Broken People (7 page)

“Come on, let
’s get on that train,” he said.

“How? I
t’s moving,” she replied.

Looking intently into the girl
’s eyes, he speaks, “I’ve seen it in an old movie. It’s easy. You run toward the train, and then run, in the same direction as the train is moving, and just jump in. Look…,” pointing to the train, he continues… “every second or third car has the door open. It’s going West. Probably all the way to Los Angeles.”

Through the flowers, they run toward the train. As the train slows, they r
un alongside. He jumps effortlessly into the car. On his hands and knees, holding his arm out the door, he offers her a hand. She reaches up, grasps his hand, and jumps inside. Together, hand in hand, they look out the door of the train car into the field of flowers and smile.

“Are you cold?” s
he asks.

“No, not a
t all,” he responds. “Are you?”

“No, I feel perfect. I l
ove you,” she smiles and leans toward the boy, her face approaching his.

“I love you back,
” he says, leaning toward her.

Their lips touch. Wrapping his arms around the girl, they embrace, kissing for miles. The train passes through the fields of flowers, various colors and shapes can be seen through the train door. The couple continues to kiss. With her heart, protected by him, and his, protected by her, they gaze into each other
’s eyes. Two people, in a world all alone, sit on a train and love each other. Naturally. Completely. Without effort.

The boy leans against the inner wall of the train c
ar, and admires the beauty of the girl. The girl, against the opposite wall, sits and smiles, but doesn’t notice the boy looking at her. She runs her hands through her hair, and looks out the train door at the fields of flowers - as the train passes through them. She, filled with a love that lasts a lifetime, is content. For once in her life, she sits, satisfied with who she has become.

The train slows. The boy looks at his watch. The watch had no hands. The boy looks away, and notices a leather briefcase in the corner of the car of the train. He walks to the briefcase, and picks it up. As the girl watches the flowers pass through the train door, he carries the briefcase back to where he was sitting, and sits back down. He places the briefcase onto the floor an
d opens it. A hand written note sits on top of a leather divider. The boy picks up the note and reads it to himself

TO THE PERSON WHO FINDS THIS CASE:

I HAVE WORKED A LIFETIME,

AND HAVE NO ONE TO LOVE.

PLEASE USE THE CONTENTS OF THIS CASE -

LOVING THE PERSON WHO

LOVES YOU THE MOST.

The girl turns from the flowers, and sees the boy with the case. “Wha
t is it, Marc?” the girl asks.

The boy, without speaking, hands her the note, and lifts the leather divider. Hundred dollar bills, tightly bound, and marked by $10,000 bands, fill the case. A key on a necklace lay on top of the money. The boy closes the case, and checks the key. The key operates the two locks of the case. The boy sets the key aside. The boy counts. Left to right, top to bottom, and lifts the bills, checking the depth.

“It appears to be about $900,000, if this is marked correctly. Nine times two. Eighteen times five. Yes, nine hundred thousand dollars. Did you read the note?” He responds. Leaving the case open, the boy stands and walks toward her.

“Yes, I did,” s
he responds, handing the note back to him.

The boy takes the note, and places it in the case. The boy closes the case, takes the key, locks the case, and places the key, held by the necklace, around the neck of the girl. The key hangs between her breasts, hidden by the
black dress that she was wearing.

Embracing the girl, the boy looks into the girl
’s eyes. They kiss. “I love you,” The boy, looking into the girl’s eyes again, leans back, runs his hands along the girl’s face, and through her hair.

“I love
you back,” the girl responds.

Time passes. The train stops. The couple,
standing together, looks outside the train door. On the left, they see a beach. On the right, they see a hill with a large sign on the side. The sign is one they have seen before, and clearly marks their new location: ‘HOLLYWOOD’ . They step off of the train, briefcase in hand, and begin to walk toward the beach…..

I turned and looked at my watch. 6:05 am. I got up out of bed, walked into the kitchen, and read the newspaper. I finished my coffee, and ran my hands through my hair. I will spend the rest of my life with t
his girl. One way or another. We had what it would take to survive anything.

Love that just is.

Chapter 7

Cups

DA
VID.
Sometimes when I woke up, I immediately felt like I wanted to go back to sleep and forget who I was. Other days, I felt like jumping out of bed and rushing through the day, eager to be me. Today was the latter. I woke up refreshed and ready to meet the day. It was sunny and it was Saturday. My parents were out shopping, and the day couldn’t be any better. Being home alone could be so satisfying. One of the advantages, I suppose, of being an only child. I was planning on getting some exercise, taking a shower, and going to Cups for a frozen yogurt. This day was going to be grand.

Throughout the m
orning, I found it increasingly difficult to contain my excitement for the frozen yogurt. I just loved the yogurt, and loved the atmosphere. I wondered who may be there when I arrived. It was, of course, Saturday. On Saturday mornings, I would often see Michelle and her friend Brianna there. If they were there today, I would speak to her. Her eyes were so pretty. I have always felt that the eyes don’t lie. If someone smiles, and their eyes smile with them, they are truly smiling inside. The eyes don’t lie. Michelle’s eyes smiled with her. 

As I made my bed, John Coltrane played. On Saturdays the wrinkles in my bed are more noticeable. The sun is up, and my room is much brighter. Brighter than the weekdays. Weekdays, when I get up and make my bed, it is much earlier. And dark. Today, the sunshine on the blanket made the wrinkles stand out like little valleys of wrinkled fabric. After a little more stretching and pulling than a normal weekday, I
was off to Cups for a yogurt.

Pulling my car into the parking lot of Cups, I saw a Camaro. I hoped it was Michelle’s, but I couldn’t remember what color her car was. I’m certain I have
a brain tumor. A brain tumor would cause problems with my memory. I have a brain tumor. At such a young age. Walking into the store, I felt my head. It felt normal. Not enlarged. I should be a scientist. A fabric scientist. And invent a wrinkle-free fabric.  If I didn’t die of a tumor, I would invent the perfect fabric. Wrinkle-free. For my bed. And legs.  I made a mental note, and grabbed the door.

Upon entering, I saw her in the corner at the table where she normally sat. She was there with Brianna, as she always was, laughing and talking. There were two boys there from school, but I did not know for sure who they were. I recognized their faces, but could not recall their names. Just like the color of Michelle’s car, I had
forgotten. Twice in one day. Accelerated aging. Probably a chromosomal disorder. Or some form of deficiency. At such an early age.

Walking
to get my yogurt cup to fill, I wondered if I would forget anything else today. Maybe something really important, like how to park. Or drive. Oh my God. What if, while driving home, I forgot how to turn the steering wheel? Just completely forgot, driving straight the entire afternoon. Where would I end up. The thought scared me. Depending on which direction I turned when I left, I could end up in Canada, or maybe Florida. But, if I
couldn’t turn
, I would just end up backing into the car behind me, and sitting there in reverse, like a fool. Unable to turn the wheel and get out of the lot. Arrested. Questioned. Diagnosed as having mental retardation. Brought on by a tumor the size of a tangerine.

I fill
ed my yogurt cup with vanilla, turned and walked to the area where the toppings were located.  Peanut butter cup pieces. Almonds. Gummie bears. I carefully picked out the red bears, and left the orange and yellow ones for someone else.

“That’ll be $6.90. Are you the guy that always picks out the red ones?” The cashier asked, pointing into my yogurt cup. Her hair was blonde, and she wore an unzipped hoodie. She was cute, but her eyes were not as pretty as Michelle’s. Miche
lle’s eyes were so much better.

Realizing what she had said, I felt guilty, and wondered if they had a corporate policy regarding picking out the red gummies. It shouldn’t be any different than picking out the bigger chunks of the peanut butter cup pieces, and I was never questioned about them. But, prior to today, I was never asked about the gummies either. I didn’t
always
get the gummies, just sometimes. She could call the police. Police scare me. They remind me of my father.

“Yes, I am. I am
allergic to the other colors.”

“You’re funny. Funny
and
cute. What’s your name, again?” She smiled when she spoke, and that made me feel good. I liked compliments from girls. It didn’t offend me the way it may offend a boy if another boy complimented them. Girls were just girls. Sometimes, I looked at myself as a girl. Then, after a few minutes, I normally become confused and just stop thinking.

“Thank you
,” I said as I retrieved my wallet. “And, I suppose you know, but I was joking. I find the other colors less satisfying than the red ones. And I don’t like all the mixed up colors in the yogurt. I just get the red gummies every other Saturday or so. I hope it’s not a huge deal,”

I handed her a ten dollar bill. While she was placing the money in the drawer, I left my cup on the counter an
d tugged my jeans. Both sides.

“$3.10 is your change. I guess you’re not going to tell me your name,” she frowned and bent at the waist, as
if to show me more cleavage than she was already showing. The skin between her breasts had freckles. More than normal. Probably skin cancer. She obviously didn’t put sunscreen between her boobs. We would both die young. She of cancer, and I from a tumor.

“
David. It’s David. I am sorry I got carried away with all of the gummie talk.”

My yogurt
. I looked at my yogurt. It was melting. In a matter of minutes, Michelle would be gone, and the gummies would be swimming in a pool of melted yogurt.

“Nice to meet you, David, I am Cloe,” she o
ffered her hand when she spoke.

“Nice to meet you Cloe,” I said as I shook her hand. Her skin was cold. She was deteriorating from the inside out. From cancer. So sad. At such a young age. “I’m going to eat this before it melts. I will talk
to you before I go, I promise.”

Turning back to the seating area, I was relieved to see the boys were gone from where Michelle and Brianna were sitting. I walked
in their direction. While they weren’t watching, I looked down and made sure I was wrinkle free. Mentally, I chose the table beside the girls, and began to go seat myself.

“David, right?
You’re alone? Sit here with us, we’re about to leave,” Michelle smiled as she spoke. When she smiled, her eyes smiled with her. Brianna, without smiling, got up and walked away, toward the restroom.

“So, how are you doing in the
decision for college, Michelle?” I poked a gummie in my mouth as I asked her. Eating around strangers always made me so much more comfortable, and I often wondered if it was because I occupied my mind to chew, and chewing made me think less of what they may be thinking about me.

“I’m going to Nova, and then Drexel. I decided a few wee
ks ago,” she said, still smiling as she spoke.

“Villanova!
” I couldn’t possibly contain my excitement. I grabbed my spoon and without even making a perfect bite, or looking at the cup, I shoveled a spoon full of yogurt into my mouth. “Tell me more.”

“Well, I am going to be a doctor, and I was accepted into the
ir program,” she continued to smile and ran the fingers of her left hand into her hair, but they got stuck half way through. She rolled her eyes, and tugged at her hair, freeing her hand. We both laughed.

“That’s so exciting. W
hat’s your friends name again?” I asked, knowing the answer, but wanting to make her think that I didn’t.

“Brianna. We come here almost every Saturday. Well, actually, we come here almost every day.”

“My parents get disappointed if I come here too much. They complain of the cost,” I said as I looked into my yogurt cup, making sure this bite had yogurt and peanut butter cups only. I spooned a perfect bite into my mouth, being careful not to drip on the table.

“Get out of here! My mother just did the same thing to me the other day. She told me I had to have some shrinkage.” She turned and looked at Brianna, who wa
s returning from the restroom.

“What
does that even mean?” I asked.

“
I have no idea,” she laughed out loud.

Brianna walked to the table, turned and faced Michelle, and placed her hands on her hips. “Michelle, are you r
eady to go?” she asked.

My heart sank. I really wanted to sit here and have a conversation with Michelle. We had seen each other in school for years, but we never got a chance to speak to each other for any period of time. I was white, and gay, and she was Egyptian. We wouldn’t typically be friends, but here at Cups we sure could be. I sat and secretly wished that Brianna was in the bathroom throwing up or sick with diarrhea. Something. Something that made her go away, and not ask Michelle to leave. Or maybe that she was just at home today, busy doing
something
. Something that didn’t include being here. It seemed like she was never separated from Michelle. I wondered as I looked at her if she and Michelle would grow apart as college got underway. I decided we
all
would, and I felt bad for wishing that she had diarrhea. I wished she would just sit down. I looked at Michelle, and waited for her answer.

“No, go ahead. I am going to sit here with David and ta
lk, Okay?” Michelle responded.

I tugged on both my thighs. At the same time
. I quickly turned my face to view Brianna’s reaction.

“Bye.” That’s all she said. And she turned and walked away.

My head quickly spun to face Michelle, and see what her reaction was. When it stopped, it took five seconds for my eyes to catch up with my head.  Michelle shook her head, tossed her forehead backward, rolled her eyes, and watched Brianna walk away. I took a bite of my yogurt. And another. Careful both times not to drip. I couldn’t think of what to say. I felt bad for Brianna, but I was glad that Michelle was staying. This made for the best Saturday
ever.

“D
o you like John Coltrane?” I asked, taking a chance. I doubt she ever heard of him, but if she had and she liked him, we could be friends
forever.

“
Are you kidding me,” she responded. “A Love Supreme. Giant Steps. My Favourite…”

Before she could answer, I finished
for her, “My Favourite Things.”

“I love Coltrane,” s
he said.

“John Coltrane is like magic. I get so lost in his music, When I listen to i
t, nothing else matters. I can get so wrapped up in listening, that I even forget where I am or what else, if anything, matters. Bad days turn good. Bad thoughts go away. When I listen to his music, well, I just. I just become whoever I want to. I just float. Or something. I don’t know. Now I sound like an idiot. I am sorry,” I stopped talking and gave her a chance to speak.

“No, I k
now exactly what you mean. The other night, I was arguing with my mother about a tattoo I wanted to get when I turn eighteen. She said I couldn’t get the tattoo. End. Of. Story, she said, emphasizing each word. “I went up to my room and listened to
My Favourite Things.
It didn’t fix it, but it sure let me fall asleep,” she continued.

“I think that’s just fabulous t
hat you like Coltrane. Not about the tattoo. What happened, exactly?” I asked, taking a few more quick bites of my yogurt. I got an almond in one bite. Whoever decided to offer toppings for yogurt was a genius. Especially the almonds. I was eating a cup of heaven filled with crunchy almond surprises.

She looked down at the table and spoke softly. “Well, I told my parents that when I turned eighteen, I had an appointment made for a tattoo. An appointment on my birthday. I struggled with telling them anything, because, well, you know.
I was going to be eighteen. But, I decided to be forthright, and tell them. It just didn’t go well. They said if I got a tattoo, basically, they were done with me. That I would no longer be their daughter. I was shocked. And now, well, I am trying to decide what to do. What’s right. What’s wrong. You know what I mean?” She looked up at me. Her eyes were magic. She stuck her hand in her hair again. It didn’t get stuck this time.

“Well, my father told me now that I am
eighteen
, I am a
man
. He is of the opinion that the instant you turn eighteen, you are an adult. Just bingo. Poof. An adult. I do not know that there is some form of transformation the day we turn eighteen, but I do believe that that is the age that we
should
be given the freedom to make decisions on our own. I think that we should sort of, well, proceed with caution. Maybe ask a lot of questions. Maybe just be careful not to do stupid things or make stupid decisions. My father was a Marine, and he just believes in all of that, ‘If you can fight for and die for this country at eighteen, you are an adult.’ So,
my
parents want me to be an adult. Like
now.”

“I wish your pare
nts were my parents,” she said.