FIRST edit (redraft)
Here is a vignette written by a friend and myself. Our pen name is Ashlyn Valentino.
Your turn to critique and change Bliss. What do you think?
Final Stop
by Ashlyn Valentino
Leaning against the metal railing, I glance down at my cell phone, 7:23. The train should be here soon. On this humid summer’s night, the light rail station is rather empty. A mother holds the hand of her small child by the sign advertising one of the city’s more popular restaurants, Ellington’s. The ad shows a super happy couple toasting to something, probably how awesome it is to be out together away from the kids. They almost look too happy, like they’re hopped up on anti-depressants. Nobody is that happy, for reals.
Sitting on the wood bench by the ticket booth, an elderly man rests his tired eyes. A few teenage girls chatter amongst themselves at the far end by the vacant tracks. One seems dangerously close to the edge, just past the yellow line, the one that you’re supposed to be behind while the train approaches. My mind wanders, as my lucid imagination shows the girl tripping backwards over the edge just as the train barrels through as it slows, splattering the walkway with blood, just like that movie “Final Destination” – I love movies. But then I snap out of it. I have a pretty vividly evil mind like that sometimes. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, and take in my sacred moment of solitude. A few minutes of my treasured bliss— my thinking time —is all I need, all I could have for now, as the slight breeze signals the approaching train. The distant horn blair sounds suddenly, causing my heart to race a bit, suddenly close, as the breeze from the engine flies past, which felt good, washing away the humidity for a moment. Finally the doors swing open and we begin boarding the train.
“Welcome and thank you for using the official light rail of Virginia’s Transit Association. Please take a seat and keep your ticket in hand, the attendant will be coming around shortly,” says a voice over the intercom system. Gripping my ticket, I place it in my pocket for safekeeping. I scan the train for an open seat, a window seat. To my dismay, the only seat is one bordering the aisle. I look around for friendly faces, noticing a few people my age, a girl who looks like she just got off work, an old lady with some department store bags, a creepy guy with dreadlocks wearing a Yankees cap, drinking something wrapped in a paper bag, an older man in the back with a hoody drawn over his head. With no choice but to otherwise stand, I sigh and take the seat next to the old lady. I place my bag beneath my seat, situate myself into a comfortable position, and slowly drift into a shallow, foggy nap.
“And how are you today, young lady,” startling me awake, fogginess, huh? I open my eyes, look to my right to see the guy with the dreadlocks. His greasy locks escape through the holes in his Yankee’s cap. His lips are still moist from the last drops from his mystery drink, and pungent like cigarettes and cough drops. His eyes are dilated with euphoric mystery.
A bit dazed and confused, I look around the car, and notice almost everybody has gotten off at their stops, except the frail looking old guy in the hoody in the back sleeping. Maybe I dreamt somebody was talking to me? But he seemed to be looking back at me as if anticipating some sort of response. Before muttering even the simplest response, my shy finger points to myself, and he does a quick nod raising his eyebrows and giving a tight, wide goofy smile, confirming his request for human interaction. Did he not see my eyes were closed?
“I’m good, thanks” said my sleepy voice as I slid across the seat towards the window.
He slips into the aisle and next to me in my seat. He looks into my eyes like the Cheshire cat with a big grin, as if he’s looking for diamond tear drops. I tried to stay calm but my eyes open wide as I press myself back against the window, panic spreading paralyzing fear through my limbs. I’m wide awake now.
“Your eyes,” he begins with a whisper, “your eyes are quite brown for green eyes.”
I’m baffled. I guess the mystery drink is working magical wonders on this guy! As my heart rate subsides, I figure maybe he’s a harmless drunk, but I continue to keep up my guard. Smiling as I give the tweaked eyebrow “you’re crazy” expression, I realize that he’s waiting for some sort of reply.
“Oh… well… thank you?,” I pause to search for the right words, “you have pretty eyes, too?” I say reluctantly, feeling a bit goofy having a conversation with a creepy, crazy guy on a train.
The sheer thrill of my compliment rushes through him brightening his day. He relishes in the idea of receiving a compliment, but after a few minutes of silence, the smile begins to fade, and round two begins.
“So, where are you headed this evening?” he says matter of factly, as if we’re super best buddies now.
My clamm
My clammy right palm clenches my clammy left. I suddenly feel uneasy, and pretend not to hear him. He catches on, scrunching his eyebrows he repeats his question, “Where are you headed, young lady? It seems a bit late for you to be out alone!”
What is he looking for here? Is he a sexual deviate? An escaped lunatic? A drunken paranoid schizophrenic? A caring stranger? DING, the voice on the PA system announces my stop is after this next stop. Next stop in 5 minutes.
“I’m off to the movie theater,” I say quickly, hoping he takes note of my short answers.
“I see, I see. I was thinking about going tonight.”
I nod my head; count the seconds until my stop.
He inches closer to me, “So what film are you seeing?”
“I’m not sure,” I utter before biting my bottom lip and moving closer to window since he’s trapping me in my seat like a hostage. I wish and pray the old guy in the back is actually alive and like, some ex-marine who will come to my rescue.
Helloooo strange old guy, come help a girl out pleeease be a good Samaritan who will wake up soon!
“Well,” he pauses to cough into his sleeve, “maybe I should join you. We could see that new comedy with what’s his name, uh—”
Terrified, I pretend to take a call, “Um, yeah, sure. I’m getting a call… sorry, I have to take this.”
Without hesitation, he responds, “Who is it? Your boyfriend? I bet a beautiful girl like yourself has the boys lining up and down the street,” he says with a laugh, coughing, wet and phlegmy like a homeless guy with emphysema.
I ignore him and begin speaking to the invisible identity on the other side of the phone conversation. “Oh, hey, I was waiting for you to call me back. How have you been?” I listen to the sounds of silence and, every once in a while, I ask another question. “I heard you just got back from a trip, how’d that go?” As silence begins to share her story of a trip to the beach, the identity in my seat blocking me in, remains patient.
I look at him from the corner of my eye and he smiles back creepily tapping his wrist, glancing towards the back of the car, and back to me.
I shrug my shoulders as he inches closer and places his sweaty, left palm on my hand. My breathing stops, my speaking stops, but my heart beats faster. With his right hand, he forms a tight grasp around my right hand and my cell phone.
I’m numb. I’m frightened. I’m petrified.
He slowly closes my cell phone, ending my call with silence. I’m trembling inside and out, but he strokes my hand— his attempt at keeping me calm and quiet. Frantically, I search for help from anybody on the train, but fear blinds me— I’m on my own.
DING! PA system announces our arrival as the train begins to decelerate.
“So come on, my treat, let’s catch that movie” he says gingerly, yet nervously, glancing back at the old man sleeping in his hoody covered head as if considering whether or not the old man will be able to ID Mr. Dreadlock once my beaten and
butchered body is discovered in the river the next day.
I don’t answer. I can’t answer. He draws his arms back and subtly returns to his normal sitting position. Still bewildered and confused, We look at each other. His eyes, once dilated with mystery, are now dilated with sadness; mine with trepidation. He suddenly seems sober.
As the train comes to a stop, the doors swing open. I notice a young lady around the age of the mysterious stranger waving and smiling on the landing. Mr. Dreadlock looks back at me as he leaves the car, smiling that Cheshire Cat grin and hugging his girlfriend swinging her around jovially. Huh. I’m confused and relieved as the doors close and the train begins to pull away from the station.
DING! Next stop is my stop, 10 minutes. My mind and body are exhausted from the excitement. Mind gets foggy, eyes heavy…..as a hand firmly covers my mouth from behind.
Technorati Tags: anti depressants, ashlyn, bliss, cell phone, close to the edge, Critique, elderly man, evil mind, final destination, happy couple, humid summer, light rail station, Mystery, pen name, railing, Reals, restaurants, sacred moment, teenage girls, thinking time, ticket booth, tired eyes, train, transit association, Valentino, vignette, walkway, wood bench
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