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The Sky Inside By Claire Tisseyre
WATERCOLOR Isabel Holden
On the west side of the concourse, facing the stairs, a young married couple stands in front of a camera. The woman is holding the bottom of her dress, shuffling around in an attempt to find the perfect stance. Her husband’s arm sneaks around her waist, left hand resting on her hip, holding her close. People mill around, hurried steps resonating on the spotless floor—a polished, matte marble without any debris. The terminal is without scent, unexpected with the throng of people attempting to push their way through, while shoving morning pastries in their mouths and precariously holding onto coffee cups. On the ceiling, a constellation of stars shine as they would
in the night sky. Hiding in opposite corners are reminders of times past. A dark patch of cigarette residue remains from travelers uninterrupted by modern day restrictions. On the other side, a hole pierced by a rocket installation in 1957 displays the mightiness of the American military. A little girl comes running from Track 25 and trips over my feet. After apologizing profusely, she stands and turns towards the man accompanying her, saying, “Dad, do we have time to look at the sky?”
This place is bursting at the seams with fleeting moments: cries, laughs, fights, animated discussions, music, they all
54 FM/AM FASHION MAGAZINE AT MARIST
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