She disembarked at the station, suitcase in hand from an upper berth on the red eye to Butte. Montana was home once upon a time, before dreams took her to the big cities. New York was a mecca. Los Angeles, a chance at the life she craved.
But cravings dissipate, and mecca gets over-crowded with pilgrims looking for the answers to life. Why do people die? Will she ever get that high profile job? What business did he have leaving her for that perky little waitress from the 43rd Street Cafe?
Rowena had come back, at least for the next week to bury her father and get his affairs in order.
He didn't have much since the nursing home found an opening for her tired and worn down Dad. He had submerged into a deep and vacuous dementia, not even knowing her the last time she visited.
Rowena stayed at the Boarding house, three rooms down from my little hovel. She had graced my life off and on since high school, but she always had her vision set for "out of here".
She had lost her smile. I'm sure her father's passing weighed heavily on her shoulders, but it seemed more than that. She looked... lonely!
I had passed her on the stairs heading for the memorial service, and she had looked right through me. I felt for her. Rowena once had a beautiful smile.
I had asked her if she thought about coming back on a more permanent basis. She shrugged and looked off misty eyed. I wanted to take her into my arms and comfort her, but she needed to escape; her train was to depart in an hour. It was a shame. I think she knew it just by looking at me. I looked... lonely too! I thought it would do us good to be lonely together.
But, she's leaving today. I think I'm going to be sad.
As I walk down the patchy paved streets, floral pants and all, I hear tunes from every window. Micheal Jackson and the 5 over on Tobias Run. Then I hear Stayin' Alive by the Bee's Gees out on the streets.
I pass the school yard and I here "Hey Betris! Where did you get those pants, your grandmother's wallpaper?" I think, It's alright, It's ok. I hear faint sounds of sinickering and giggling. Then the bratty girl walks up to me and says, "Come on Betris. Where did you get them?" "Mind your own beeswax." I manage to say. This girl get closer, if it is even possible. Then she steps back, and swings her arm. CRASH! Right into my eye. Stayin' alive, I think. I just got to stay alive.
Ten kicks to the ribs, shins, and coxyx later, She asks, "Had enough Betris? Huh?" She punches my lip and I feel blood trickling down to my neck. "No." I stagger to say.
As I attemp to walk, my every breathe hurting, every step aching, I think to myself, I'm going no where, somebody help me.
I end up home 20 blocks of sharp pains later, when my mother opens the door. She gasps and calls 911 from our corded landline. I am rushed to the hospital because I can hear the sirens and the medics saying things that are not audible to me because the edges of my sight go back and I collaps in a bundle of what feels like knives and scissors and other pointy things stabbing everywhere on my body.
TICKET TO RIDE
ReplyDeleteShe disembarked at the station, suitcase in hand from an upper berth on the red eye to Butte. Montana was home once upon a time, before dreams took her to the big cities. New York was a mecca. Los Angeles, a chance at the life she craved.
But cravings dissipate, and mecca gets over-crowded with pilgrims looking for the answers to life. Why do people die? Will she ever get that high profile job? What business did he have leaving her for that perky little waitress from the 43rd Street Cafe?
Rowena had come back, at least for the next week to bury her father and get his affairs in order.
He didn't have much since the nursing home found an opening for her tired and worn down Dad. He had submerged into a deep and vacuous dementia, not even knowing her the last time she visited.
Rowena stayed at the Boarding house, three rooms down from my little hovel. She had graced my life off and on since high school, but she always had her vision set for "out of here".
She had lost her smile. I'm sure her father's passing weighed heavily on her shoulders, but it seemed more than that. She looked... lonely!
I had passed her on the stairs heading for the memorial service, and she had looked right through me. I felt for her. Rowena once had a beautiful smile.
I had asked her if she thought about coming back on a more permanent basis. She shrugged and looked off misty eyed. I wanted to take her into my arms and comfort her, but she needed to escape; her train was to depart in an hour. It was a shame. I think she knew it just by looking at me. I looked... lonely too! I thought it would do us good to be lonely together.
But, she's leaving today. I think I'm going to be sad.
Walt
ReplyDeleteNice one! I particularly like the succinct understated broad brush back story in the second paragraph and the use of the lyric.
Nick
Thanks Nick. I knew it had to be a Beatles song. My first instinct rang true. The lyric had to come into play somewhere.
DeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteAs I walk down the patchy paved streets, floral pants and all, I hear tunes from every window. Micheal Jackson and the 5 over on Tobias Run. Then I hear Stayin' Alive by the Bee's Gees out on the streets.
ReplyDeleteI pass the school yard and I here "Hey Betris! Where did you get those pants, your grandmother's wallpaper?" I think, It's alright, It's ok. I hear faint sounds of sinickering and giggling. Then the bratty girl walks up to me and says, "Come on Betris. Where did you get them?" "Mind your own beeswax." I manage to say. This girl get closer, if it is even possible. Then she steps back, and swings her arm. CRASH! Right into my eye. Stayin' alive, I think. I just got to stay alive.
Ten kicks to the ribs, shins, and coxyx later, She asks, "Had enough Betris? Huh?" She punches my lip and I feel blood trickling down to my neck. "No." I stagger to say.
As I attemp to walk, my every breathe hurting, every step aching, I think to myself, I'm going no where, somebody help me.
I end up home 20 blocks of sharp pains later, when my mother opens the door. She gasps and calls 911 from our corded landline. I am rushed to the hospital because I can hear the sirens and the medics saying things that are not audible to me because the edges of my sight go back and I collaps in a bundle of what feels like knives and scissors and other pointy things stabbing everywhere on my body.