At the station

I’m at Spencer Street train station. It’s the big one, where trains come in from all over the country. What’s more, you wouldn’t believe it if you could see me. You wouldn’t believe it was me. You’d say, ‘Now is that really Cedar B. Hartley? My, hasn’t she grown up.’ That’s the way you’d say it if you were over fifty. But otherwise you might just think to yourself,‘Hmmm, that girl, she’s not a kid anymore.’

I’ll tell you one thing: I’m wearing an apple-green sundress, and it’s hot and it’s nearly Christmas. Well, that’s three things, and I won’t say one thing more about why I’m here in my green dress at the train station. First I have to tell you about the terrible, terrible thing that happened, and everything else that led me here.