Words to Remember.

Jeannie stared out the large window, watching as the large expanses of alternating fields and forests rolled by. Her eyes were unfocused and she toyed absentmindedly with the zipper on the front of her slightly worn backpack. Though she was only seven years old, Jeannie had taken the train more times than she could count. Every second weekend, her mom would pack her bag with a few sets of clothes and a container full of homemade chocolate chip cookies, and off Jeannie would go to her grandparents’ home in the next city over. It wasn’t a long ride by any means, but Jeannie often grew bored sitting in the empty cart alone, with nothing to watch and no one to talk to.

She glanced over to the bag beside her: Perhaps she ought to crack open the box of cookies. She wasn’t really hungry, but at least it would give her something to do. She stared a few moments longer at the bag, before sighing loudly and lifting her head back to the window.

Before she could resettle her eyes on the scenery outside, Jeannie was startled by a loud and slightly muffled crash outside of her compartment. Her eyes darted to the door and she paused as she heard items scattering and rolling across the carpeted floor. She stood up and walked over to the door, sliding it open just enough to stick her head out and look around. She immediately located the source of the crash.

A tall man knelt on the floor of the hallway, tying together what looked to be two pieces of a handle on a large canvas bag. Around him, papers were scattered everywhere, and pencils and paintbrushes were still rolling down the corridor.

Jeannie quickly slid out past the door and knelt down to begin collecting the items that were closest to her feet. She brought the first handful of papers and pens over to him, setting them neatly into two piles near his bag on the floor. The man glanced up at her, but quickly returned his attention back to the books he was piling in front of him. If he didn’t want her touching his belongings, he didn’t say anything, so Jeannie figured it was okay to keep helping and bent back down to continue collecting the scattered items. Most of the papers had sketches and paintings of people or animals, though no colour. She briefly wondered if he also could not afford colourful paints, like her. Or perhaps his favourite colour was black.

Jeannie finished stacking the papers up neatly so that the edges all aligned, then looked over at the stranger again. He was tall. Much taller than her dad had been, though he didn’t look nearly as old. His hair looked dark in the hallway, though perhaps that was just the shadows because the hair close to his face seemed light in comparison to his skin. While he had strong and sharp facial features, they were somehow offset by a soft and gentle expression. She watched quietly as he unrolled and rolled up sheet after sheet of long, oversized paper. The same way a treasure hunter would roll up his map, Jeannie thought.

She looked back down at the last few belongings that had escaped the man’s bag. She gathered the loose euros and what she presumed must be the man’s wallet, and brought them over to him. Placing them on the ground next to him and his bag, Jeannie glanced around to make sure she hadn’t missed anything, then remained standing there awkwardly. When he didn’t acknowledge her after a moment, she sighed inwardly and turned, heading back to her room.

She entered her compartment and quietly slid the door shut behind her before hopping back up onto the seat. As the train took a wide corner, she heard something roll beneath her seat. Jeannie hopped back down and lowered herself to her hands and knees to peer into the dark space. She saw a glint of metal and reached for what looked like a can of hairspray. She spun the can around and saw the large letters ‘PAINT’ on the label. It probably belonged to the stranger, she thought. It must have rolled into her room when she’d opened the door. She turned to tug open the door once again, and jumped as someone knocked on the other side. She pulled open to door and was greeted by the stranger.

He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped to look down at the can she was holding in front of her. Jeannie wordlessly handed the can to him and he placed it in his bag, rummaging deeper to retrieve a large black leather-bound book. He let the bag drop down his arm to the crook of his elbow as he used both hands to open the book. Flipping through the pages, Jeannie watched as he stopped about halfway through the book and carefully tore the page out. He then closed the book with one hand, slid it back into the bag, and reached into his pocket to retrieve a black pen. Taking a step back, the man put the paper up against the wall of the hallway outside her room, uncapped the pen with his teeth, then scribbled something quickly before taking the paper down and recapping his pen. He dropped the pen into his bag and handed the paper to Jeannie.

“Thanks for your help, kid. Remember, kindness always comes back.”

She took the paper from him and looked down at the artwork, but before she could say anything in return, he was already turned and walking away. She continued to watch him as he retreated down the hall, passing through a sliding door at the end and disappearing from her sight. She slowly slid her own door closed and returned to her seat in her empty compartment, the paper still clutched in her hand. She pulled her knapsack over to her and fumbled with the zipper as her attention rested on the picture the man had painted. It was of a young girl, reaching for a balloon just out of her reach, the girl’s face obscured by her hair. Like his other work, this one also looked like it had been sketched in some sort of black paint. Except for the heart-shaped balloon, which was the brightest shade of red Jeannie had ever seen.

Jeannie smiled- she couldn’t wait to show her grandparents and her mom. Maybe they would hang it on their fridge. She carefully rolled the artwork up and tucked it into her bag, then zipped the bag up and tucked it closer to her as she settled back into her seat. She rested her head against the window and closed her eyes, thinking about the bright red balloon from the picture, and about the words the stranger had said: ‘Remember, kindness always comes back’.