Catching Colours

The longest journey of any person is the journey inwards
-Dag Hammarskjöld

Line. Line. Line. Line. Colour colour colour colour line. Line. Line. Line. Line. Colour colour colour colour line. A train whipped past a young boy’s face, its wind lifting his hair and tickling his forehead. A big brother stood next to the young boy with is arm around his shoulders, protecting him from the world, this gesture saying, “You are my brother, I love you and I will always keep you safe.”
         But that was an age ago. An aeon, a lifetime. Everything has changed.
         Now the young boy, who has become a grown man, sits on the beach and stares at the tracks made in the sand by those track-making insects. His fingers trace the tracks that go round in circles, and he remembers the train. Line. Line. Line. Line. Colour colour colour colour line. They go in circles, just like his relationship with his brother.
         Thinking about Stephan is painful for Michael, but necessary. There were times when, as it had been on the station, Stephan would keep Michael from being hurt. He was the big brother who would never let anything near the baby of the family. Those were good times, when the world was a safe place and the summers never ended.
         Michael closes his eyes again and he is back on the station. A train pulls in and the crowd surge forward, their collective force pulling Michael away from his brother. They reach for each other, but it is too late, and Michael is forced onto the train and the glass doors close behind him. He presses his hands against the glass and shouts for Stephan, but the older boy can’t hear him, and as the train leaves the station, Stephan is left standing on the platform, looking for the brother he can no longer protect. Michael watches Stephan disappearing, and a pit re-opens in his stomach. It feels as though he has lost his brother all over again.
         Michael looks blandly out the window and it takes him a while to realise that the grass and trees flashing past the window are actually scenes from his life, in a blur of memories now forgotten, emotions now buried in the depth of time.
         Line, line, colour, line.
         The train’s brakes screech as it nears another station A large, care-worn sign hangs from a pole, saying, “The Canyon”. Michael sees and older boy approach a younger one on the station, and realises with a start that the younger boy is himself, age nine, and the elder is Stephan, age twelve. Without even blinking, Stephan punches the young Michael on the nose, then twice in the stomach. The younger boy falls to the ground and Stephan kicks him repeatedly, not even caring that he is writhing on the ground in agony. After a while, Stephan lets up, glances at an invisible person over his shoulder, and runs away, leaving Michael bathing in a pool of his own blood.
         As the train begins moving again, the Michael on the train reaches a tentative hand up to his own nose, which is still disfigured from the fight so many years ago. Of course, he remembers, that was when I told mum about Stephan’s girlfriend. Michael had had to stay in hospital for two days after that.
As more blurred scenes from his life flash past, Michael inspects the interior of the train. It has a faint glow to it, and smells old and musty, as though the memories that live inside are dying.
         After a while, the train slows again at a station bearing the sign “Freedom Bridge”. It doesn’t stop, but Michael catches a fleeting glimpse of two boys shaking hands then genially punching each other in the arm.
         Michael sighs. How often we fail to stop at this station, he reflects. There was many a time he and his brother had neglected to even approach it.
         The train speed up again and the colours continue to spin. They are becoming happier again, and Michael basks in the warmth they seem to be emitting. The next station he arrives at is called Hartfield and Michael notices that it was the station where he began. He sees his brother standing on the platform, and longs for his loving embrace, but he knows that Stephan can offer no more protection, and it is far too late to rely on it. Instead, Michael is content to watch a younger version of himself be comforted by Stephan. It is a happy memory, and Michael knows he can hang onto it without needing to continually drink from it.
Again, the train starts up, and when it stops at The Canyon, Michael tries not to look at the scene unfolding on the platform, but is compelled to watch as two young men hurl verbal abuse at each other over the dying body of their mother. Michael knows that there was a time in which the brothers, stricken by grief, each blamed the other for their mother’s death, which had torn their relationship apart at the seams.
         Again the train pulls away. This time, Michael makes his way to the door of the train, eager not to miss Freedom Bridge, the station he had neglected so many times before. For the last time, the train stops and the doors slide open. Again, Stephan is there, but is no longer a boy, but a man. Michael rushes to Stephan and embraces him, long and hard. “I’m sorry,” he breathes.
The real Michael opens his eyes and stares at the waves crashing onto the shore. He stands up and walks towards the water, opening an urn as he approaches the foam.
         “Goodbye Stephan,” he whispers into the breeze and scatters the ashes along the sand.
         Finally, he is at peace.