The Wakening
I.
It was a quiet, cool night in early September. The last remnants of summer still remained, bringing with them warm rain and the faint smell of petrichor that lingered in the air. I sat crosslegged at the top of the slide, and watched Jeanie light what was probably her fourth cigarette in the one hour we'd been there.
"Those things will kill you, you know", I said.
Jeanie rolled her eyes and mumbled, "You sound like my mom", as the cigarette hung limply between her cherry-red lips. She stuffed her lighter in her jacket pocket, took a puff, and let out a plume of white smoke. "That reminds me", she said. She reached into her black-and-white checkered backpack (purses weren't her "thing") and pulled out a large, pink envelope with Corrine written in her mother's elegant penmanship. "She wanted me to give this to you."
I hesitated, but took the envelope from between her fingers. It felt thick--probably one of those expensive greeting cards you found in bookstore gift sections. I lifted the flap and, unsurprisngly, pulled out an over-the-top, hand-made birthday card with a cake that popped up when I flipped it open. If Celeste wasn't so adorable, I'd think she was ridiculous.
"What is this?" I asked, reaching down to pick up the slip of paper that had floated to my feet. I flipped it over, my eyes widening at the realization that I was holding a check. A check with more on it than what had been going into my bank account for months. Granted, I was living off of shitty tips from college bar hoppers.
"What is this?" I repeated, waving the check and envelope in front of me.
Jeanie shrugged, and the braid she always kept her long, dark hair binded in, fell from her shoulder. She looked off into the distance, cigarette still slowly burning between her fingers. She didn't handle confrontation well.
Finally, she sighed, and put the cigarette out in the dirt at her feet. "I told her about Looney's", she admitted.
I wanted to feel angry--maybe even a bit betrayed that she'd gone and told her mother I was laid off. But, as I looked at my best friend sitting there, chewing nervously at her polish-chipped nails, I couldn't bring myself to. I opened my mouth to speak, but Jeanie beat me to it.
"You're a good friend, Corr. I know you would do the same for me", she said.
And because I didn't know what else to say, or how to tell her that I wasn't going to bother cashing it, I mumbled a soft "Thank you", and slipped it into my jacket pocket. "Please tell your mom I said 'thank you'", I added.
She nodded wordlessly, then nudged me with her knee. I looked up from the numbers staring back at me, and into my best friend's wide, hazel eyes. I always felt like she was looking right into me. I think that was how we became such fast friends--she just got me.
"Things will get better, Corr", she said. It almost sounded like a promise. "They just take time."
I didn't know what to say again, so I said nothing, and picked my bag up from beside me. "I have class in the morning", I said. I stood up and grabbed Jeanie's hands, helping her onto her feet. She groaned, muttering something about having back pains at only twenty-three, and shrugged on her backpack.
"Do you want a ride home?" she asked once we'd made it to her car.
I shook my head. "No, I'll take the train. Thanks, though."
She slid into the drivers seat and pulled the door shut. "Fine", she said. "Text me as soon as you get home, though. You know I hate when you take the late-night trains."
I'd known Jeanie going on four years, and she'd made it painstakingly clear that she didn't agree with my preferred mode of transportation. Despite growing up in New York City, she couldn't wrap her head around the idea of taking a bus or a train to get anywhere. I'd always assumed it was because she could be a bit of a germaphobe. It turned out that her concerns went far beyond a few germs.
A few years back before Jeanie and I had even met, her older sister, Vera, went missing. She'd been out bar hopping in the city with a group of classmates, most likely celebrating the end of their exams, and thus, their final year of college. None of them could remember Vera wandering off; most likely, they were all too drunk off their asses to even notice. The police found her a few weeks later, but Vera never did make it home. The only reminder Jeanie really had left was a necklace the police returned, and she now had it dangling from her car's rearview mirror.
The check burned in my pocket. "I'll text you", I promised.
With a final goodbye, Jeanie pulled out of the parking lot and started down the main road. I remained in the lot, watching until her car finally disappeared, before I started on my way. The walk never took long, and within ten minutes, I was bounding down the steps that led to the station. I plopped down onto a bench with a huff and hugged my jacket closer to my chest. The wind had picked up a bit, bringing with it the promise of Autumn, and gently lifting my dark-brown curls.
I had been waiting only but a few minutes when I saw him. The only other person waiting in the station. He was an older man, maybe in his early forties, with short, copper brown hair and wearing slacks and a button-down. A black trench coat hung over one his arms. Perhaps he was a businessman. Maybe even an attorney?
It was starting to get late, but the man was talking loudly and animatedly into his cellphone. It was progressively getting harder to ignore. But then he looked up, and I quickly averted my eyes down to my worn-out sneakers. He didn't look happy, and I was embarrassed that I'd been caught staring.
And then I heard it.
The shot rang through the station, breaking me from my reverie and making my blood run cold. I jumped up from my seat on the bench, ready to run if I had to, when I saw him. There, across the platform. He stood tall in a classic tux, not a speck of dust or even a wrinkle in the fabric. If I hadn't known any better, I would have assumed he was attending some black-tie event. With high cheek bones and slicked back locks, he looked like someone starring in a James Bond film. But none of that was why I couldn't look away.
Deep red blood. I watched as it soaked through the businessmans ivory white dress shirt. His legs buckled underneath him and he fell to his knees. I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. The tuxedo-clad stranger watched, stonefaced, as the businessman fell over the edge and onto the train tracks.
Adrenaline had begun coursing through my veins, and I knew I had to do something. Anything. I looked up at the man on the platform, and for a moment our eyes met.
Then the train came rushing by, and he was gone.
"Those things will kill you, you know", I said.
Jeanie rolled her eyes and mumbled, "You sound like my mom", as the cigarette hung limply between her cherry-red lips. She stuffed her lighter in her jacket pocket, took a puff, and let out a plume of white smoke. "That reminds me", she said. She reached into her black-and-white checkered backpack (purses weren't her "thing") and pulled out a large, pink envelope with Corrine written in her mother's elegant penmanship. "She wanted me to give this to you."
I hesitated, but took the envelope from between her fingers. It felt thick--probably one of those expensive greeting cards you found in bookstore gift sections. I lifted the flap and, unsurprisngly, pulled out an over-the-top, hand-made birthday card with a cake that popped up when I flipped it open. If Celeste wasn't so adorable, I'd think she was ridiculous.
"What is this?" I asked, reaching down to pick up the slip of paper that had floated to my feet. I flipped it over, my eyes widening at the realization that I was holding a check. A check with more on it than what had been going into my bank account for months. Granted, I was living off of shitty tips from college bar hoppers.
"What is this?" I repeated, waving the check and envelope in front of me.
Jeanie shrugged, and the braid she always kept her long, dark hair binded in, fell from her shoulder. She looked off into the distance, cigarette still slowly burning between her fingers. She didn't handle confrontation well.
Finally, she sighed, and put the cigarette out in the dirt at her feet. "I told her about Looney's", she admitted.
I wanted to feel angry--maybe even a bit betrayed that she'd gone and told her mother I was laid off. But, as I looked at my best friend sitting there, chewing nervously at her polish-chipped nails, I couldn't bring myself to. I opened my mouth to speak, but Jeanie beat me to it.
"You're a good friend, Corr. I know you would do the same for me", she said.
And because I didn't know what else to say, or how to tell her that I wasn't going to bother cashing it, I mumbled a soft "Thank you", and slipped it into my jacket pocket. "Please tell your mom I said 'thank you'", I added.
She nodded wordlessly, then nudged me with her knee. I looked up from the numbers staring back at me, and into my best friend's wide, hazel eyes. I always felt like she was looking right into me. I think that was how we became such fast friends--she just got me.
"Things will get better, Corr", she said. It almost sounded like a promise. "They just take time."
I didn't know what to say again, so I said nothing, and picked my bag up from beside me. "I have class in the morning", I said. I stood up and grabbed Jeanie's hands, helping her onto her feet. She groaned, muttering something about having back pains at only twenty-three, and shrugged on her backpack.
"Do you want a ride home?" she asked once we'd made it to her car.
I shook my head. "No, I'll take the train. Thanks, though."
She slid into the drivers seat and pulled the door shut. "Fine", she said. "Text me as soon as you get home, though. You know I hate when you take the late-night trains."
I'd known Jeanie going on four years, and she'd made it painstakingly clear that she didn't agree with my preferred mode of transportation. Despite growing up in New York City, she couldn't wrap her head around the idea of taking a bus or a train to get anywhere. I'd always assumed it was because she could be a bit of a germaphobe. It turned out that her concerns went far beyond a few germs.
A few years back before Jeanie and I had even met, her older sister, Vera, went missing. She'd been out bar hopping in the city with a group of classmates, most likely celebrating the end of their exams, and thus, their final year of college. None of them could remember Vera wandering off; most likely, they were all too drunk off their asses to even notice. The police found her a few weeks later, but Vera never did make it home. The only reminder Jeanie really had left was a necklace the police returned, and she now had it dangling from her car's rearview mirror.
The check burned in my pocket. "I'll text you", I promised.
With a final goodbye, Jeanie pulled out of the parking lot and started down the main road. I remained in the lot, watching until her car finally disappeared, before I started on my way. The walk never took long, and within ten minutes, I was bounding down the steps that led to the station. I plopped down onto a bench with a huff and hugged my jacket closer to my chest. The wind had picked up a bit, bringing with it the promise of Autumn, and gently lifting my dark-brown curls.
I had been waiting only but a few minutes when I saw him. The only other person waiting in the station. He was an older man, maybe in his early forties, with short, copper brown hair and wearing slacks and a button-down. A black trench coat hung over one his arms. Perhaps he was a businessman. Maybe even an attorney?
It was starting to get late, but the man was talking loudly and animatedly into his cellphone. It was progressively getting harder to ignore. But then he looked up, and I quickly averted my eyes down to my worn-out sneakers. He didn't look happy, and I was embarrassed that I'd been caught staring.
And then I heard it.
The shot rang through the station, breaking me from my reverie and making my blood run cold. I jumped up from my seat on the bench, ready to run if I had to, when I saw him. There, across the platform. He stood tall in a classic tux, not a speck of dust or even a wrinkle in the fabric. If I hadn't known any better, I would have assumed he was attending some black-tie event. With high cheek bones and slicked back locks, he looked like someone starring in a James Bond film. But none of that was why I couldn't look away.
Deep red blood. I watched as it soaked through the businessmans ivory white dress shirt. His legs buckled underneath him and he fell to his knees. I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. The tuxedo-clad stranger watched, stonefaced, as the businessman fell over the edge and onto the train tracks.
Adrenaline had begun coursing through my veins, and I knew I had to do something. Anything. I looked up at the man on the platform, and for a moment our eyes met.
Then the train came rushing by, and he was gone.