Page 78 of Leaving the Station
She glances between my eyes and my lips, but after a moment of nothing, she looks away.
We haven’t kissed since early this morning, and I’m worried it’s because we’re getting closer to the final destination. To where she has to get off the train and live a life where she pretends to be straight. Or at least where she can’t act on her queerness.
Oakley and I continue to set up for the party, side by side. We hang a poster that says, “Doggonit, it’s your birthday,” and has a Dalmatian standing on its hind legs and wearing sunglasses.
We talk as we work, but we don’t broach the subject of Mormonism. I don’t tell her that she doesn’t have to go back, that she could go to Seattle or return to New York and be in a place that, for the most part, doesn’t believe that queer people are ruining the sanctity of marriage.
“Guys!” Jeff yells from the other end of the car. “Look!”
At first, I’m worried something’s wrong, but when I glance out the window, I understand. For most of the day, we’ve been staring at flat plains, at barren land covered with fresh snow.
But now there’s an imposing mountain in the distance, glowing purple in the last gasp of sunlight.
When I’m finally able to turn my gaze from the window and look at Oakley, her eyes are watery.
“It’s so beautiful,” she says, touching the glass as a tear drips down her perfectly upturned nose and onto the floor. “I’m sorry; this is embarrassing.”
“No,” I tell her, tentatively reaching out to wipe a rogue tear from the corner of her eye. She doesn’t flinch as I do. “It’s really not.”
She continues staring out the window, and as much as I’m moved by the view, it’s more that I’m moved by watching her watch the view. By the awe she has for this scenery that we get to witness together.
Before I can think too much, I rest my hand on her thigh, and she grabs it, holding me steady.
It feels so natural, so right. I want to see how Oakley reacts to every landscape on earth. I want to hear every thought she has, which would take a thousand lifetimes.
But I can’t let myself think like that, because it’s almost over.
“Oakley,” I start, wanting to tell her what’s on my mind, to say a million things that I can’t because we’re in a crowded car on a cross-country journey that’s going to end before we know it.
She squeezes my hand, as if she knows what I’m thinking.
“It’s almost five o’clock!” someone shouts, ending the moment Oakley and I were having, even if it was just in my head.
Five was the time that Aya told us she’d be done with her “rest” (she insisted it was not a nap, and that she would never fall asleep). I think she knows what we’re planning, but we all still try to hide from her as best we can. We duck under chairs, behind the steep staircase leading down to the snack car.
“You ready?” Oakley whispers from where we’re crouched next to someone’s backpack.
I hold my breath; my heart’s beating out of my chest, thoughwhether that’s from the anticipation of surprising Aya or Oakley’s presence, I’m not sure.
“Not really,” I tell her. Now that we’re done planning the party, it feels like an ending.
She smiles sadly, then whispers, “We did good,” into my ear.
Instead of responding, I lean forward and kiss her, hard. It’s cramped, but I manage to wrap a hand around her waist, pulling her into me at an odd angle, hip to hip. When we’re done, she leans her forehead against mine.
Finally, the door between the cars opens and there’s a collective intake of breath as everyone else jumps up and yells, “SURPRISE!”
Two Days before Thanksgiving Break
“Surprise,” Alden said, handing me a small box wrapped in brown paper.
“What’s this?”
We were in the student union, and though I’d lost track of the time, it had to have been around two in the morning. That’s when the security guard stomped through the building to check student IDs. We presented ours, and he nodded and kept stomping.
There were other places we could’ve been, but this one felt like ours.
“It’s nothing,” Alden told me. “I just thought you might...”
