Ferne's Visit Home

The L train was packed wall to wall. Ferne held her bag between her legs, face awkwardly turned to the side so that it wouldn’t bang into the shoulder of the woman in front of her. It was uncomfortable, the way she could feel the woman’s breath against her cheek, and she was a hair away from squeezing her eyes shut, just to try and imagine herself anywhere but here. 

It was a part of her daily commute, the L train. Ferne really should be used to this by now- she had known going in that it’d be crowded at this hour. And on a Friday to beat- always crowded, the L train. At least it’s cool, she considered, feeling the AC blasting overhead. At least it isn’t like when the AC was broken, over the summer, around the same time it had broken in her apartment. What a nightmare that June had been. 

She’d gotten on at Bedford, which meant that she only had to suffer through two stops until Union, where she’d change over to the A train. She shifted a little, which caused her bag to bump into the woman that had crowded her into the corner. The woman shoots her a little glare, and Ferne breathes out a little ‘Sorry’ between gritted teeth. She didn’t feel sorry, though. There was plenty of space just to the right of the woman, if she would only look. But she didn’t, and so Ferne readjusted her grip on her bag. 

Ferne didn’t hate the subway the way her roommates did. It hadn’t surprised her, honestly, when she realized it. Sure, she hated crowds, and by God did she hate maneuvering through Union Square during rush hour- but she didn’t really hate the crowded train. As long as she was able to get on and off at the appropriate stops, and nobody touched her, Ferne was fine.

Well, there was that one time some guy pulled out a gun and started waving it around at some lady who’d been pushed into him. That was pretty scary. But that’d been one time, and he hadn’t actually done anything. She wasn’t even sure if he’d gotten in any trouble. Ferne and her roommate had been getting off at the next stop anyway. 

She nearly fell out the doors when they opened. Usually Ferne was better about noticing which side she was on- they changed when the L crossed over from Brooklyn into Manhattan- but she hadn’t been paying very much attention today. She’d just been so glad to have managed to get on, and in the corner spot no less. The corner spot meant that you only had to deal with being pressed up against on one side, and you had the power to choose which side that was. But sometimes it meant that you were pushed out onto the platform when the doors opened, if you hadn’t been paying attention to which doors would be opening, and so Ferne found herself stumbling as people moved to get past her. Not many got off at 1st Avenue, and so Ferne had to push her way back in before the doors closed. Same thing at 3rd Avenue. Then everyone pushed out at 14th- Union Square. 

Ferne slung her bag over her shoulder as she wove in and around the crowds. She’d perfected it by now- four years of living in New York City will do that to you. She was fast, and made her way to the A train platform in record timing. The train was even pulling up as she bounded down the stairs, and she stepped up into the train easily before the onslaught of the Brooklyn crowd followed her. 

She ended up pushed into the middle of the aisle, which was okay, but not ideal. There was only one stop between 14th and 34th Penn Station, which was where she needed to get off. Ferne hoped that most of the crowd were commuters, and would be getting off with her. She hated the anxiety of having to push through before the doors closed. Twice she’d missed getting off because she hadn’t been fast enough. Twice in four years wasn’t so bad, but it still made her nervous. Made her bounce in place a little, tearing at the skin of her lip. She had her big headphones today- she always did when she was headed back home. The bag was heavy over her shoulder. She daydreamed about home for a bit, before the train lurched, and the man behind her stumbled, pushing her forward. Ferne shot back a glare, and the man winced slightly. 

The crowd were commuters, and Ferne was relieved- the moved like a unit out of the subway doors and onto the platform. Ferne checked her phone for the time. She had plenty- her train wasn’t supposed to leave for another half hour. She was always like that, Ferne. Getting to places with plenty of time. She hated being late to anything, and had yet to run to catch a train. 

Penn station’s strange smells wafted around her as she maneuvered through the crowds. It was the smell of body odor and piss mixed with Auntie Annie’s pretzels and a slight tangy metallic scent she could never quite place. But Ferne liked Penn station- it reminded her of home. It reminded her of her childhood, when her family would take day trips into the city on weekends, or visit her older sister at school. The same school that Ferne went to now, but with a lot less enthusiasm than her sister had. Her sister had always been more enthusiastic about the city than Ferne. 

She went through her usual motions. She texted Roman to let him know which train she’d be taking- what time she’d arrive at the station. He texted back fairly quickly- Roman was like that, always glued to his phone- and let her know he’d be able to pick her up. Then she went and got a large iced coffee and breakfast sandwich from the Dunkin towards the Amtrak Hall. She double checks to make sure she’s got a ticket in her transit app. She drags her bag towards a spot she can see the departure signs from, and plops down on top of it. 

Ferne doesn’t bother with the NJ Transit part of Penn Station. She isn’t an idiot- she knows from childhood the way that area mobs up. And when the train is announced, everyone makes this mad rush towards whatever track that train’s on, and it’s so strange and anxiety inducing and Ferne hates it. Her sister, when they were little, thought it was hilarious. She thought it was a game, rushing towards the doors, waiting with baited breath for the track to announce. But Ferne hates it, so she boards on the Amtrak side. Much more practical- much cleaner. Quieter. Not as many people, over on the Amtrak side. Especially people headed towards an NJ transit train. 

The train is nearly five minutes late, and by that time Ferne has made her way to the center of the entrances to the tracks, hovering in the middle, eyes trained on the departure sign. Her eyes keep tracking it, finding the train she’s meant to get on, the name she knows so well despite the fact that she’s never actually been to it- never actually been to the city that’s at the end of the line. Doesn’t matter, though, because five stops in is her hometown, and Ferne is itching to get back. 

She’s only one of five people to head towards the track- 2, the sign announced- and it makes Ferne hopeful. Hopeful that maybe it’ll be an easy ride- maybe she won’t have to sit next to someone on the train. But then she sees the mobs entering in from the NJ Transit area, and her heart sinks. She ducks into the train quickly, swinging herself into the first window seat she can find. She ends up sitting next to a sourly looking woman who has a friend across the aisle. They get off at the second stop on the line. Despite the crowded train, ebbing and flowing with each stop, Ferne doesn’t have to share the seat again. She finishes her coffee. She does some reading for school. She rests her forehead against the window, watching the city melt into suburbia melt into greenery.

Roman is leaning against his car when she gets onto the platform, smoking a cigarette. Ferne’s heart leaps into her throat at the sight of him- tall, familiar, steady. They’d been friends for nearly ten years now, and Ferne would probably call him her best friend if she wasn’t so stubborn. He calls her his, but she never really knows how to take it. 

“Have you gotten taller?” Roman says with a crooked grin as Ferne approaches him. She pushes him a little. 

“No, I’m shorter actually. A whole three inches- my doctor is very worried.” 

He peers down at her. She barely reaches above his elbow, and she has heels on. He reaches out to pat her head. 

“Yeah, that’s worrying. Any smaller and you’ll disappear altogether.” He bares his teeth in a grin again, and it’s more gum than teeth, but it’s such a familiar gesture that Ferne might cry. 

“And then you’ll have absolutely nobody to hang out with. Better get some food in me quick, before I shrink anymore.” 

“You hungry?” 

Ferne shrugs. “I could eat.” 

And so they do. They grab sandwiches at the deli, like they used to in high school. Roman tells Ferne about how he’s got a new roommate, and what it’s like being back home. He’d been in Spain for the past year, and had only gotten back a few months ago. Ferne tells him about how she misses home, how much she missed him, and their high school friends. A long time ago, she’d dreamed that going to school would introduce her to loads of people just like her, that liked the same things she liked, the way that everyone promised. ‘It’ll get better once you’re in college’, her guidance counselor had said, with such an earnestness that Ferne had really believed him. But now she was in college and she had yet to meet anyone who made things better. 

They walked for a long time. Roman left his car at his place, which Ferne had never seen before. They dumped her things in his room and he gave her a grand tour, and then they went out for a smoke, and started walking, and didn’t stop. 

“I always forget what fresh air is like,” Ferne tells Roman, smoke trickling out of her nose, swirling around her fingers, “-until I come home. It’s like, everything feels so much… Cleaner.” She takes in a great breath when the cigarette smoke has left her lungs. Roman laughs down at her. 

“Yeah, New York always seemed suffocating.” 

“It is. Hot, and sweaty, and overcrowded.” 

“You don’t like it?” 

Ferne shrugged. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I just- it’s not for me, I think. I’m just not- you know.” She waves her cigarette vaguely. “New York material.” 

“You look like New York material.” 

She snorts and shoves him. 

They walk for a while. Ferne feels different, now. Weird. Homesick, in a way. It’s not that her hometown isn’t home- it’ll always be home. But she feels detached from it. Like she’s forty years old and looking through a box of things from middle school. It feels like a long time since she’d been there, lived there, felt at home. 

Her parents had sold the house in the middle of the summer last year. It wasn’t a surprise- they’d all known it was coming. Ferne was the last of her siblings to go to college, to move out, to get her own place. Her sister had gotten engaged over Christmas. Another friend from high school was due to have a baby next May. Everyone was growing up, and it was time to leave childhood behind. 

Roman grimaced when she finished speaking 

“It sounds so bleak.” 

“I dunno. I think I sound mature. You know, growing up and shit.” 

“I don’t feel grown up.” His voice is softer than she’d anticipated. She takes another deep breath, relishing in the clean air. The way it smells like grass here, in her hometown. She breathes it out slowly. She hadn’t taken another cigarette- he was on his fourth one. She wondered if it was a European thing. 

“Yeah, me neither.” She admits after the moment goes on for a beat too long. He gives her a sidelong glance. She shrugs. “I mean, I dunno. Maybe sometimes I do. But other times I just feel like I’m - I mean, I’m floundering. I know I am. I can feel it, you know? Panicking because I’m about to finish school and don’t know what I’m doing.” 

He hums a little. Understanding. Roman hadn’t needed to go to school- he’d been offered a job right out of high school. Something with computers. Ferne had never paid much attention. Roman never talked about it. 

“It doesn’t feel fair, really.” Roman says. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, like. You and me- we went and did things that made us grow up before everyone else, you know? I went to Spain on my own, you went to New York- we didn’t get to have that-” Roman waves his hand, “-reckless college experience. And now we’re- we’re just expected to be this way for, what, the rest of our lives?” He blows out a long breath. “What a fuckin’ bummer.” 

Ferne thinks about it for a while. She reconsiders her childhood. She thinks about how she behaved in high school- the parties they went to, the drama they had, the work she put in to be where she was today. “I don’t know. I don’t think I would have really… Survived all that ‘reckless college experience’.” She uses air quotes, and then shoves her hands into her pockets. They’ve walked the length of town now, all the way to the police station. There’s a huge monument there, in the middle of a square. They’ve paused before it, and she looks up at the faces carved in the stone. It has something to do with the Revolutionary War- Ferne’s sure she learned the history of it at some point. But she doesn’t remember it anymore. She does remember going to therapy in the colonial house across the street, though. Her therapist used to give her cookies before each meeting. Oatmeal raisin, because they were her favorite. 

Roman says something about cops, and Ferne hums an agreement, and they continue to walk. They walk past the park Ferne’s father used to take her, and past the house where the boy who’d driven her home that one night she was too drunk to remember still lives. 

“With his girlfriend now, can you believe?” Roman says, laughing a little.

“Just the two of them?” Ferne asks, incredulous. Roman hums, flicking his lighter. This is his fifth one. Ferne thinks for a moment about his health, and then accepts one for herself. They walk past the house, and up the street, and around the corner, and there’s the house her mother had designed. The first one, right after Ferne’s oldest brother died. It was a nice house. She’d always been proud of her mother for it. 

“Mr. Fletcher lives there now.” Roman comments as they meander past. The sun has started to set, and for some reason it makes Ferne sad. She thinks about how many evenings she’d spent like this, with Roman, wandering the streets and smoking cigarettes. She thinks back to the days that things were easier between them, because they were younger and had nothing better to do than be around each other. But they’re adults now- real grown ups, no matter how little they felt- and so they had better things to do than be around each other now. 

“Mr. Fletcher.” Ferne repeats thoughtfully. “I never liked him. He always picked on Margo. It felt weird.” 

“Yeah.” Roman says. “I think I remember you saying something like that.” 

Then they walk in silence for a while. Ferne thinks of the times she’d walk this sidewalk alone, back when her home had been just up that street, to the right there, down a little ways. The third driveway on the left. The one with the white mailbox out front. She looks down the street as they walk past it. There are some kids playing street hockey, yelling and slapping their sticks on the ground. Roman doesn’t say anything as they move past. Ferne doesn’t realize she wants to cry until they reach the Battlefield. 

The sunset is in full motion now, heavy purple lingering overhead. They sit in the grass, shoulders barely brushing, looking out at the treeline. They look black against the sun, and there’s a family across the way. They look tiny from where Ferne and Roman sit. Roman had slid a couple of cold ciders from his backpack. 

“For old time’s sake.” He said, giving that gummy grin, because when they were fourteen they’d stolen one of his brother’s ciders and shared it right there, sitting in the battlefield. Ferne had taken one, trying to hide the fact that she wanted to cry, and curled around her knees, chin propped on top one, staring at the sun. The wind whistles a little through the trees, and a couple of fireflies appear, despite it being well into autumn. 

“I missed you.” Ferne whispers, and she isn’t sure if she’s speaking to Roman, or the trees, or the fireflies or the grass. “I missed you, I missed you so much.” And now she’s crying. Because she did- she missed all of it. She brushes a hand across the grass, and watches the sun set behind the trees, and she cries.