Our Own Terms
Penn Station buzzes with people of all sorts; beautiful, homely, dark, light, manly women, men in dresses. I have to say that I love the sea of ever-changing faces, despite my abhorrence of crushing crowds, an experience both exciting
and
nauseating. Jimmy walks a few paces ahead, to the ticket counter. I feel as if we still stroll arm-in-arm. Occasionally, he turns his head to the side, looks out the corner of his eye, and smiles slightly.
He purchases a ticket, lucky the train still has seats available, and finds the gate. We queue with the other passengers, my fingers trembling when I take out my railroad spouse pass. I have the pass through my husband. My last name comes from my husband. All my current income comes from my husband. What am I in a pair of shoes anymore? Jimmy turns a little and looks at me. I flash him a quick smile. He narrows his eyes, the corner of his mouth curls, and he turns back around.
I show my pass and ID to the ticket lady, and she nods to let me through. I head down the stairs to the breezy platform, Jimmy still a few feet ahead of me. We walk about halfway down the platform, then stop. I huddle next to a pole, and Jimmy wanders with his hands in his pockets and the red blanket gathered loosely at his wrist. He seems to survey everything, yet nothing in particular.
I wander in the opposite direction, keeping an eye on him just the same. I notice a few women checking him out, and a couple of guys, too. So, it's not just me. No one with eyes like his would go unnoticed and I smile,
I've had him, and I didn't have to pay for him.
He wanted
me.
Me. Slowly turning in his meandering way, he makes brief eye contact, but continues 'to be a stranger'. He's thrown the ball in my court, but I don't know what to do next. I turn away, cupping my hand around the side of my neck, resting my head. Sometimes the best thing to do is nothing. Something will happen anyway.
The klang-klang of the train reverberates throughout the underground and greedy pig-people crowd the edge of the platform, as if the train will suddenly sprint away and leave them. I hang back and see Jimmy from the corner of my eye. He's talking to a beautiful, dark-haired older woman wearing large gold earrings and necklaces. I watch him smiling, nodding, laughing as she seems to tease him along to some conclusion that won't culminate before they board the train. I have to stop watching and find the conductor to ask permission to ride the train. The blue-capped conductor nods quickly, and I board, glancing down through the gap at the heavy wheels of the train.
Thankfully, I find an empty table in the café car. My phone lacks any new messages, but the signal is weak in the subterranean station, so who knows? I adjust my dress, settle back into my seat, and take a quick look around the café car. I wonder if Jimmy got on after all, and feel a little irked that he talked to that woman. But I don't own him and I'm well aware of what he does. Looking at my reflection in the window, I remind myself not to invite Envy to this table.
A loud ding and the doors shut. The train lurches and slowly moves forward. The air stings my eyes--
Pete's going to kill me.
Shh, Pete need never find out. But what if he does? I stare into the reflection of my wide, dark eyes until the train emerges from the black tunnel into the early evening light. Still no Jimmy. I allow myself one more darting look around. Just people with their noses planted in laptops or ear buds planted in their ears, or both. A few customers, feet planted firmly on the floor, waver by the café counter, ordering coffees or beers or pretzels.
I have my pass and ID ready for the conductor and stutter, "Ph-Philadelphia, please."
My face flushes. The conductor gives me a ticket with a couple of little holes punched out and continues through the café car, and I suppose, though the next car, and the next. I sigh and start thinking about June and Rudy, wondering what they did all day besides school. I envision my kitchen table, covered in crumbs, remnants of snacks and dinner. If Pete even remembered to feed them. Scraps of paper, wrappers, and crayons; the sink full of dishes; laundry overflowing the hamper. That's how I'll wrap up my day. I'll yap a couple of lines about the gallery and about lunch--
'The museum? Yeah, it was okay. Weird stuff. I ate at Fortune House, some kind of noodle restaurant nearby. Then, you know, I just sort of wandered around for a while.'
That's more than I'll need to offer before Pete's eyes glaze. Doff my shoes, start the dishes, check my left hand to make sure my wedding band is still on. Not that I would take it off; I won't pretend I'm not married, but perchance it slipped off in a bathtub, or fell down the gap between the platform and the train.
"Excuse me, may I sit here?" a voice makes me jump. Jimmy,
fucker!
MIA twenty minutes.
I make a grand sweep with my hand towards the seat opposite me. He sits, placing a steaming cup of coffee on the table between us. He places the silly red blanket next to him, and extends his right hand, "Hi, I'm Arseni."
A smirk crosses his face as I tentatively shake his hand.
Arseni.
I'll have to look that up when I get home. I assume it's a fake name to go along with this game, but who knows? Could be his real name. I don't recall seeing it on the STD panel he showed me earlier.
I nod, "My name's Shalimar. Nice to meet you," I notice he's got his paper ticket from the conductor. He must have been sitting elsewhere for a while.
"So, pleasant afternoon for a train ride," he states, his eyes locked on mine.
"Yes, it is." I was never good at chit-chat, but this is a game, so play! "Do you ride the trains often, Arseni?"
