Last updated 2009/07/25
Next update scheduled for 2009/07/29. The July 29 post will be the last one.
The train station had been designed to feel like a step back in time. The building was red brick, sandblasted and refurbished. Baskets of deep green ivy with miniature pink and white geraniums hung from wrought-iron hangers at intervals along the exterior of the building. Tiny mosaic tiles of grey and black and pearl were inlaid in geometric patterns in front of each loading door leading out to the boarding platform. Even the telephones carried the theme; large wooden boxes with rotary dials and overly large black receivers. The man and the girl waited to be called out for boarding through door number nine. Though most of the trains were standard Amtrak, they would be boarding the new high-speed electric light-rail. They had spoken many times of making this trip just to try out the train. Now it was a necessity, not a lark. A blur of red and blue on a backwash of silver heralded the arrival of the train. It sped quietly into the station, coming to rest without any loud clanking or squealing. It was early morning. Most of the passengers were daily commuters making the trip from Portland to Seattle to go to work.
The boarding call came for the light-rail and the man prompted the girl to move through door number nine to the train. She walked trance-like, shoulders rounded, eyes vacant and staring. She boarded first, but he was right behind her. “Come on, let’s sit over here, by the window,” the man said, stepping ahead and guiding her down the aisle. She allowed herself to be led, absently taking the seat he indicated. “It all smells so new,” the man said, looking around and stroking the blue-grey upholstery. “Yes. It does,” the girl said, managing a wan smile. “We’ve always wanted to make this trip, let’s get a drink,” the man said in that determinedly uplifted “everything is just fine” tone of voice. “You go ahead,” the girl replied, trying to sound bright. “Oh come on, it will make you feel better,” he cajoled. “I don’t need to feel better,” the girl replied, dropping her pretense at brightness. “Suit yourself,” he shrugged. “I’m not supposed to have any beforehand anyway,” she said softly, looking down at her hands in her lap. “Sorry, I forgot.” The man left to go to the dining car. Here the passengers could purchase snacks and sodas and alcoholic beverages. There was a long curved bar with black vinyl barstools for this purpose. The man hitched himself up onto a barstool with practiced ease.
The girl briefly studied her reflection in the tinted window and then lengthened her focus out beyond, to the passing countryside. New winter wheat poked up green fingers in wet brown rows. Rows stretching out in sinuous curves across fields tended by farming families for generations perhaps. At country crossroads schoolchildren stood waiting for deep yellow busses, watchful mothers evident with the younger ones. “They didn’t have a wide selection, but I was able to get a Bloody Mary,” the man said as he returned to his seat, startling the girl from her musings. She eyed the spring-green leaves of celery sticking up out of his glass. “Do you remember the first morning we had Bloody Mary’s together? What was the name of that place?” The man’s banter irritated her. What was it she had seen in him those carefree months ago? “I don’t recall,” she replied in a tone she hoped conveyed a surprised inability to remember, instead of an aversion to doing so. “Well the name doesn’t matter. It was a good time. A good memory,” he replied quickly, denying any awkwardness in the exchange. “Yes,” the girl said. “I suppose it was,” and she turned to gaze again out the window.
“Look Bettie, everything will be fine. I’ll be with you,” the man said laying his hand atop hers. “Yes, of course. Everything will be fine,” she repeated back to him, looking at her hand beneath his. She felt no warmth, no life, no connection between the hands. It was a strangers hand that lay atop hers. “And then we can go on as before,” he continued on in the manner of one who has satisfactorily resolved a niggling problem, gesturing with his hands. “We’ll continue our travels, see all those places we’ve talked about, try all the best brews.” “Yes, I’m sure we will,” she said, unable to control the catch in her voice. “I told you that you didn’t have to do this,” the man said, hoping he didn’t sound insincere, yet knowing he was only saying what he thought she wanted to hear. The girl was fun after all, a great traveling companion who seemed to enjoy the nightlife and drinking and adventure as much as he did. Certainly she didn’t want all that to end either. They weren’t the settling-down types, the two of them; she’d be fine after the operation. He was sure of it. The girl was not fooled. “We’ve finished this discussion, don’t open it up again,” she replied with some asperity, her eyes briefly flashing as she dared him to attempt another platitude aimed in her direction.
The man looked down at his drink and drained the glass. He got up, walking back in the direction of the dining car. He drank the next one at the bar, returning to the girl as the train whispered into the station. It was a short walk through the rain-dampened streets, where corner espresso vendors were already doing a brisk business with the regulars. Morning traffic was beginning to swell and rain-coated city-dwellers gathered at bus stops in a repetition of actions they performed each workday. The motion of daily routines clicked in their practiced rhythms all around them. Only the man and the girl stepped with new and unsure footsteps on the damp sidewalks. The address they were looking for was sandwiched between a financial office tower and a series of numbered doorways where business concerns were not evident from the outside. The numbers 1276 stood out above the glass double-doors, and the words “Women’s Clinic” appeared on the right-had door in simple block letters.
There was a largish breezeway, with several cork message boards hanging on the sidewalls and free literature stacked on low bookcases underneath. They stepped through the second set of double doors into the reception area. “May I help you?” the bright voice of the receptionist greeted them over the counter. “I have an eight o’clock appointment with Doctor Flores,” the girl said, pleased that the shaking she felt inside had not been conveyed in her voice. The receptionist verified her name. “Please have a seat in the waiting room, a nurse will call you momentarily.” They moved into the waiting area. It was a cheerfully appointed room, replete with children’s toys, bright fish tanks and softly cushioned chairs. A young boy was busy building with foam blocks while his mother looked idly on. The girl watched them for a moment and then quickly looked away, grabbing a magazine from a nearby table and sitting down to read. “Do you want me to get you something?” the man asked her. “A drink of water?” “Yes, water, that would be nice,” the girl replied with genuine gratitude. The man moved to the water cooler.
The girl scanned the article in front of her, occasionally glancing up to contemplate the other women waiting here. She wondered about these women; young, old, middle-aged, single, married, with children, without children. She wondered about these women’s lives, their hopes, their dreams, their regrets. If she could talk with these women, would they tell her she was doing the right thing? Or would they speak of sorrow and immeasurable loss, telling her she would regret this all the days of her life? Tears slowly obscured the words on the page. The man returned with two cups, holding one out to the girl. The girl took the cup, mumbled “thanks” to the man and bent her head to the article, letting her hair fall down around her face, hiding it from view. She finished drinking the water and crumpled the little paper cup, squeezing it until her knuckles blanched white. She laid the magazine aside on the chair and got up to throw the cup away.
A nurse walked to the edge of the waiting room, looked at the chart in her hands and called the girl’s name. The man rose to join the girl and together they followed the nurse down a hallway to an examining room. As the door closed behind them, a young woman taking a seat in the waiting room picked up the magazine the girl had been reading. As the magazine flipped closed, the article disappeared between glossy advertisements for anti-aging cremes and early pregnancy test kits.