Station Forever

Say something.1

"I'm going to go," she said, "I guess. Go to the gas station or something."2

"Okay," I said.3

"I'll see you," she said.4

With a hand on the doorknob, she turned around again. I had one look at her before she left. A deep, strong draft, draining the glass.5

"Um," she frowned.6

She bit her lip.7

I wedged a smile in place. She opened the door, and vanished down the stairs.
___________________________________________________________8

I don't know what it was about her that intrigued me. The hair, I guess, or the knee-length neon socks she was wearing. I eyed her from across the poorly-lit platform. She postured herself humbly, almost stooping as she leaned on the brick column, underneath the sign that posted the arrival of the next train. She was smoking, and reading a frail paperback. She looked up and I turned, avoiding her, gawking at the string of florescent lights on the ceiling.9

I looked back, just observing at the edge of my vision, and she was still watching me inquisitively. She started to remove one of her headphones, but instead just left her fingers probing the plastic earpiece, sculpting it into the same shape over and over.10

In the loudspeaker, a robotic, feminine voice came to life: "One - minute - un-til - arrival."11

I rotated my neck and reseated my backpack, every swivel coming back to her, waiting on her attention to shift.12

After a couple of seconds of studious focus, she went back to her book. Every so often, her eyes came up again. I didn't have the courage to try for a solid look again. She twisted her mouth in frustration at something on the page.13

In a matter of seconds, I heard the big-band beat coming down the rails. I kept up the pretense of waiting for the train. The headlight of the locomotive illuminated a spot on the wall that grew and grew as it approached; first, just a sliver of halogen on the wall, peeling back the darkness, then a rhombus of light that inflated, in time, to cover the whole curving wall. The wind came shortly after, and as the train cut past me and stopped a hundred feet down the station, the gust passed me like a storm surge.14

The cold of the station became a little bit colder in the breeze. Everybody on the platform - a middle-aged man with a swath of salt-and-pepper hair, an ancient Chinese woman with a small boy in tow, me, and her - boarded the train. I picked out a seat towards the back. It wasn't very crowded. She sat down a couple of rows away, about ten feet up the car, and looked back over her shoulder. She rolled her eyes, convinced, I'm sure, that I wasn't really paying attention to the photo album I was pretending to appreciate.15

She looked down at the seat and made a really poor expression of disgust. Sliding out of the seat quietly, she came back a few rows. Plenty of seats were open and empty, but she grabbed a handrail on the roof of the train and remained standing. She was only a few feet away from me. I wasn't completely oblivious; I knew she was staring, trying to figure out if I was actually doing what she thought I was doing. I flipped a page and started to study another photograph.16

"Hey," she greeted.17

I ignored her.18

"I said 'Hi'."19

"Hi," I responded.20

"Name's 'Jodi'."21

"Ian."22

"So," she said. "Do you like photography?" 23

I shrugged and squirmed.24

"Kind of."25

"What are they photos of?"26

"A wedding."27

"Can I see?"28

She raised an eyebrow. I shrugged again.29

"Sure," I said, handing her the album.30

A horrible glare from the overhead lighting obscured the photos. She perused them intently, anyways, lost in some cumulus dress. I waited on a judgment.31

"Who is she?"32

This is not the appraisal I saw coming.33

"My brother's wife." I found it hard not to be sincere.34

"Do you like her?"35

The train ground to motion.36

_____________________________________________________________37

"Put the camera down," Jodi said.38

I pointed it at her and pressed the button a few times, putting the exposures onto imaginary film.39

She giggled loudly and pushed the viewfinder toward the ground.40

"Nooooo," she said, preening herself, "I'm not in my going-out clothes."41

I narrated an invisible parade of stars.42

"Look at that stunning sequin work! the cut of the shoulder! Who's it by, Jim?"43

She grinned widely.44

I put the camera down.45

Such beautiful shots, lost forever on exposures of glass. Jodi looked at the ceiling fan above my bed, whirring and pushing a gentle bluster down onto us.46

"Ugh, can you turn that off? It is COLD in here."47

I stared wide-eyed at her chest.48

"I bet."49

She put her hands over her breasts, pressing down firmly.50

"Eww," she said.51

"Do I have to get out of bed?"52

She looked down, where her hands were forming a makeshift bikini, and raised an thin eyebrow.53

"Fine, fine," I said, heaving my legs over the side of my bed. The canyon I had left in the memory foam slowly filled in as I walked to the fan. I leaped out and grabbed the chain, circling elusively in the wind.54

After I turned the fan off, I dived onto the bed and crawled up next to her. The room was tundra-cold, and underneath her a blossom of heat warmed the mattress.55

"But for the record, I happen to like your thermometer boobs."56

"Shuddup."57

"And..." I said, grabbing the bottom of her shirt and drawing it up to the base of her bosom.58

"And your tire-pressure bellybutton," I said, kissing her all around and lightly on top of her bellybutton.59

I pulled her shirt up even further.60

"And your weathervane ribs," I said, placing a dainty peck on each and every one of her ribs. While kissing them, I moved my hand down, over her abdomen, and plucked at the button of her jeans with my thumb and forefinger. I struggled with it a bit, wrestling it out of the eyelet with an audible pop.61

"Shut UP," she insisted.62

My lips followed my hand down her stomach.63

"And your..."64

Laughing gleefully, she put her palm on my forehead and pushed my face away.65

"No, thank you."66

I mustered watery orphan eyes.67

She puckered her lips and fluttered her eyelashes.68

"I just woke up."69

I reached down again.70

"I said 'no'," she repeated, "Let's have a feast."71

"A feast, eh?"72

I started to shower kisses on her mottled skin again, working my tongue just under the waist of her jeans.73

"Ian, no. Please."
_________________________________________________________________74

My brother's wedding was preceded and followed by a driving bustle in the house. Jodi and I had one of the upstairs suites, the Burgundy Room, a huge cavern of a bedroom with an equally large bathroom attached. The selling point was a swimming-pool-sized Jacuzzi that let out a satisfied bubble from the corner. The sinks and countertops were marble, the furniture was mahogany and deeply-stained oak. My grandparents spent MONEY.75

After the ceremony - an understated affair, appropriate for a man on his second marriage, and tainted with realism - my brother and I sat downstairs in the basement bar, being served by two model-handsome men no older than their teens. 76

"Fucking Guidos," my brother groaned, "But they know to make a DRINK."77

My brother was several years my elder, making him a barometer, in a way, for any mistakes I might make. His first wife was at the wedding. She sat in mixed spirits in a seat two rows from the back, third on the left. I knew. She was the first girl I had ever dated. Our affair was an eternity, and that's saying nothing good about it.78

It didn't add or detract anything to our moods when she came to the bar.79

"David," she said to my brother, "Congratulations."80

"I'm glad you could make it."81

"I left you a gift."82

"Oh, really?"83

"I didn't think you would need another toaster or anything. It's a little bit different."84

"Ian, you remember Laura?"85

Laura forced out a laugh, dangerously closed to a sneer. I grimaced in return.86

"I remember Laura."87

"Good. You two chat. Me," he said, glaring at Laura,"I've got a wife to attend to."88

My brother left, and as he went, Laura moved her eyes over me, sizing me up, I guessed. I felt a dying summer breeze from her direction, saccharine sweet with the buds of youth. Oxford-stripe sheets with her, and picnics, the elegy of summer. It was thin and moist, and the light of the end of August died in it. It almost seemed to stir the strands of her thin blonde hair. 89

"Ian."90

"Me?"91

"Who else. So, taking all bets now."92

"I think it'll turn out fine."93

"Oh, sure," she scoffed, "And to think I wasted all that money on a divorce gift, too."94

"Not every girl on the planet is like you, Laura," I said, "I don't think very many are."95

"Is that a compliment?" she asked, beaming broadly at me.96

I didn't respond.97

"I think it is," she said.98

We talked. We opined and we sang and for a moment I recalled the splendour of horses, her keen interest in all things natural and lovely. The good things. Several drinks chased the memories down my throat. One of the bartenders left with a young spry thing. We kept talking. I didn’t gain anything from it, nor did I lose something. Mostly, I just listened. The traffic of people leaving the reception drained behind us on the stairs.99

"Weddings are so depressing," she stated, unmoved. She sipped her drink.100

"Mm."101

"They're so SWEET. Doesn't that bother you?"102

"Not really."103

"But then," she said, "I guess you've got something to look forward to."104

Here was some of the richness, the delightful, corrosive sorrow that I had since forgotten she was capable of. I began to see her, for the first time in a long time, as what she was: a girl, a too-large costume strung with wire over a too-small frame, a woman-shaped galaxy of small joys and greater tragedies. I wondered what life had robbed her of, and - rubbing away at the unaffected presentation that I had made for myself - I felt the dire beginnings of sympathy.105

We sat quietly.106

"What happened to us?" she asked me. It was a frank and genuine surprise, the core that the evening had adhered to without either of us being aware.107

"I don't know," I murmured, "Why even ask?"108

"Don't you wonder, though? Don't you think about it?"109

"I try not to," I said.110

"I've only been with two people since. I just kept thinking... how little does this mean? I can just do it and pretend I'm okay for a while. I think, I can sink myself into it and hope..."111

"Stop," I told her, pathetically, "Laura, just stop. Don't get into this. Go... find a couch or a bed or something, sleep it off."112

"I want to try it again."113

I said nothing.114

She looked at me unshakably, thirsting for an answer. I couldn't give her one.115

Something like a tear escaped her, followed by a few more. No waterworks, no tragic displays. She grabbed her purse, and after fishing in it for a while, pulled out a generous tip for the bartender. Throwing only a casual and vivid glance over her shoulder, eyes like beacons where she had parted them to let her tragedy shine through, she climbed briskly up the stairs.116

Passing her on the stairs, I saw familiar white pantyhose, a bright and striking pair of ruby shoes. Jodi shouted at me as she came down.117

"Hey, baby," she asked, "Can you order me something?"118

Laura forced her way past her, roughly pushing her aside.119

Jodi looked at me, confused, but still unshaken. She twisted her lips into a grimace.120

"Who was THAT?"121

David came down a short few steps behind her.122

"Her wedding ring," he said, short of breath, "She left me her fucking band."123

I turned back to the counter and put several dollars under my empty glass. The base of the cup left a ring of dew on the bills.124

____________________________________________________________125


A vase lay on the floor, gems of broken glass embedded deep in the carpet.126

"You can't get your mind off her," Jodi shouted, shaking her head in disbelief. "You're unbelievable."127

"No! What? No, that was ages ago."128

"What did you tell her?"129

My voicebox rattled and burned, the air gasped its way out, but they still weren't words. 130

"Ian, tell me it's not like that."131

There just wasn't anything adequate. Everything fell short of substance, everything failed grandly. Everything was less than anything.132

"What do you want me to say?"133

Jodi shut her eyes and her lips, breathed sharply through her nose, mute and impenetrable.134

"We stopped seeing each other in '89."135

"Did you do anything with her? Now?"136

"No!"137

"Nothing at all?"138

"No."139

"I'm supposed to be completely fucking confident..."140

"Nothing happened. Just listen. It's like I can't convince you of… anything. Just... be quiet for a second."141

We both were quiet; I had thought of nothing to say, to fill the void and seal the gaping pockets. Her lower lips quivered. I wanted to leap in a hero and steal her wordlessness with my steady mouth.142

"I just don't know anymore."143

"Nothing-"144

"It's not ABOUT that," she said. She looked away from the brave, wracking tide. She saw the rabbit come out of the hat, and called it a pidgeon.145

"What else is it? What else could I possibly have done?"146

"Look at yourself."147

My hand, fixed on the corner of the endtable, was shaking so violently the legs were rocking.148

"I haven't cried since the third grade. Did I ever tell you that?"149

A still, pervasive quiet. Not even the hiss of breath, just the dripping of water.150

"You're fucked up."151

152

When the train stopped at the Munich Hauptbahnhof, and the doors creaked and hissed in opening, she stood up and grabbed her heavy pack. It was purple.153

She picked up the photo album from the seat beside her, and handed it to me. I had completely forgotten it. She had taken its place in my mind, over wedding dresses and hors-d'ouvres and above all, over ceremonies.154

"This is yours, I think.”155

I took it from her and put it down on my lap.156

She began to stride out the door under the weight of the luggage. Before she went out the door, she turned back.157

She mouthed something at me.158

I didn't hear it, so I turned up my palms and raised an eyebrow.159

I followed her lips this time.160

"Open it."161

When the doors closed, I picked up the album hesitantly, and with trepidation, flipped the pages. A slip of paper fell out. I didn't remember leaving it in there. It was the size of a fortune cookie message, frail and petulantly immaterial. 162

1317641815
Jodi McCarthy163


"I'm going to go," she said, "I guess. Go to the gas station or something."164

"Okay," I said.165

"I'll see you," she said.166

She paused at the door.167

"Um," she frowned, "Bye."168

She bit her lip.169

Reach out and say something. Save it. From under the waves, pull the ruins of something incredible. Be the hero. Salvage this frost-touched wreck from the endless expanse of forgetfulness. Light it like a torch, send it into the night a lantern for us two hopeless, on a wind of brisk and callous time. 170

Don’t let it die in the desolate winter; bring it to life, with the touch of renewing spring.171

I blinked my eyes. From my right, I heard a slow, methodical beeping, from all around where I lay, the susurrus of voices. A damp, nauseating smell on the air. I felt the world on my skin, untouched and immaculate. There was pale blue, a thousand muted colours, an unfathomable number of soft hues. Voices. An endless hall of florescent lights. I waited for the train to come, but heard only the shuffle of feet.172

"In eight months, he's shown no signs of improvement."173

A sob.174

"Ms. McCarthy. We need a decision."175

____________________________________________________________176

"Jodi, wait."177

She paused at the door.178

"What?"179

I tried to say something, and the words died on my tongue.180

"Ian..."181

"Come here. Please."182

She ran a hand under her nose, then dabbed at her eyes.183

"Please."184

She lay against me, a banner pressed tight to a column, borne in the wind. Almost stooping against the brick column. Peering down the gaping tunnel at the string of florescent lights on the ceiling. The wind cut right through me. Knowing that something had changed was a failing comfort in a kinetic world. I anchored myself to the warmth, bound myself to the passing sensation, the heat on my breast.185

The last remaining cell of her died with the light.