Storming out of the lecture hall, sickened by these spoiled rotten racists and their so-called "open-minds", I catch a taxi and speed away from this establishment of higher learning. Talking to the Jamaican taxi driver, I inquire: "What is it with these people?" He looks back, laughs and our eyes meet touching with a look of displacement, two people far from home. Gazing at the his ID, I say "What the hell are we doing here, Treon?" In his sing-songy Island accent, exaggerated in humor he says: "Come now, fiery Miss, doncha be lookin like dat, here me? Der are far worse places you could be."
Pointing out the window to the campus, "This is the University of Illinois, birthplace of our country's future CEO's, Politicians, hell even Doctors for Christ's sake! The most narrow minded people in the universe! Damned spoiled Mid-western brats, with their hatred for anything that doesn't wear GAP!" With a bewildered look in his eye, my GAP comment rolling past his head, he says: "The fiery Missy be needin to get away, aye!"
Our eyes lock. In a heartbeat, I tell him to take me to the airport. He shakes his head, and turns the taxi in another direction, downtown, past the loop, in front of Union Station. With a dark smile and glittering eyes, he says: "You will find yourself and lose yourself on dat der train." I press a wad of money into his hand, squeezing it gently in thanks and left the taxi.
Looking up at the tall building of fame, I enter through the huge columns, and down the staircase that once flowed with blood and debris from the violence of gangsters, now decorated with the designs of the new gangsters that prowl around. Approaching the ticket desk, I had no idea where to go. The prim agent attempted to help for 30 minutes, pushing flyers in front of my face.
With wild eyes, I slam my fist on the counter, "LOOK, I don't care if I go to NJ, NM, NY, ND, NH.... Just get me the fuck on the next train out of here!" The manager walks over and looks me in the eye. I stare back hotly for a good 10 seconds. Then he asks: "Open ticket or one way". I break into a smile, answering, "Open... it has a lovely ring to it. Yes, that's it... oh sorry for yelling, .... But, if I hear another Mid-western nasally accent, I am going to SNAP!"
The manager and the assistant exchange conspiratorial glances, quickly looking at the man that had just departed the desk before I came up, and type furiously on their keyboard. After several beeps and minutes, my ticket is printed out. Their smiles, glittering eyes and syrupy "have a gooooood trip"... is completely lost by me.
With ticket in hand, I have 2 hours before taking off. I run into the shopping area to buy some clothes. Oh, the feeling is GREAT! New clothes, impulsivity, that wonderful feeling! The saleslady chattering away, as I am reveling in this freedom. I hear her repeat something vaguely, twice..."A getaway to ... To where?"
Where the hell am I going? Looking in my bag, my ticket said "OPEN- Northwest bound". Good lord, I've been all over but never there. She looks at my ticket and says, "Oh, you are taking the Empire Builder route, that is the most beautiful!"
I pay for my purchases, 2 pairs of jeans (bell-bottomed and low waisted), 3 cropped top t-shirts, a 2 pc. red Swim suit, a classic little black dress and sandals. Upon leaving the clothes store, I walk into the intimate apparel store and purchase some delicate items. I notice some female condoms... mmm, interesting... I buy a pack just for kicks. I have to dash to catch the train... "forever-late Rhiannon", I am called.
When the porter asks for my ticket and my bags, I hand him my ticket and hold up my ONE bag. He looks at my ticket, glances over my shoulder, to the manager who had sold me the ticket, and nods. I could care less about what that exchange was all about, I just want to relax and get as far away from Chi-town as possible. Then, curiously, the porter blushes and takes my bag and carries it up for me. I follow him through the narrow aisles of the train, car after car; we pass but kept walking to the front.
"Slow down sugar, where are a taking me, coach is back there!", I ask. He then turns to me, with a smile and a wink as he puts his finger over his shhh'ed lips. He leads me into the 1st class sleeper cars. I was aghast!
"No way,... I cannot stay here! It's too expensive!", thinking of the mint I just dropped on buying the clothes impetuously. He slides the cabin door open for me and says: "It has been taken care of Miss, enjoy your ride". I am speechless, a rare moment indeed.
There's a single red rose lying on my bed, by the window... the room smells of... hmmm... I can't place it... masculinity? I am too thrilled to notice the gray valise hanging in the closet.
Instead of unpacking, I tuck my shopping bag under the bed, take off my stifling hot sweatshirt and jeans, and with only my tank top and red gym shorts on, I hop on the bed. Feeling the train's engine rev up and slowly pull us out of the station, I lay back to watch the departing skyscrapers. It has been a stress filled day and I need a release... where is a man when I needed one? Closing my eyes, feeling the slow deliberate movements of the train, I reach into my thoughts and concentrate on relaxing. It was time for a release.
I let my fingers walk down my neck and slowly to my chest, as I circle my nipples into ripe, hardened peaks. One by one, watching the offices go by... wondering if anyone could see me looking up into their windows... this sends erotic thoughts through my mind, as my hand creeps lower, caressing the tender area just under my breasts, feeling my body's warmth through the thin tank top.
Ever so slowly I slide down to my navel, dipping, circling. Still pushing away at a snail's pace, the train passes under bridges, and I can see the pedestrians walking along, and people sitting in their cars. My hand moves lower to play with the texture of my short's waistband, then under, down over my cotton panties. Here is where the heat was radiating, embers burning, gathering more fuel for the fire inside. Fingering the left side of the leg band sends shivers down my legs, touching that tender crease where thigh meets hip.
I gather my whole hand together and cover my mound and smile to the world that is passing by my passionate lowered eyes. Holding my hand there, I close my eyes and awaken the slumbering criatura, the Wild one, the one who detests chairs and tables, but prefers the ground, trees, and caves, for in these places she can lean against the cheek of God.