This large, black metal rectangle serves as my inbetween. It serves as the middle ground between the world I know and the passageway to the world I don't.
It has four black wheels and a smaller one for steering. It's windows are tinted.
All I can see outside are the lights of smaller inbetweens that light the long stretches of highway around me.
Inside the tube, a couple dozen people, a few of which may be in the same position I'm in. For others, this rectangle is the inbetween for other things.
No one talks. It's too early.
Perhaps that is the hardest part: the silence.
This silence is the first one I have heard in a long time. The past few weeks have been loud, too loud. The hustle of life before leaving: the packing, the preparing, the goodbyes; these were all too loud.
This silence is needed. In the most cliché of ways, it is the calm before the storm.
The storm being something so loud and unruly: the unknown.
For a BRIEF moment, as if being hit by lightning, fear strikes me. Fear of the storm.
I brush it off. Excitement still. This inbetween is short.
Besides, I have a raincoat for the storm.