Blessed by the Dead

Chapter 2

The morning is sunny, my last morning in my room, in my bed. I pull myself out of it and get dressed. The outfit I've been keeping clean and ready for today, my favorite white blouse, cropped red cardigan and long dark gray pleated skirt. Aside from my unnaturally red hair, I look like I might not be living in this century but I don't care. This makes me feel comfortable. Opening the door, I immediately recognize the smell: mom is making croque-monsieur, my favorite. I happily make my way down with my luggage and bag, leaving them in the entryway. As I gobble down the croque-monsieur, mom and dad keep reminding me on what I should do, and on how I should do it, and to be very careful, to always keep my belongings close and in my eyesight. I nod along, trying to be patient with them. I know they're just worried about me, and in truth I'm worried for me too.

I've always been "slower" than the other kids when it comes to traveling. The only times we went out of the country was to visit my mom's family in Belgium, and my school wasn't so far that I even needed to take the bus. Not that taking the bus would be smart since the place where we live in, the bus only comes about once per hour. Same for the trains. Someone rings at the door, I wonder if it's oma Ineke. No she wouldn't do that, I've been telling her for a while not to come to see me off or else I'll cry for sure. I'm already having trouble keeping it in and we're not even at the train station, only at home eating breakfast. Mom opens the door, and I immediately recognize these footsteps, it's Linda.

I shoot her a fake look of annoyance.

"You're coming with us to the train station?"

She gives me a smile and grabs a croque-monsieur from the table, shoving it into her mouth.

"Why? I can't see my sister off?"

Truth is, I bet she's grateful for the wedding dress. I spent weeks on that damn thing making sure it was perfect. So be it, I don't suppose I'll get anything out of preventing her from accompanying us. We eat, we talk. Linda says Augustijn and her will be going on a honeymoon in Majorca tomorrow, that's when I realize that maybe she was planning on saying goodbye regardless of if I had made that dress for her or not. I shove the thought away.

Dad drives us to the Amsterdam train station, there's a direct line to Brussels from there. I look at the itinerary and feel silly for being scared. It's only a 3 hour trip by train. I know I'm only feeling scared because I've been coveted by my parents, and because I'm in no way a city girl... And inept with people, scared of change. But I think back to oma who's so proud of me for choosing to take this short road that seemed so long to me. It's admirable to do things even while scared, even when they come naturally to other people.

I hug my parents, then give the same treatment to Linda although it feels kind of awkward. I don't think we've truly hugged since I was 10 or so. Mom cries, dad holds back but he looks nervous. Linda nags them for making this so dramatic, while really, I have a smartphone and a wifi connection I can turn on whenever I need to. I feel thankful for her presence, had she not been here I feel like I might've cried.

Once I'm in my seat and the train kicks off, somehow I don't feel all that scared or sad anymore. Instead, out of all the feelings I could've gotten, I didn't expect to find excitement at the beginning of this road. I think back to how shitty school life had been with the people who never tried to understand me. Oma was right, now I was going to a place where supposedly, everyone had similar interests. Not all heartcraftsmen would choose to pursue their passion. They would leave it on the side as a hobby for another profession that was more "safe" to take. So the people who take this route regardless of what others think, they truly must be driven by their love for heartcraft. Like me. Like oma and opa.

I think back to how I would try to join the circles made of students in the courtyard, they would try to ignore me or they would fail to include me into their conversations. Or rather I would fail myself, I could never speak on time, collecting my thoughts and expressing them has always been difficult. By the time I would find something to share about myself, the conversation had already moved on to another topic and it would be awkward to bring it in so late. So oftentimes, it felt more like people tolerated me. I would nod along to their words. Yes, you're so right. Wow, you're so smart. I didn't know that. I felt like a broken record feeding lines into a machine.