The 10:16 to Pittsfield

Suitcase in hand, you head to the station. I don’t expect you to thank me for driving you there, but you mumble “Thanks” as I shut the trunk.

“You’re welcome,” I say, and we set off to navigate the parked cars and arriving travellers. “But you know, Steve, one of these days you’re going to come back from Pittsfield and I’m not gonna be around.”

“You’ve been sayin’ that ever since you got out of the navy,” you say as if I don’t know. “You taken over your mother’s mortgage yet?”

“She’s invited me to, instead of payin’ rent,” I say. “But I told her, like I told you, I’m going to California as soon as I get my accounting degree.”

“Yeah, and I’m not comin’ back from Pittsfield this time,” you say, and I can tell from your grin what’s coming next. Of course it does. “This time I think maybe I’m really not.” You fumble with your wallet at the ticket machine and I reach for my pocket to see what change I have, but for once you don’t need it.

“That’s a good sign,” I say as I watch you insert the bills.

“That means this time I knew when she’d be back in Pittsfield,” you say.

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“You would’ve just told me not to bother with her again, Tom, you know that.”

I do but I don’t want to give you the satisfaction of agreeing.

“Not sayin’ I blame you, Tom.”

“Then why are you bothering with her again?”

“The fuck else have I got in this town?” You pick up your suitcase and I follow you to the platform. “Besides you, of course.”

“Your mom and Wally,” I remind you.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Do they know why she went out to Wisconsin?” I ask.

“Minnesota, and are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? We’re Catholic, ain’t we?”

“Yeah, well, I know how seriously you take that stuff, Steve.”

“Right, but my mom and Wally do. Anyway, they think she got a gig teaching out there and she’s just home for the summer.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” I say. “She’s got her certification, hasn’t she?”

“Yeah, but she never wants to go in a classroom again. She’s working at a garden center in Pittsfield.” You pull your wallet out again. “Want a coke?”

“No thanks,” and I watch your suitcase while you go to the drink machine. It’s hot and muggy but at least the platform isn’t crowded. “Gonna pop the question this time?” I ask when you get back.

“Like I don’t know the answer. Not that it’s any of your damn business, Tom, but I know perfectly well how it’ll end. If I’m lucky, she won’t walk out on me till fall, Thanksgiving at the latest. But I mean, now we’ve got responsibilities together, even if I’ll never meet him. Least I’ll be able to say I tried to do my part while she’d let me.”

The five-minute light flashes, and I try to remember how many times we’ve been here before. I sigh.

“Don’t get all sentimental on me again, Tom,” you say. “We always hope this time we won’t be back, but you know you’ll see me in October or whenever.”

“Yeah,” I say, and I’m surprised I don’t have to force myself not to smile. “Remember the summer after high school? We talked about never coming back here…”

“Shut up, I don’t want to think about that!” You kick your suitcase. “Why didn’t you just stay in the navy anyway?”

“Good question. I could always go back.”

“But you won’t.”

“But I won’t.”

“Yeah, exactly. And look, Tom, I don’t mean to get all gay with you or anything, but I depend on that, all right? She’s the love of my life but I can’t depend on her, you know that, but I’ve got to go for now. Mom and Wally, they don’t know shit about my situation. I know we’re a couple of losers getting stuck here, but at least we know we can always come back here for each other, right?”

“Sure, man,” I say. “And I know you’re not gay. Kind of hard to forget after –”

“Becky!” You sound happy for the first time all day. “You said you’d turn around when it was my turn…”

“You said the same!”

“And she didn’t care either way, did she?” you say. “Your mom ever ask about the smell in her car after that?”

“Pretty sure she didn’t want to know.” It’s a decade later but you still don’t need about the smacking I got from her that night.

“Whatever happened to Becky?”

“Haven’t seen her since graduation.”

“Did she graduate?”

“Yeah. I was hoping we could celebrate it but…”

You laugh. “She had a prior commitment! But look, man, that’s just what I mean. If we weren’t stuck here, we wouldn’t have that memory.”

“Not together anyway,” I say.

The bell over on Route 41 starts clanging, and the few other passengers pick up their bags. I watch you do the same with yours. It’s only right to try one last time. “Hope I never see you again,” I say with a forced smile.

“I ain’t that naïve, Tom,” you say, but you do return the smile. “Just gonna take all the time I can get with her and send as much to Minnesota as I can…”

“Maybe you could go out to Minnesota yourself?” I say as the train pulls up.

“She won’t even tell me who she left him with.” You hold out your hand and I shake it. “Look, man, we were both meant to get stuck here. It’s not so bad. I’ll buy the first round at Buzzy’s whenever I get back. Just don’t whine about it. Could be worse, man.”

“I guess.” I stay rooted to the platform as you step onto the train, and I stand and wave until the car you’re in pulls out of sight. I never did that before. I’m pretty sure you never did either, not even when you saw me off to the navy. Your mention of Buzzy’s has me wanting a burger and a beer. I’ll drop my car off at my mom’s and then head over there for one last hurrah.

As I finally turn to go, I reach into my pocket to get my car keys, and I feel the invoice from my ticket in there.

A one-way ticket to LA.

I really did mean to show it to you, or if I couldn’t do that, to slip it into your suitcase. But I just couldn’t.

I’d say I hope you understand if I thought there was any chance you would.