the glass door, that separates us from the space in between, in which my reflection is shown. It’s there is see my cheeks are shiny and glowing red hot. Two thin spaghetti strings frame my face, well the idea was that two pieces of hair would hang beautifully and gracefully around my face, because since when are spaghetti strings flattering. My eyes are big and still show the anxiety I have had during the day. My ears stand out a bit.
The longer I stare at myself, the more uncomfortable it gets. I try to look away. To focus somewhere else, but we are in the silence section without any distraction. And every attempt to cellphone calls or other noises are cut off by a male moper that hides in here. So soon, I look ahead again.
My reflection is staring just as much at me and seems to be as uncomfortable about it as I am. In front of her are broken sentences with missing words of the poems, because there is no space left on the door for them, which make them puzzling and impossible to get.
And because there is nothing else to do I go passed every imperfection I can find and that I got. And the more I do that, the more distance gets in between me and my reflection. Until I get the feeling I am holding a staring contest with a stranger, instead of staring in the mirror image of myself.
The person in the glass door seems from a different planet. I imagine she has difficulty adapting to the human race and I don’t blame her. I myself don’t understand anything about that or what is the norm either. What is normal? How do you suppose to act around groups of people? What is desirable? How do you start a conversation? And more importantly, how do you keep a conversation going? How do you make friends? What does life means? Maybe we’re going into deep, maybe no one has a clue, maybe there are just people who it all comes easier to.
The train is bumpy and the alien in the door is bumping with it. For a minute she is gone, because someone is using the door to get to the other side. I try to stare outside, but everything is passing too quickly and turns into a blur of colours.
We arrive at ’t Harde where a bus is awaiting us. The door slides again, but this time I step through it. Leaving the alien behind.
“Goodbye alien, perhaps until next time.”