He debated whether or not to jump the ticket line in Grand
Central like a prick. He finally picked up his duffel bag and darted in front
of two male tourists who were already sipping out of tall boys disguised in
paper bags.
“What the hell, dude?” One of them asked.
“Take me two seconds,” Sid said, already striking the touch
screen.
“There’s a line back there,” the other said.
“I see it, I was just there. And now I’m here. The less we
talk, the more I can focus on getting out of your way.”
Sid ignored the other comments from the rest of the pissed-off
rush hour commuters and eagerly slid his debit card into the black prongs.
Unable to read card, the screen flashed. Please swipe again.
He impatiently obliged and started tapping his foot as if he
were trapped in a meeting while in dire need of ridding himself of his morning
coffee.
The transaction timed out.
The machine finally read his
card. He grabbed his ticket and bolted toward track twenty-six. He sprinted
across the station’s opulent waiting area, his worn brown shoes desperately
gripping the slick, polished marble floor. He hustled through the gate and
could see the train’s conductor signaling the final boarding call to the people
on the platform. He slowed and power walked the final few feet. The doors
snapped shut as soon as he stepped into the train bound for Waterbury.
Sid took a moment to savor the
mundane victory and then found an open aisle seat. He tossed his bag onto the
narrow rack above his head after pulling out his laptop and headphones. He put
his ticket in the slot on the headrest in front of him and settled into the
bruised maroon and dull blue plastic seats. He opened up his computer, found a
decent playlist to zone out to, and closed his eyes.
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
He looked down to find Constance’s name scrawling across the screen.
“Son of a—” He stopped himself
when he caught a glance of the elderly woman sitting next to the window.
“Sorry.”
The woman shrugged.
He dug his phone out and took a breath before answering it.
“Make it?” Constance asked.
“Yeah, on the train now.”
“Good. Have a safe trip.”
“Thanks. And thanks for checking up on me.”
“It’s what I’m here for,” she said. “Listen, I know we’ve
had our differences lately…and well…since we’ve known each other. But I’m
always here if you need anything. I know how you get with things like this. You
shut down and won’t let people in. That’s not what you deserve right now.”
“Yeah. Appreciate it. We’re pulling out of the station. I’m
going to sleep a bit.”
“Don’t miss your transfer.”
“I won’t.”
“Let me know when you get there. I love you.”
“Okay, bye.”
Sid leaned his head back and tried his best to suppress a
memory of Jocelyn. She had moved into an apartment not long ago and had asked
for his help. He had gotten assigned a high school track event and couldn’t
make it. She assumed he was lying so he could spend time chasing after
Constance. She wasn’t completely wrong—he could have easily caught a train out of
the city after the meet—but he had fought with her all the same.
He ended up coming home after
Constance broke up with him weeks later, armed with champagne and his mother’s
whoopie pies. He had another surprise for her—he couldn’t remember what it is now—but
instead of just handing it to her and winning back her friendship, he made her
negotiate for it.
“Always the asshole,” Sid muttered.
“Give me a hint,”
Jocelyn said.
“No,” Sid said.
“Why not?”
“Because any hint I
come up with will ruin the surprise.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You’re probably
right, men suck at giving hints.”
“True.”
“What if I told you
that you couldn’t have anymore?”
She covered the last
few bits of his whoopie pie. Any other Sanford might have bitten her hand off,
but he remained calm and defiant.
“I’d have to give it
up.”
“Are you serious,
Sid?”
“Yep.”
“You were just having an intimate moment with that thing a minute ago,
and now you’d just let it go because you don’t want to give me a little hint
about my surprise?”
“Correct.”
“Is there anything I can do to change your mind? More food perhaps?”
Yes, actually, he thought. Fall in love with me. Marry me. Tell me not
to leave ever again. Just say you love me and I’ll give you anything you want
for the rest of my life.
“Nope,” he said instead.
Sid wished he could tell her how much he loved her, how achingly
beautiful she was.
But he didn’t.
“I thought I was doing you a favor by procuring you some whoopie pies,
and come to find out, you’re lobbying my mother for them the whole time,” Sid
said.
“And she said I could come over anytime I wanted, so there,” Jocelyn
said. “I really just need her to teach me how to make them.”
“At that point she’d disown me. I would be useless to her. Then she’d
adopt you.”
“See! Everybody wins!”
Later, he went to peck her on the cheek, but instead kissed her full on
the lips. It lasted a heartbeat, but he poured more passion into it than any
other kiss he could remember.
“What was that for?” She asked.
I love you, he didn’t say.
“I’m proud of you,” Sid actually said.
“For what?”
“Just everything. If you ever want company again, just let me know.”
“I will.”
“I’d walk through fire to get back here to you.”
Sid coughed, urging the tears to
wait until he landed in the passenger seat of his father’s car. The train
pulled out of the underground tunnel and the brick and grime of Harlem appeared
in the window.
He put his headphones on and
turned on Neil Young’s “Cowgirl in the Sand.” He tapped the keyboard for a moment,
unwilling to allow his urge to start Jocelyn’s eulogy to overpower him.
However, it did in short order so he created a blank document and wrote,
“I met Jocelyn during a backyard
Wiffle ball game.”
