Beth’s head was reeling as she took one unsteady step after another down to the train platform below. The rain, clinging to damp clothing and ordinary umbrellas, made its way inside the station in drips and drabs. High heels and slippery surfaces: a recipe for disaster, she frowned, regretting her choice of attire that evening. Immediately to her left, humanity, represented in every sex, skin colour, ethnicity, and physical proportion, was heading up the same flight of stairs she was so carefully descending. Their climb reminded her of wild salmon, their final destination a reference fixed in DNA.
She noticed a mother scanning the faces of hurried passers-by, eyes pleading for assistance, her two young children sleeping quietly in their pushchair. Three children, actually—the oldest initially obscured by the single-door fridge bulk of a beige travelling case. Just as the thought of an excuse was forming in Beth’s head, a group of football fans swept everything up and carried it merrily, while the woman walked behind them with the third child in hand. Her expression was one of immense gratitude, some of the weight of weariness having fallen off her shoulders. This was not her last stop of the night, but at least something was right with humanity that evening.
Beth finally reached the bottom of the stairs and was now gazing in the direction of the maps on the wall separating two platforms. Thick red lines were clearly demarcated with the names of train stations in navy blue, juxtaposed against a matte white metal background with peeling corners. She made her way to the nearest bench and slumped near the edge of a neon-orange plastic seat. A cheap folding umbrella, pristine white in colour, lay on the seat next to hers. Someone had forgotten it and would surely regret it as soon as they left their station.
The inner lining of her clothes did a good job of keeping the dampness at bay, but not even the considerable amounts of alcohol she’d consumed earlier could stave off the chill spreading throughout her body. A head-splitting hangover and an unpleasant cold would most assuredly follow in the coming days. While she made a mental effort to compartmentalise these, as well as many other random thoughts, she almost missed it—a mouse! The cotton ball-sized critter was carefully examining its immediate surroundings for a source of nourishment. Beth had read somewhere that frequent sightings of rodents out in the open were an indication of growing populations. Why else would these guys run the risk of getting accidentally squished by a hurried urbanite?
Her mind wandered to a dark crack in the wall at the edge of the platform. She thought she could make out barely audible squeaks and the noise of tiny feet scurrying around; even tinier nails, scratching. She pictured a swarm of grey fur and beady black eyes whirling beneath the stone floor.
Anne slapped the coffee table in exasperation, drawing the attention of almost everyone in the small café. “You’re not listening to me, Beth! There you go again, wandering off to only God knows where!”
“I am sorry,” Beth replied, her breathing quickened, heartbeat atypical for someone in a seated position.
Anne leaned back in her chair, a soft sigh escaping her lips, her face bearing a mask of resignation. She looked out through one of the many windows standing between them and the elements outside. Rain, unlike a soft white curtain of snowfall, did not do a good job of obscuring the ugliness that every city possessed. Instead, it somehow managed to highlight it all with a translucent sheen.
“I know I am taking a risk, but I think I am in love with you!” Beth’s fingers delicately sought the warm reconciliation of Anne’s. While Anne didn’t resist, she made no attempt to reciprocate, either. “Give me a chance, that is all I ask. Please.”
“It’s my fault that the man I care about is so far away now. Don’t you get it, Beth? I love you like a friend, but it’s him I’m thinking about when we are together.”
Anne’s eyes were like two unsympathetic pools of emerald green, Beth thought. She often found herself lost in their cool depths, staring at them and their gorgeous owner in moments of oblivious adoration. The latest admission from Anne produced a dull ache in her chest, but she wasn’t about to give up. A more sensible individual would have reluctantly accepted friendship over the possibility of alienating someone completely. At that very moment, however, Beth’s cognitive faculties had left the space the two of them temporarily occupied. Anne was the only celestial body she’d gladly revolve around until the end of time.
“Things will get better with time, I am sure of it.”
But Anne didn’t even look at her. A man in his early twenties approached their table brusquely. He wore black trousers—the kind usually sold in packs of five—and a clean white shirt a size too big for him. In a manner that suggested his shift still had quite some time left, he asked whether they needed anything.
“The bill, please. I’ve got a contactless card,” Anne said, reaching for her bag.
“Can I walk with you a bit more?” Beth asked.
“It’s getting late, Beth. At this rate, you won’t be able to get back home on time. I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Anne smiled, her lips pursed.
The rain showed no signs of letting up. She hugged Beth, then started in the direction of the nearest pedestrian crossing. Beth did not move a muscle. Her eyes, pupils fully dilated, were completely blind to everything except a lone white umbrella swaying gently in the distance. Then, it was gone.
While she stood there motionless, an announcement broke through the noise of traffic and heavy raindrops, clear as day:
“Ladies and gentlemen, the last train has now left. Please make your way towards the station exits. Don’t forget to take your litter with you.”
Leave a Reply