One-Way Rides

It is raining. The droplets pitter patter clamorously against the cold street outside, and wet footprints crisscross the metro floor. The crisscrossing pattern reminds Laura of tulle.

Not the fragile filmy tulle on cheap princess dresses but soft strands of delicate silk. The kind she finds on her sleeves at the coffee shop. She only has that one elegant dress in her sparse wardrobe, but Laura believes in first impressions.

When Louie comes in, she notices the crumpled yellow rose in his fist and she waves shyly with her yellow rose. He is quite charming, and though he looks decidedly French rather than Italian, she finds him quite dapper.

As Laura stands there, bored, the electric lights on the ceiling flicker for a moment. She blinks, startled, and looks at the lights. The ceiling is concrete, and it is ever so dusty. A layer of soft dust adorns the grayness, and Laura stares for a while longer at the ceiling. 

The waitress asks what she wants to drink. It’s spring, and Laura orders blueberry tea. Louie orders pumpkin spice. The waitress looks at him curiously.

Laura waits for an explanation. Louie doesn’t give it.

They drink together in silence and the soft background jazz.

She walks to a small vendor by the ticket machine and orders a sandwich. She is hungry, and she wolfs it down. She chokes halfway and resumes cramming the turkey sandwich down her throat. Her mouth is dry, but her stomach feels full and she feels a little better.

Louie seems to like her. He gives Laura his email and smiles when he leaves. 

A few weeks later, Louie invites her to his place for dinner. Laura is exultant.

The place is cozy.

Jasmine blooms artistically over the simple white walls. Inside, a few unfinished paintings and an old-fashioned typewriter are found in the study, and in the quaint little kitchen hang shiny copper pots.

Cacti, calla lilies, orchids and a beautiful assortment of houseplants line every windowsill and stool.

She looks at the schedules. She wonders why everything seems so shabby. Even the people are shabby. She peers inside the next train. The seats are all empty, and only a veteran coming home sits triumphantly. The rest all stand, tired of sitting in an office chair all day long. People are like a painting, Laura decides. So many different colors.

Louie serves a bowl of bright red soup. A few leaves of basil float on the surface. There is no bread, just soup. The creamy stew slides smoothly down her throat. The rich taste is warming to her cold lips.

There is a light undertone of pumpkin spice.

The staticky loudspeaker booms noisily. The words are mixed with a black-and white crackling. 

Laura walks towards the coming train. She feels tempted to stroke the sleek train. She doesn’t, and the train chugs to a stop. The subway is clogged with smoke. Laura coughs, and in the haze a few lonely passengers hobble tiredly out the door. An old man with a cane. A stern-looking mom with her daughter. A high-school student, one earbud dangling distractedly on his sweater, and another precariously on his ear.

Louie loves to listen to music. Laura didn’t know if the student listened to music. But he tapped his toes and she remembers that Louie also tapped his toes, and he liked to listen to jazz. Jazz had a swing, he said simply. A stirring feeling to dance.

The subway is chilly, and a cold wind blows past her. Laura wraps her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She wonders why she decided to leave. For work, or for college, she explains to her parents. In truth, she doesn’t know either. Somehow, she felt like she needed to leave the town, to flee from the happy memories that haunted her. 

A happy memory can haunt just as much as a sad one.

The sun is setting. Laura sits on the cold sand of the darkening beach, swathed in shawls and dusky light.

The whole shoreline is dim. The water splashes menacingly on the steep beachfront, and only the crests of the waves are ghostly white, lacing across the sea like gossamer.

Louie plops down playfully next to her, his eyes twinkling with merriment. Laura nods, and reaches absently for the chips in his hand.

The subway seems to hum. The sentimental stuff of young couples and the light-hearted chittering of friends, the shrill toots of the whistle and the proud roar of the train, the metro is deafening in the density of its song.

Laura is not part of it though.

Louie's hot lips brush her cheek. Laura blushes vividly, and giggles sheepishly. But he has already sprinted away, laughing and teasing over the waves of sand.

Louie smells of pumpkin spice, and a little bit like Cheetos.

Her feet ache from standing, and Laura sits down in the waiting area. The velour seats are dusty and soft, and Laura runs her fingers over the lustrous fabric.

It was the last time she ever saw him. Louie was smiling, and his beautiful amber eyes sparkled. She had smiled too. They sat and watched a movie, and though Laura can’t remember anything from the film, she remembers his beautiful lashes, and the warm amber depths of his eyes. 

Some more wind whisks in from the doorway, and some rain adorns the metal steps into this ugly, subway hole. The loudspeaker booms again, and Laura no longer watches the trains. The puffy columns of grey smoke still gag her. The whistle is deafening.

The air smells strongly of greased concrete. 

She remembers. It wasn’t long ago when she last smelled concrete. Last time, she was in her garage, and she had breathed in the glorious smell of dust and gasoline and crumbling concrete. Her journals and her purse were all packed neatly in her shiny green plastic suitcase, placed tidily next to a half-empty jar of pumpkin spice. She had sighed, closed her doors, and locked them forever. She never lifted her head to say good-bye.

Her train is arriving in a few minutes. Laura has a moment of misgiving, and she checks her suitcase.

Crap.

The note is not there.

I know you will be angry, maybe even sad, but sometimes people need to escape from reality. I will not commit suicide, rest assured. It's just that you probably will never see me again.

Your friend,

Louie

Laura panics, and for a second, she contemplates returning for the precious note. After she regains control of her emotions though, all she does is smile sadly and sigh.

A few minutes later, she rides out of her romance on a one-way journey out of town.