Untitled Short Story

1.

I remember the two women there waving goodbye as the steel mass started to roll in the direction written on the ticket. The young one with the blonde hair, smiling without showing her young teeth, was flaunting her youthfulness as she always had since I met her. Her eyes said something to me she thought the women next to her couldn’t see. Funny, how naïve young women are, even when they mature faster than young men. Marina, who always rolled her r’s when she spoke. Next to her, the bigger, elder woman; the two time mother. An odd pair to see me off, because the only way we could communicate was through a language which was not the mother language of any of us. I had only met one of them two days before, and the other only seven weeks. After they were both out of sight, I quickly adjusted my body in a way as to prepare it for sleep, or at least rest, before the man in the dark suit interrupted my arranging and asked me something in German. When I assumed he asked me for my ticket and accidentally presented to him my reservation, he was quick to clarify that that wasn’t what he had asked for.

“Fahrkarte, Bitte.”

He said it almost sportily insulting. For a moment I was back at the DMV renewing my driver’s license; his eyes had the same dull nothingness to them as did everyone’s who ever worked at the DMV. Nevertheless, I understood what he said because I was listening this time. I exchanged my ticket to receive my reservation back, but only so he could run it through a machine which placed a little orange dot on it. After fulfilling his duty, he scanned the ticket again as if to find some winning lottery numbers, then handed it back to me and spit out a dry, tasteless “bitte” without even looking directly at me. I was back on my way to slumber. I thought about a lot of things, as I always do when I’m alone. I thought about how easily you can spot an American in a European country, and about how all British people have bad teeth, and about all the upsides of countries suffering from starvation. I almost thought myself through changing my mind on my own opinion on abortion, but fell asleep before it happened.

I awoke to the stench of a German woman leaning over me, trying to reach the brochure in the pouch on the back of the chair in front of me.

“’Schuldigung, kann ich das gucken bitte?”

„Na klar, keine Frage,“ I responded, halfway annoyed. My mouth was dry and my back sweaty; I wanted a beer. I only had a sandwich and a little bit of hot Mineralwasser. I pretended as best I could. I’ve always hated eating alone, it reassures me that I really have no one sitting beside or in front of me, and makes me very self-conscious.

It’s always in the midst of eating alone when the narrowest memories come back. I remember the fruity scent of her hair, the constant running of her finger and hand up and down my arms, the delicious heat of her body. My proposed precaution was out the window. Was she a virgin? I remember being curious, but I knew I didn’t really want to know, so I simply performed a small abortion in my head. I then also remembered how deeply disloyalty and regret burns in the soul.

I was out of food, time to go back to sleep. I’d become such a primitive being, only compatible with two actions: eating and sleeping.

I again was reminded of the German woman’s presence by her stench. Her hair was up in a bun and it rested on the headrest on the seat in next to mine. I thought twice about sitting so comfortably in my seat. I shifted my legs and became uneasy. Why people chose to have bad hygiene, I never understood. I kept on thinking against my will. I had always wished to acquire the skill of shutting off the mind at will. I think even when I sleep, if you can even call it sleep; more like a computer with a screensaver up; it looks shut off, but its motors are still running behind the display. I tried to stop thinking again. I took a moment to understand my surroundings once more.

            Out the window I saw a familiar face that I thought I once knew, until I realized that it was just my reflection. I was tired and fell back asleep.

            The train shook me once again to consciousness, with luck, because it was my time to get off. Normally, I would have gotten up twenty minutes prior to the approximated time of arrival to collect my things and wait by the door, so as to be the first one out as well as not in the way of everyone else, but that was unfortunately not the case this time. I scrambled to get up and retrieve my overhead luggage, and then proceeded to the door to claim my bigger luggage.

2.

            The train created a bit of a breeze as it accelerated without me in the direction of southern Italy. I looked around to see if anyone was there to greet me, halfway expecting someone to be there, when I knew no one would be. I took the small amount of chocolate that I had left from my pocket and unwrapped it before placing it in my mouth. I was still standing only a couple of feet from the track. I picked up my bags and arranged them in a way so that they could be easily managed. I made my way to the front of the station and found a taxi: I told the driver where I wanted to go and he negotiated a price.

            I missed the smell of the air that I grew up with. I arrived at my home and stood outside for a little while before entering to enjoy the scenery of fall; the yellow leaves, sometimes orange above me, still clinging on with their weakest grasp to the branch overhead, and at my feet all over the ground, those who had already given up; it was all just a matter of time anyway. It vaguely reminded me of New York from the one time I was there in August a couple of years before. I didn’t yearn, however.

            As I entered my flat I set my bags aside telling myself that I’d deal with them tomorrow, because I was too tired that night. Traveling is so stressful, and before I could turn on the light to see what I was doing (I had become well acquainted with my flat) my eyes were attracted to the red beeping light on the answering machine. I turned on the light and checked the messages.

Three messages.

Two hang-ups.

            My dentist called to remind me of the appointment I had already missed. Upon hearing this my teeth immediately felt dirty and ached.

            I had forgotten Charlie.

            It was already 11:30 at night, but I knew she wouldn’t mind, and he needed to be rescued. I went to the flat next door and rang.

            Mrs. Wirt answered the door in her robe with the door opened only about twenty percent of the way, just enough to make the person on the inside lean awkwardly so they can peek out to see who it is.

            “I thought it would be you,” she said, halfway squinting as if I had interrupted her mid-afternoon “Jeopardy” or favorite rerun of “Murder She Wrote.”

            “Oh well, I should have expected you to be late. He’s been pretty good, well fed and watered, but the damned dog always wants attention.”

            By the time I had stopped listening, Charlie had already made his way out of the door and was jumping all over me with joy beaming form his eyes. I think I was just as happy to see him. Mrs. Wirt was an American widow with no one left in her life. She fell in love with a young German entrepreneur when she was seventeen, married him, and moved to Germany. She had a daughter who was around my age, but had she moved out long before because she didn’t agree with her mother’s rules amongst other things. It made her happy that she lived next door to an American who could by age be her son, and she very well treated me like she was my mother. I felt obligated to visit her once a week because I felt that no one should have to live alone. She wasn’t that old, maybe sixty five at most, and in perfect condition to take care of herself, but she was lonely.

            After all, that’s why I had Charlie. I had been away from home for five years already, and after two years of dating and unsteady relationships, it wasn’t hard to see that I needed something constant and dependable in my life. Charlie was always happy to see me, no matter how bad my day was. He knew no bad days.

            We went inside our flat and he was restless. I was sure he had gotten practically no attention for the time I had been gone, and I knew that I was way too tired to sleep, so I took him for a walk.

We went around the block to an open field where I let him run and play. It was almost pitch black outside, but he wasn’t in the least bit skeptical. I enjoyed not knowing what was all around me for once, which would normally drive me crazy. I thought about the beauty of life and how you sometimes just have to live in the moment.

I was tired.

We headed back home.

I slept on the couch. I was glad to be home.