Tear Tracks Forever

The song Tonight by Enrique Iglesias blared through my speakers as I sighed and packed up my clothes and necessities into my two bags. I folded up a canvas beach bag and crammed it into my black carry-on. I was leaving for Virginia Beach tomorrow night. I’m such a procrastinator, I only got packing now.

I threw in all the basic clothes, a few swimsuits, some books, money, and some makeup. I also realized, since I had a job at the beach, I needed to pack sunblock and some towels. I packed those and then realized I also needed basic stuff, like a hairbrush, a pillow, my hair products, and toothpaste and my toothbrush.

I packed a few of those things, and then sat down and sighed, staring out the window. The sky had grown a cloudy blue; it was around 5:00 in the evening. I looked outside into the city streets and saw all kinds of people walking—children, adults, fat people, skinny people, delinquent teenagers, a group of young giggling girls, brunettes, blondes, redheads, raven-haired people, curly haired people, straight haired people, and people walking dogs. This is what I love about the city. Everyone’s different. You never know who you’ll meet.

The sun was setting, and a light breeze flew through the window. I sighed, wanting to take one last walk in New York. I stood up and brushed off my black soccer shorts and adjusted my green Hollister shirt, slipping on my black PEACE flip-flops.

I grabbed my iPhone and stepped into the elevator, waiting patiently until I got to the Ground Floor. I stepped outside the double doors into the New York City streets. I passed homeless people, a few people I knew, and I walked to the park.

“Hey! Rhee!” someone called. I whirled around to face someone I knew, loved, hated, and plotted against. Then I groaned. It was my ex-boyfriend, Ryan. Like I said before, you never know who you'll meet.

“Hi, Ryan,” I murmured.

“So, what’s up? Where are you going this summer? Just walking around the streets here?” he grinned flirtatiously then raised an eyebrow. Ugh, how I hated him. He thinks he’s so hot….he’s such a man-slut. He cares more about his appearance than me, and that’s saying a lot.

“No, I’m going to Virginia Beach for the summer,” I mumbled, staring at the green-leaved trees above me.

He flipped his dark hair out of his eyes. “What’s in Virginia Beach?”
“Nothing. My dad wants me to get a job as a lifeguard, so I’m staying there with his best friend and his family for a month or two,” I said coolly.

“Oh, well. I was hoping to see you around. Maybe we could hang out at a club or something…my brother could get us fake passes…,” his voice trailed off, and suddenly he didn’t look like the confident player he was.

I sighed, pushing back my hair. “Ryan, we already broke up. And there was a reason why.”
“I know, but couldn’t we at least be friends?” he asked.
“Sure, but being friends doesn’t mean I want to go to a club with you,” I rolled my eyes.
His attitude suddenly changed. He stiffened, and then shoved his hands in his pockets. “Fine, it’s not like I give a shit anyway.”

“Okay, well, then…bye,” I told him, and he rolled his eyes, stalking away.
I smiled and then kept walking. The leaves were green, it was about 80 degrees outside, and a soft warm breeze blew through the air, fluttering lightly through my hair. I was at peace, walking past the city shops, the drug addicts, and the laughing children, relaxed.

That was all until my phone buzzed with a text from my dad.

Come home soon. I need to make sure we’re ready to go to Virginia Beach.

I replied quickly.

ok I am on my way

I quickly turned around, walking back home. For some reason, I was in a really bad mood. I wasn’t sure if it was because my dad had spoiled my perfect weekend, or that I was running out of time to enjoy my summer. Then, I was going to be shipped off to Virginia Beach.

*~*

I crossed my arms over my chest, as a streak of sweat slid down my temple. It was way too hot to wear a baggy hoody, yet my dad didn’t want me strutting around in shorts and a T shirt in fear that rapists might be lurking nearby. Ugh.

I had my backpack on and my left hand gripped the handle of my black carry-on. I stood in the train station, next to my overprotective father, waiting for my train to arrive.

I was only half listening to his lecture. He droned on and on, “…and you must make sure not to talk to any other strangers and please sit next to a woman or by yourself on that train. Also, when you get there, I expect you to treat Joshua, Madira, Alex, and Carmella with the utmost respect and kindness. Understand?”

“Yes, father,” I murmured meekly.

Suddenly, an announcement sounded over the loudspeaker. “Train 4-A, Virginia Beach bound, is arriving. Passengers, please report to spot 4-A!”
My father walked with me all the way to Spot 4-A, and we stood in silence until we saw my train chugging down the tracks. The people around us were hugging, crying, kissing, and talking, but I remained stiff until my father suddenly pulled me into a hug.
I was caught by surprise, and was even more in shock as he told me, “I love you Rhee. I’ll miss you. Have fun!”

“I love you too,” I mumbled, as we pulled away and I boarded the train.
I found my seat quickly and placed my luggage by my feet. I’d put it in a compartment later.
“Goodbye, Rhee! Take care!” my father yelled to me.

I swallowed, and yelled out the window, “I love you!” as the train chugged away, and I sat there, paralyzed, until I finally found the strength to get up and put my luggage away.
The seat next to me was empty, until a young, blond woman in a purple suit came and sat next to me, smiling. We chatted politely for a few moments, nothing important.
I listened to my iPod and read my book, Dear John, until my eyelids felt heavy and I closed my eyes. I stretched out on the train seat and yawned, falling asleep.

*~*

I woke up, squinty-eyed and confused. Where was I? I sat up weakly, glancing uncomprehendingly at my surroundings. Oh, now I remember. I’m on a train, heading to Virginia Beach for the summer. This, once again, spoiled my mood. I sat up and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, opening my backpack and pulling out a mirror and a hairbrush. God, I looked like hell.

I combed my hair and straightened my clothes, shaking the wrinkles out. My face was still oily and dry at the same time, a feeling that I hated. I went to the train bathroom and scrubbed my face furiously with water. There, I felt much better. My hair, which sadly wasn’t straight anymore, puffed out and curled in the humid, stale air. I sighed and pulled a hair tie off my wrist, and spent the next ten minutes trying to braid my hair. I finally gave up and pulled it into a high side pony. Surfer boys like that, right? Oh, well.

The blond woman next to me looked disheveled, and I watched curiously as she woke up. She smiled at me, said “Good morning,” and went to the bathroom to freshen up with a makeup bag. Twenty minutes later, she came out with her blond bob glossy and smooth, her suit looked like it was new, and concealer and lipstick caked on. Her eyes were wide awake and alert, and I never would’ve thought that she had spent the night on the train.
I guess she caught me staring, because she raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows and smiled. “Yes?” she asked.

My face heated up, and I shook my head. “No, umm, I was just wondering how you made your hair so perfect.” To embellish my point, I cautiously touched my frizzy, curly, pony.
She laughed. “Come here.” I hesitantly scooted closer, my dad’s speech ringing through my ears. But instead, and pulled out my ponytail, brushed my hair, and pulled a bunch of spray, mousse, and other hair products out of her bag.

Ten minutes later, my hair actually looked good! It wasn’t perfectly straight, but she had put straightening spray and mousse in it. ‘Thank you!” I squealed.
She smiled at me. “No problem.” She turned back to her briefcase and pulled out a copy of Vogue and began reading it. I assumed that she didn’t want to talk, so I pulled out my iPhone, texted a few people, and went back to my book.

About an hour later, a crackly voice came on over the loudspeaker. “Attention, passengers, we will be arriving at Virginia Beach in about 30 minutes! Please be prepared for our arrival!”
I quickly tossed my hairbrush, mirror, and some other stuff into my backpack, so I would be ready to get off, I put everything else away besides my iPhone and listened to some music and played Angry Birds.

After about 25 minutes, I turned off my iPhone and slipped it into my jeans pocket, glancing out at the scenery. I was amazed at how much nature there was—rolling green hills, leafy treetops, and a distance away—the beach. I guess that living in New York really messes with your image of beauty.

A few more announcements came on, and then, after a couple more moments, our train screeched to a halt. I climbed off, with all of my luggage, and was surprised to see a tall, brown-haired man and a petite, blond woman welcome me. Joshua and Madira. Mr. Markin and Mrs. Markin.

Mr. Markin gruffly took my luggage and loaded it into the back of his Honda CR-V. I sat in the back, silent, and Mr. Markin and Mrs. Markin in the front.
Mrs. Markin twisted around, craning her neck to face me. She chatted with me for awhile—or should I say, she talked for a while, and I nodded and said “Yes” or “No”.
I finally said my first sentence, interrupting her. “How much longer until we get there?”
She turned to Mr. Markin. “How much longer, honey?”
“About 15 minutes,” he said grumpily.

I sat in silence for 15 minutes, the only sound was Mrs. Markin’s pointless chattering.
I was surprised and taken away as the car pulled up to a tall beach house. Well, it wasn’t on the beach, more like two blocks from it. It was an easy walking distance.
I quickly got out and stepped up to it, walking up the steps. I waited for Mr. Markin to open the door. I stepped onto the wooden, polished floor and scanned the living room. A nice Persian style rug, a side table, a TV, coffee table—it had all the makings of a normal house but was deadly quiet.

I turned to him, question in my eyes. “Where are Alex and Carmella?”

Mr. Markin’s answer was so gruff that I could barely understand what he was saying. “Carmella is at her friend Leah’s house, and Alex is out surfing. He should be home anytime soon.”
I was about to answer and say “Okay,” but I was interrupted by a cautious, boyish voice behind me. “Hey.”

I whirled around to see Alex Markin.

He looked even better than he had in the pictures. He was wet and shirtless, in swim trunks, flip-flops, and clutching a surfboard. “Hi,” I responded. My body stiffened, and I felt like a jerk. God, he was so hot. He even had abs! A six pack!

We stood there in awkward silence, until Mrs. Markin again filled the air with her useless blabbering that no one paid any attention to.

But all I could do was stare at Alex Markin; and all he could do was stare at me.