La Última Estación (The last station).

Quick clarifications: First, in Spanish, there’s a pun that’s lost in translation. The word for “season” and the word for “station” are the same in Spanish: “Estación”, hence the tittle of the story; second, Metrobus, is a type of public transportation here in Mexico, imagine it as a blend between the subway and a car, which has stations next to the car lanes.

 The last metrobus station seemed about to melt under the burning light of the spring sun. It was three o’clock, and not even the slightest breeze was blowing. It was so hot that the security guard, Pablo Lopez, swore he’d just seen a fly scorch in mid-air. It was catastrophic. For that very reason, he couldn’t understand how that boy could still be standing in the sun after such a long time.

 -Excuse me, what time is it? -asked the boy after approaching the turnstiles.

 -It’s half past three.

 The boy thanked him and then returned to his place, right where the sun was hitting the hardest. It was already the fifth or sixth time the young man had asked for the time.

 He had arrived at about nine, and since then he hadn’t moved. He didn’t take any of the trucks and didn’t look at his phone like the other boys. His hair was as black as night, silky and shiny. At first, Pablo thought it was suspicious. Then he deduced that he was waiting for someone, but waiting for someone for six hours? That was too long, unless….

 Another metrobus arrived just at that moment, and vomited hordes of people into the station. Among the crowd, a curious figure, short and with big glasses, jumped as high as she could to see over the crowd. It was a girl, still naive, but already opulent in form, who was running nervously and restlessly to see her beloved. Her long hair waved in fan-like movements through the air. When they were together at last, the two were entangled in a desperate and tender embrace, as if they had not seen each other for months. They must have been sixteen, and the truth was that they were obstructing the way down, but Pablo wasn’t paid enough to move them; besides, seeing them together reminded him of his own youth. What a brute he was, but now in his forties, he could recognize that there is nothing you can do when the heart takes over.

 The two of them walked through the station holding hands; she, gesticulating with emotion, talking about how everything had gone wrong for her; he, listening with a goofy grin and nodding at every word she said.

 -Please forgive me.

 -Don’t worry -he said, giving her a kiss in the forehead- I’ll wait for you forever if I have to.

 They passed through the turnstiles beside him and were lost in the street. Pablo didn’t know why, but now he felt strangely refreshed.

 Two weeks later, the heat was getting worse for the summer. There was nothing Pablo hated more than the heat. It was hell on earth. However there was one thing that gave him some relief, and that was seeing the young man, the same lover as last time.

 This time he was carrying a gift in his arms, it was rectangular and thin, maybe a card? No, too big. Maybe it was a record? Did the kids of today even know what that was? He nostalgically remembered the first time he bought his first record… Ah, there she was.

 As usual, a dance of love began between them; a ballet to the sound of music that only they could hear. When they parted, the young man shyly offered her the gift. His girlfriend snatched it out of his hands and opened it with the same excitement of a child on Christmas Day. The gift was a painting! Pablo could barely see, so he discreetly stretched his neck out like a turtle to get a better view. But even then he couldn’t be sure what was drawn on the painting. It looked like a horse or a donkey. It wasn’t to his liking, but perhaps the girl liked animals, although from her expression, she didn’t seem to know exactly what she was looking at either. His face, normally serious and coarse, glowed with joy as he started to explain.

 When he finished the explanation, the girl jumped with excitement and clasped the painting in her arms, in the process staining her black blouse, although she didn’t seem to mind too much. Like the previous time, they both walked towards the turnstiles holding hands. As they passed, Pablo listened as the young man said with much enthusiasm:

 -Did you like the portrait I did of you?

 Pablo almost burst out laughing, was that a portrait of her? She meanwhile looked at the painting, with the paint all swept and stained by the way, and said with the most sincere smile he had ever seen:

 -I love it.

 The boy jumped in the air like a grasshopper.

 -Really? You’ll see! This is just the beginning. I’m going to art school. I’ve already seen the prices, I’m going to get a studio, I’ve already….

 He could no longer listen to what they were saying as they walked away. He smiled as he watched them go. What a pair. The way the boy spoke reminded him of himself, and his grandiloquent dreams, but age had taught him that the world was not so easy. Still, he sincerely wished they would succeed.

 As autumn blew in, the young couple continued to arrive periodically at the station, repeating the same routine. He, would arrive ridiculously early with some hideous painting and wait for her for hours; she, would always arrive full of energy and ready to excitedly tell him some anecdote that made them both laugh. But something changed.

 She began to arrive later and later, and when she finally did, she looked strange, still happy, but tired and exhausted. He did less and less painting. When they met, they no longer hugged, they just… walked. They would barely exchange a terse greeting and then walk away in silence, without looking at each other.

 Only on one occasion did he hear them talking as they were leaving. She asked quietly, “Have you thought about getting a job?” He didn’t look at her. His face shadowed. “I don’t need to. All I need is for you to trust…” But they had already walked away. Pablo thought he understood the situation. It was a story as old as time. The artist’s career had not gone as well as he hoped.

 Pablo was surprised the next time he saw them (a month later), because this time she had arrived first! He couldn’t quite see, but it seemed that she was also the one with a painting in her hands. A gift? If only. He felt excitement rise in his chest, even though he had nothing to do with those two. Maybe there could be a fix after all.

 The boy arrived, and was as surprised as he was to see her there. Pablo thought they were both going to jump into each other’s arms. But they didn’t. They stood for a long time where they were, saying nothing, not moving, and avoiding each other’s gaze. The girl presented him with the painting, but he didn’t take it. Pablo wasn’t sure why.

 Maybe it wasn’t a gift? Now they were standing all the way to the back of the station, so he couldn’t see what was painted on it.

 Then, after a few agonizing minutes of silence, the storm broke. Their faces, full of anguish; their eyes, bathed in sadness, as they shouted the worst things at each other. Pablo had to intervene.

 -You’re thinking about what you would like! -the boy shouted with a broken voice.

 -I’m only thinking about your future! -She replied-. I’m worried about you.

 -Oh yeah? Well, I don’t need someone else in my life who doesn’t trust me! I don’t need you.

 -Enough! -Pablo exclaimed. I’m going to ask you to please leave.

 Both of them were crying their eyes out, neither of them dared to look the security guard in the eyes. Then it dawned on him. The painting the girl was holding in her hands was that of a horse, the first portrait he had made of her.

 -Excuse me, we’re leaving now -she said, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her sweater.

 She threw the paint on the floor and ran away. The young man followed her a while later. He didn’t bother to pick up the paint.

 The station grew empty as the day wore on. In the evening, Pablo had to close, and as he was on his way home, he thought about what to do with the painting. He had picked it up after the fight, and intended to take it home, but what for, to have it gathering dust where no one would see it? It didn’t make sense. So, with a thorn in his heart, he threw it in the trash.

 Winter came and went, and the image, and the story of the young lovers, faded from the old guard’s mind. Ten years passed, without either of them appearing on the metrobus station, until one day, a young man, about twenty-six years old, very well dressed, arrived at the station. His steps, light and elegant as the wind, went from one side to the other, just where the sun hit the hardest. His complexion was slender. His skin, as white as porcelain, contrasted with his beard and hair, which were a shade of black, so intense that it shone blue. It was him! Pablo had trouble recognizing at first because of the beard, but it was definitely him. My God, he was so changed. I wonder…

 A good while later, a lady, a princess of the desert, a brunette, of robust complexion, with large arrogant eyes, silky hair like the sea, and cheekbones chiseled on a feline face, stepped out of one of the trucks. The princess approached the young man with steps that would bring any king to his knees, yet she greeted him with embarrassment. Was it really her? To see the two of them together, it was a sight and a pleasure. They could not have been more different from how he remembered them. She a cobra and he a raven.

 They began to talk, very shyly. They were affraid, like a rich man in a dark alley, but, little by little, they relaxed. Who knew? They were even smiling. Even so, Pablo did not let his guard down, just in case. He was beginning to remember what had happened last time. However, he didn’t need to be so cautious. After a while they both left. They were not holding hands as they’d been years ago, but they were chatting happily. Could it be that something that seemed lost could be reborn? He had his doubts, but who was he to judge? Only time would decide the fate of these two. And time decide quickly.

 Summer, and the young man arrived first. He was dressed in casual clothes and was carrying a very large and heavy backpack. Shortly after, the girl arrived. They both saw each other, greeted each other shyly, kissed each other on the cheek and talked quietly at the edge of the station. The young man looked nervous, as if he was hiding something. The girl also noticed and asked him. Pablo watched as the young man knelt down and slowly pulled a safety helmet, gloves, a phosphorescent vest, and work boots out of the backpack. The girl frowned and shook her head. “What’s that for?” she seemed to say. The young man stood up, and began to gesticulate vigorously, as if he were explaining something very complex. Although he didn’t understand what he was saying, Pablo could hear that the young man was talking at full speed. She caught his hands in the air to stop him. She looked him in the eyes, and gave him a hug. When they parted, he put his uniform back in his backpack, and together, they walked to the turnstiles. A strange light, different from when they were children, shone in both of their eyes.

 -Thank you -she said.

 -No, thank you - he replied. And they both left happily.

 Summer gave way to autumn, and as the heat became less and less intense, the couple’s visits became more frequent, but shorter.

 The next time he saw them, she arrived first, and an hour later, just as Pablo was beginning to fear that history was repeating itself, he showed up. He caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of his eye, pulling something through the metrobus doors. Another passenger helped him to finish taking it down, and when he saw him, Pablo couldn’t help but smile. The madman had brought hundreds of different flowers for his girlfriend. The pot the flowers were in was almost as big as a small bathtub. Hell, it was bigger than the tub in Pablo’s bathroom! The girl was overjoyed, but in spite of that, she also scolded her boyfriend for having spent so much money without thinking. But it wasn’t too harsh, rather it was tender.

 Two weeks later, this time he saw them arrive together. They were holding hands. He was dressed very nicely in a three-piece yellow suit, and she was wearing a cap and gown! She graduated! They both looked radiant. They passed quickly and without stopping through the turnstiles.

 The next time, he appeared first, and again he was carrying a painting in his hands. When she arrived, the young man showed her the new work of art he had made. She took it, opened it, and the moment she laid eyes on it, she couldn’t help but burst into tears. Pablo stretched his neck out again like a turtle, but from the turnstiles he couldn’t see anything. They walked past him and he still couldn’t see anything, but just as they were about to get out of sight, they both embraced, and Pablo got a good look at the painting just for a few moments, and this time it was beautiful. The painting showed them both, when they were young, lying on a white flowerbed, holding hands. In between them was the hideous painting of the horse.

 The last time he saw him, everything was as usual, the little heat that remained was finally retreating completely and gave way to winter. The young man, well, he was no longer a young man, with his suit he looked like a real man, arrived at the station, and as always, he waited diligently for his girlfriend. But she did not arrive.

 An hour passed, then two, then three, four, five. He kept walking back and forth from one side of the station to the other with his phone in his hand, making calls non-stop. The whole day went by like that, until the sun slowly went down over the horizon, and finally disappeared completely.

 -Sir, you… you have to leave now. I have to close up.

 He didn’t answer. His gaze was lost, empty, almost as if he were dead.

 -Everything all right, sir?

 More silence. Pablo had no choice but to push him gently to the exit. The poor guy did not make the slightest effort to resist, as if he were a feather being carried away by the breeze.

Pablo left him sitting on the ramp outside the station while he locked everything up. By the time he returned he still had the same blank stare. Pablo asked him if he wanted him to call a cab. The young man turned to look at him with tears in his eyes.

 -I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. My wife is always late, you know? But she always arrives. Any minute now she’s going to show up, apologize for the hour, and start telling me some crazy story about why she was late: a cat slashed the tires on the metrobus, there was a plumbers’ strike on Main Street, or whatever. -He said, looking at the empty, cold street-. She always comes.

 Pablo sat down to accompany him for a while, but his watch struck three in the morning and there was no sign of her. The next day he had to work, so with all the pain in his heart, he politely said goodbye to the young man, got into his car, and left. The image of that guy, for whom he felt so much appreciation, even though he didn’t even know his name, became smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.

 He never saw him again, but the girl…

 It was a long time later, when Pablo had already retired. By chance he passed by the last station of the metrobus line, where he had worked for so many years. It was just as he had left it, except for one thing. There was now a beautiful mural painted on the side of the station. The mural portrayed a young lady, a princess of the desert, a brunette, of robust complexion, with large, arrogant eyes, silky hair like the sea, and cheekbones chiseled on a feline face, satanding next to a curious figure, short and with large glasses. Both were standing in a field of white flowers. They gazed longingly toward the horizon, where there was a cross of Christ. Below the mural, written in large gold letters, it read:

 “I will wait for you forever, my love.”

Pablo suddenly felt a pain crushing his chest. He couldn’t say how, he couldn’t say why, but in his heart he knew the truth: that she was not coming back. And never, in all his life, had the world seemed like a more unfair place.