It was too soon to believe I actually escaped, and yet as I watched the train station pull away, I giggled. I actually did it. “Oi, what are you laughing at?” I forgot I wasn’t alone in this compartment, too consumed with a dangerous combination of elation and anxiety. A gentleman sat across from me. His bushy mustache and bald head reminded me of a walrus who had been unceremoniously stuffed into a navy suit. The gold buttons of his vest teetered on the verge of bursting open; I could almost hear them crying out for help. “Nothing, er, just remembered a joke,” I stammered slowly in my best American accent. Idiot. Already I’ve drawn too much attention to myself. What did Peter tell me? Just blend in. I certainly tried to be as unnoticeable as possible. He gave me his own pair of brown corduroys, now several inches shorter. I pinched the bristled fabric, my fear whirled with excitement at the thought of him. He’d stolen this horrible olive green, tweed coat for me from some unsuspecting man at the bar. At least the hat was a lovely dusty mustard. I could work with that. I wore a few of his big sweaters to create a larger, more bulked appearance. I brought only what I could wear, as he advised. This seemed smart until now. We hadn’t thought about heat stroke in the middle of January. The wind passed painfully over my face and hands earlier on the platform, but the heat inside now pressed heavily on my raw skin. The wool sweater prickled my back, but I couldn’t risk removing any layers at this point. It was too dangerous. “You got a weird voice, don’t ya? I don’t recognize that accent.” How could you be so stupid? My hands clammed up and the sweat seeped into my clothes, the result of too many nerves and layers. “Oh I’m f-from the S-States,” I sputtered. A knock on the door interrupted the walrus’ probable monologue; the conductor arrived. “Sorry to bother you folks, but I got word that there’s a stowaway on board. Some young girl runaway. Just be on the lookout in case you see something strange and give us a shout. I hear there’s a reward.” “Of course, of course,” the walrus gruffed. I nodded, rigidly. As the conductor left, a yawn stifled my rising fear, and signaled an end to the previous conversation. Despite my adrenaline, I dozed off, restlessly dreaming of walruses in wedding dresses and cages. I woke abruptly to an empty compartment, grateful at first, but immediately concerned. The shades on the door shut, but weren’t they always? Did I miss the stop? No, my watch told me we still had another hour to go. And yet, my gut continued its somersaults. Not even the stillness of the countryside’s pine trees could silence my inner calamity. “Oh no,” I exclaimed to my empty compartment, acutely aware of the crisis at hand, “why have we stopped?” Eyes wide, I looked around frantically for any clues, but the walrus vanished during my nap. I pressed my ear to the door, hoping to hear a conductor or other passengers. But no, instead I heard the only sound that could stop time. “Gwendolyn! Gwendolyn where are you?” My mother. Her shrill and intrusive voice froze me in fear; the dulcet facade lingered in the air. “Oi, shh! Right this way, Ma’am!” So that’s where the walrus got to. I shuffled back against the window, desperate for a plan to present itself. Peter told me not to panic, but I could feel it rising up in me much like a volcano. With a pang in my chest, I summoned his strength. What do I need? I need more time. The walrus’ bags! I heave his duffel bags to the door and stack them, thankful the man doesn’t travel light, until they’re lodged under the door handle. “Oi! Open this door, boy!” The walrus jiggled the handle, unable to budge it, as it dug deeper into the bags. I exhaled some of the doubt that clouded my judgment earlier. My mother shrieked for me, “Gwendolyn!” That sound channeled my innermost fears, but I thought of Peter, who believed I could do this, and swallowed my sob as I leapt out the window. I tossed my hat away from the train like a frisbee, and scurried under the train to the other side, careful to travel beneath the windows and out of sight. Between cars, I quickly made my first outfit change: a new hat and glasses from my pockets, rearranged sweaters and reversed the coat “Gwendolyn! Gwendolyn please come back! You’re to be married tomorrow, you cannot do this!” Her piercing voice reverberated through the trees - they must have broken into the compartment - as I quietly slipped back onto the train, pleased to find an empty corridor. I walked through a few cars, and found another empty compartment to stowaway in as the train began to move again. I slumped down to witness the success of my diversion unfold: my mother, her driver, and the walrus continued their search for me through the countryside, holding my favorite dusty mustard hat. My mother was right about one thing: I was to be married tomorrow, and when Peter picked me up at the next stop, I would be. A marriage of choice, and not the punishment she hoped to inflict on me. I tucked my hair under my new hat and out of sight. I giggled. I actually did it.