Three weeks.
Twenty-one days.
Five hundred and four hours.
Thirty thousand, two hundred, and forty minutes.
That's all it took.
That's all it took for brunette and emerald and life to steal her heart, and captivate her soul.
Three weeks.
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She took a deep breath as a gust of cold wind blew browning autumn leaves around her feet. The brunette toed them absently with her scuffed Chuck Taylors while a group of laughing children ran past her, their parents rushing by moments later. She sat precariously on a wooden bench, running her fingers over the well-worn slats, deep etchings covering the lacquered surface every few inches. She danced her fingers over the markings as if she was reading braille, the writings staring back at her just as foreign.
When Camila told her best friend, Alex, four years ago that she was getting out of Lima, she somehow pictured she would be road tripping it to New York, or jetting off to California. Never did she imagine she would be sitting in a crowded train station nearly four thousand miles away from all she knew with nothing but a backpack and a crinkled railway ticket.
She took in another deep breath, smelling freshly ground coffee and cigarettes, making her already nerve ridden stomach churn. She hung her head low between her legs, trying to clear her head of all thoughts that would have her back on a plane home within the hour.
Why am I here?
She straightened up and dug into the warm pocket of her Ohio State hoodie, fishing out her already worn train pass. She brushed her fingertips over the embossed writing on the small slip of paper.
"Gare de Lyon, Paris to Venezia, Mestra," Camila muttered under her breath as if she hadn't uttered her destination a thousand times over the past twenty-four hours.
Why did I think this was a good idea?
And alone?
She was only nineteen for Christ sake, not nearly old enough to be taking on the world. But she had to get out of Lima. And if she thought about it she knew it was an adventure she had to take on her own. A part of her just wished her parents didn't let her go so easily. Like by asking to go on this trip she was testing their love. She'd hoped that maybe they would finally show concern for her well being, beg her to stay. But that obviously wasn't the case, or else she wouldn't be sitting by herself on a wooden bench in a crowded train station at 8pm at night.
She looked up at the large clock hanging over her platform, telling her it was five minutes until her train departed. She stole herself the last few moments of fresh air before she'd have to board a train for the next ten hours. She just prayed to all that was Holy that she didn't have to share a seat with a pair of screaming babies, or an over excited traveller all too willing to talk. She slung her heavy backpack over her shoulder and made her way over to the back exit of the sleek train, hoping she could find an empty compartment away from the madness of families taking their ungrateful bundles of joy with them for their weekend getaway.
It took three carriages before Camila found one that was empty. She hauled off her rucksack and shoved it unceremoniously under one of the two small beds, before falling onto the soft sheets with a sigh. She felt like she hadn't slept in days. Ever since Alex saw her off at the airport she hadn't let her mind fade long enough to find rest.
She retrieved her earplugs from her pocket, hearing a generic female voice announce something in French just as she turned up today's favourite mix on her iPod. She settled into her bunk and shut her eyes, letting the guitars and calming male vocals wash over her. She felt the train jerk into motion, sinking lower into her pillow, having every intention of sleeping her way to Venice.
