Compartment Car By Hayley Walker This piece of text is based on the picture "Compartment car" by Edward Hopper. I used his picture to depict a story of the girl in the compartment.

Essay by haylz-fun-lovinHigh School, 10th gradeA+, May 2008

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An empty compartment car seems to be the loneliest place of all. The continuous pounding and rattling, pulsing throughout the train which traps the unforgettable thoughts inside your head. Memories, regrets and doubts, circling round and round.

As the sun slowly melts into the hills, from whence it came, my returning journey seems never ending. I look into my book and try to apply myself, but not one thing works. All I can think about is where I'm leaving and where I'm going. I left the small town of Beaumont twenty-one minutes ago. A small town where you can hear the trickle of a river slowly creep down the hill or smell the fresh cut grass early in the morning as you awaken. Where peace is known as life and life is known as happiness. It's small town of about thirty five inhabitants, with one church, one public house, one local store and plenty of home businesses.

I did not stay for long, two weeks and I was gone. But I would be blessed if those two weeks were the entirety of my life. I was first sent there to meet John; six foot two, dark brown hair and my brother. This was new information to me at that time and to his knowledge I didn't exist. My journey there was very much alike my journey right now; an empty compartment with many questions floating round my mind. Will I like him? Will he like me? What is going to happen and what am I going to do? The truth was I had no idea, but I was not expecting things to turn out how they did, ever.

I stepped out of the compartment as a cool, gentle breeze hits my face and somehow calms me. I take a deep breath and continue. Step by step I make it along the desolated, green parks and I do not feel anxious or doubtful at all. I guess the town brought out the best in me. Each step I took, the more I felt at home but as soon as I got to my brothers doorstep I felt like I was at square one again. I took a deep breath of the sugar sweet air and knocked, three times.

"Hello? Can I help?" A tall blonde woman with tight ringlets at the end of hair answered inquisitively. "Look, if you're a saleswoman…" she obviously noticed my suitcase. "I'm not. I'm here to see John, John Major? Does he live here?" I feel my fist clench tighter and a bead of sweat trickle down my forehead and my voice quivers, "please."

"John! Get down here now!" the young lady walks off and with her, her curls bounce along. A young, tall man with dark brown hair steps into the hallway. "Can I help?" A surprisingly deep voice says. And there it was, the question I'd been waiting for this whole trip. I'd thought I would get straight to the point; "I'm your sister."

"So… you're adopted and I'm your brother? Me?" After John had the chance to sit down we got talking and he was taking it surprisingly well. "Yes. I am sorry…"

"No! I am happy I have a sister. I am happy you found me." Over the next couple of days I found what it was like to live in such a small town, where everybody knows you and where you saw friendly faces everyday. Small talk was a necessity in this town and it was nice. Walks in the parks and horse rides down the streets were a daily routine and I did all these while getting to know my only family. "I lived in an orphanage my whole life," I told John. "When I left I never wanted to go back, but I had to go back to find my family, you." He told me about my mother and grandmother and great-grandmother. I finally felt like I had roots, somewhere I can say I belong to.

A week and a half had passed and I was still staying at my brother's house with his fiancé, I knew I was beginning to out stay my welcome and I should think about my future and my other home in Manhattan. "I have to go," I say doubtfully.

"I know, come back for my wedding. I will see you then." It was too much of a flying visit but I had a job, a life back in New York. And it was like that I was gone, I stepped on this train as John waved good bye and I was gone from Beaumont. It was the simplest life I had ever lived but the best. So here I am thinking what if I stayed at home with my roots in the quiet comfort of Beaumont, or if I should continue travelling back to the hustle bustle of New York City? Maybe it was just a dream, but as the sun disappears and I look out the window ahead I know I can only continue down the long road home, as that's where I grew up so that's where I'm meant to stay. That is the life that was given to me.