What Would You Wear?

Drinking apple cider vinegar could help you lose up to thirty—

Jennifer Lawrence drops jaws at met gala—

Is your baby at risk for—

I flipped the magazine shut, frustrated that it did nothing to stave away the boredom of my morning commute. I tossed it into the shallow, off-white plastic seat beside me. Atlanta transport is quiet this early, before the sun rises and the groggy masses come tumbling in smelling of coffee and toothpaste. I usually find this ride peaceful, a welcomed calm before the storm of red-faced customers and ringing phones that consumes my workday. But on that day, I just felt the kind of boredom that settles into your muscles. The kind that makes you bounce your leg and grit your teeth. An irrational, irritated boredom.

Snap. Click. Rr-rr-rr.

Snap. Click. Rr-rr-rr.

It's typically a smart idea to keep to yourself on public transport. Keep your head down and pretend that it’s just you on the train. However, in my state of agitation, I chanced a glance to my right to investigate the strange noise in the otherwise serene cabin. What I saw left me with more questions.

Snap. Click. Rr-rr-rr.

Snap. Click. Rr-rr-rr.

    A girl, probably no older than twenty-two, sat seven seats down from me. She was wearing what looked like a prom dress, with a bubblegum pink corset dripping in rhinestones and a skirt made of puffy pink tulle that spilled onto the seats on either side of her. She wore a tiara fit for a beauty pageant, the fluorescent light bouncing off the little crystals spiking six inches from the crown of her head. Her hair was a sporadic web of faded mint green waves that fell to her shoulders, a stark contrast to the extravagance of her attire. She had one hand laying limply in her lap while the other was outstretched holding a camera at arm’s length.

Snap. Click. Rr-rr-rr.

Snap. Click. Rr-rr-rr.

It was one of those Kodak disposable cameras. She had it aimed towards her and turned the wheel after every photo. Maybe most peculiar of all, she was not smiling. No cutesy pout, no peace sign. Just a blank expression. At this point, I thought she must have been doing some sort of avant-garde photoshoot. Possibly a performance art piece. On any other day, I would have resumed bouncing my leg and written her off as another Atlanta art student with an undeserved sense of self-aggrandizement. But my boredom had eroded my patience, and I couldn’t stand another

Snap. Click. Rr-rr-rr.

“Hey, could you stop that please?” It sounded more apologetic than I wanted it to.

Snap. Click. Rr-rr-rr.

“Excuse me! Hello? Could you stop doing that?”

Snap. Click. Rr-rr-rr.

“Young ma’am!”

She looked at me from the corner of her eye. She turned her head apprehensively. She was wearing a lipstick as bright pink as her dress and her mascara was smeared into the ravines beneath her puffy lower lids. Either she had been crying, or she’d been up all night. Or both. Her eyebrows were raised in slight confusion.

“Yes?”

“Could you…not?”

“Not what?”

“Your camera. It’s distracting. Could you stop?”

She lowered her arm and held the camera with both hands in her lap.

“Distracting from what?”

I wasn’t expecting her to challenge me on this.

“I’m trying to read!” I lifted the magazine from the seat next to me and shook it once to emphasize my point.

“No, you aren’t. You’re just sitting there.”

I stood up, if only to prove her wrong, and grabbed onto the metal standing bar.

“Well, how can anyone focus with you snapping that camera?”

She looked past me and nodded.

“Doesn’t seem to be bothering him.”

I looked behind me. There was only one other passenger in the cabin, a man wearing a gray hoodie with his head slumped back against the window, his jaw hanging loosely in his slumber. I was annoyed that he couldn’t back me up on this.

“Listen,” I walked forward and sat next to her, leaving a space between us to accommodate the poofy ruffles of her dress. “I get it. I was your age once. You think the whole world is as enamored with you as you are. You’re cute, and quirky, and life is a buffet of attention. But other people live in this city and not all of them want to be subjected to your weird little art project.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.” Her voice was even, completely unaffected by my impromptu lecture.

 “…Then what is this?” I gestured vaguely to her camera.

She turned her head to look at the empty seat in front of her. She furrowed her brow in contemplation.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“I promise, whatever you’re doing is not as deep as you think it is. So, what is it?”

She looked down at the camera.

“I just wanted to take pictures of me on my last day,” she said, a tint of sadness to the otherwise monotone reply. My stomach dropped at the possible insinuation.

“Your last day? What, like, in Atlanta?”

“No. Just…my last day.”

There were several things I should have said, like ‘Are you okay?’ or ‘Do you need help?’ but all I could do was stare at her. This was more than I was prepared to handle at five-thirty in the morning. She turned to look back at me and offered a half smile and a shrug.

“So. What’s with the outfit?” It was not the right thing to say, but it was all I could think of to break the tension. She huffed out a laugh through her nose.

“It’s my favorite dress.”

Good enough answer, I supposed. We sat for a moment, the whir of the train clouding the silence.

“What would you wear?” She asked softly.

“What?”

“If you knew it was your last day, what would you wear?” she asked with a soft curiosity.

“I…don’t know. I guess it depends on what I would do on my…you know.”

“Well, what would you do?” Her brown eyes crinkled slightly with amusement.

“I don’t know. I suppose the right answer is spend time with my family. Maybe try to see something for the first time… for the last time.”

“That sounds nice.” Her lips stretched into a smile, her pink lipstick cracking.

“Is that what you’re going to do? See your family?”

Her smile faded.

“I don’t know if I have time.”

“Of course you have time. You know. It doesn’t…doesn’t have to be your last day.”

The sparkle of her tiara scattered around as she tilted her head.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…you don’t…have to do this.”

She furrowed her brow, before smoothing it in realization.

“Oh, I’m not…choosing this.”

“Then… then how do you know it’s your last day?”

She opened her mouth to answer, then looked at the empty seat again. She exhaled a sigh and turned back to me.

“It’s hard to explain. Maybe you’ll know the feeling one day. I just…I just know. In my gut. I know that I’m going to die when I get off this train. I don’t know when, but… I just know.”

I lowered my voice and leaned in to ask, “Is someone after you?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I just know, you know?”

My stomach leapt as the hiss of the brakes brought the train to a halt. The doors opened, and without thinking I placed a hand on her lap, worried she might make a run for it and fulfill this dark prophecy of hers. She chuckled but made no effort to remove my hand.

“This isn’t my stop,” she reassured me. My own stop was only another ten minutes away. I pulled my hand away and clasped my hands in my lap. I bit my lower lip, struggling again to find the correct words.

“What if—maybe it’s just anxiety? You know, sometimes you wake up and, and it feels like the world is out to get you—but it passes! Maybe we should go to a hospital? Emory ER isn’t far from here, I can—”

“No, you can’t. You can’t come with me.” The finality of the statement was oddly intimidating.

“Why not? It’s really not any—”

“Because I don’t know how I’m gonna die. What if I get hit by a bus and you’re standing next to me?”

“It’s fine! You’re not going to die, you just feel—”

“I’m not scared. And I’m not anxious. I just…know.”

The look she gave me was eerily familiar. There was a kindness bordering on pity in her eyes above an easy smile. I had only seen it once before, in the face of my grandmother in her final days. It scared me to recognize it on such a young face.

“Well. I mean, shouldn’t you be calling your mom? Your friends? If you think you’re going to—”

“Why worry them? If I call them, they’re going to know something’s wrong as soon as I open my mouth.”

“Don’t they deserve a goodbye?” This made her pause, then laugh.

“Even if I wanted to, there’s hardly any signal on this train. No. No, I think it’s better this way.”

Despite her confident response, she began to twirl the wheel on the camera, betraying her anxiety. I tried to rescue her by changing the subject.

“Why not just take pictures on your phone? If you’re right and you are going to—” I hesitated to say the word. “I mean, you won’t be around to see them developed anyway, right?”

“I guess…huh. I guess I just thought it was funny. In like, an ironic sort of way. I saw it at the train station, and…thought it’d be funny.” She held the camera up, inspecting it. Then, she asked, “Could I ask you a favor?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“Would you take a picture with me?” Her voice shook and a tear joined the inky well of mascara under her eyes. I felt a burn in my own sinuses at the crack in her resolve.

“Yeah. Ok.” She smiled, a tear rolling down her cheek and dripping onto the cloud of fabric in her lap. She lifted the camera up and snuggled closer to my seat. I shifted over and put an arm around her shoulder, trying not to squash the tulle between us. I looked into the glossy eye of the camera.

“Should I smile? It feels weird to smile, but would not smiling be weirder?” I asked.

She coughed out a laugh, then said, “Do whatever feels right. I won’t ever know.” It was a joke, but it still made me queasy. She snapped the picture, and I don’t know if I smiled in time.

She continued to smile as she rolled the wheel. I looked at her, trying to capture my own image of her in my mind. I knew my stop was coming up. I felt dizzy at the idea of leaving her.

“Then…then let’s not get off the train.” I said.

“What?”

“You’re going to die when you leave this train, right? So, let’s not get off. We’ll just stay on the train.” I placed my hand on hers.

“We can’t just stay on the train. We’d have to get off eventually.”

“Well, let's just stay on long enough for the feeling to pass. Till you feel like you’re safe!” I gave her hand a squeeze.

“It’s not going to pass. But it’s okay.” She gave me a gentle squeeze in return.

The brakes hissed again. I looked up and felt relief as I realized it wasn’t my stop. I still had more time to convince her to stay.

As the train rolled to a halt, she turned my hand over and placed the camera into my palm. She then placed my hand onto my leg and stood up. She picked up a handful of pink fluff and made her way to the door.

“Wait! No, where are you going?” I stood up.

“This is my stop.”

“It— it doesn’t have to be! Please, just…a little longer?”

She looked back towards me, one hand on the door frame to keep it from closing.

“Thank you. Really. But I think I just want to see the sunrise.”

***

I have many regrets from that day. I should have tried harder to stop her. I should have tried to call someone. I should have asked for her name. I look for her in the face of every stranger on the train and in every news story. Hell, maybe it was just a weird social experiment. In any case, I’m still too much of a coward to get the photos developed. There is one thing I do not regret from that day: I snapped one final photo, of the sunset on the day I met her. Just in case she missed it.