Page 67 of Somewhere Along The Line
My thoughts swirl like a word cloud, one that promotes the most used word to the biggest font size. PIPER flashes in bold letters across my mind.
I spot her immediately as we roll into Roosevelt. As usual, she appears to have arrived exactly on time, her cheeks flushed and mirroring the red slouchy hat covering her hair and ears. My heart leaps at the sight of her and then falls to my knees. I have no right to be excited by her.
Worse, it’s my own damn fault.
Piper boards the train with her bag tucked between her arm and her side, the strap hanging loosely on her shoulder, and she has no apparent concern about whether she might see me here. I realize, right now, that surprising her after three weeks with no contact might be a huge mistake.
I watch her scan the car for a place to sit, knowing her eyes will venture toward the seat next to me in three, two, one, and she’s here, meeting my gaze. Her expression changes briefly, more shock than surprise, her brown eyes growing wide.
She whips around to find a seat in the front of the car and settles with her back toward me. No second glance at our set of seats or at me sitting in one of them.
Of all the possibilities I played out for this ride, I never considered that Piper might ignore me. I thought I’d get her anger, her hurt, perhaps her confusion or indignant pride. But indifference? I didn’t prepare for that.
I shift in the seat, the hard plastic creaking under the weight of my frame as I balance an elbow on the small ledge beneath the window.
It was a flash of eye contact, two seconds max, before Piper turned away. But she was solid amid her surprise. Unaffected. Intact. No hint of the heartache that’s been destroying me daily.
Without me, Piper’s life has maintained a bloom of color.
Without her, my life has slipped into grayscale.
She is alright. I’m the one who’s not.
Clarity comes swiftly, my dad’s voice echoing in my mind:you push people away who try to get close, you hurt them before they can hurt you.
Maybe I didn’t break things off to protect Piper. Clearly, she didn’t… she doesn’t… need that from me. I did it to protect myself. And it was a fucking futile endeavor because it hasn’t spared me an ounce of pain.
It has only meant I’m hurting alone.
The space next to me stays empty as we hurl toward downtown. I feel her absence from it so acutely, and it’s a small mercy no one else sits beside me. The gentle sway of Piper’s hair taunts me from several rows up, swinging beneath her hat as the train bumps along. I want to run my fingers through it, to stretch my hand along the back of her head, tucking my thumb under her ear.
It’s the sort of touch I took for granted with Piper. When I held her right here as the air filled with smoke, when we kissed in my car, when she straddled me on my couch, when we danced in the parking lot after the gala. Even when I hugged her, recklessly, at my parents’ place. That tenderness is what I miss most.
Those small moments when she felt safe under my touch.
I told her she would be safe with me. I showed her she could trust me when I said it.
And then I made her look like a fool for believing it.
My head taps lightly against the window as I gaze mindlessly, never seeing a thing outside the glass. I consider what I put Piper through, masquerading my baggage as righteousness.
Will I have the chance to tell her that forcing an ending between us was a mistake? Given her reaction when she boarded this morning, I don’t think I’ll get it.
The train slows as it approaches the platform, and I give myself a pep talk for the conversation about to happen. Whether or not I can salvage any semblance of a relationship with Piper is secondary to her right to know the trial is moving forward.
I start walking toward the doors before the train reaches the stop, positioning myself near the exit so everyone from the front of the car will see me as they approach. Piper gathers her things and stands, quickly swiping her hands on the front of her legs before turning in my direction. She doesn’t make eye contact, and it feels purposeful, an intentional decision to leave her eyes on the ground as a more comfortable alternative to my face. My stomach tightens into a knot.
“Hey,” I call softly, hoping to steal her attention without drawing the eyes of the other passengers waiting to unload. “Hey, Piper.” I try a second time, dragging myself against the flow of traffic until I’m in front of her.
My hand reaches for her arm, but I think better of it as she moves to her right to step around me. “Piper, please,” I beg, moving back into her path and blocking the exit. “We need to talk about the trial.”
For the first time all morning, her eyes snap to mine with purpose. They contain a look of confusion mixed with regret that she will have to engage with me. She nods and gestures her head toward the platform, stepping quickly off the train while I follow close behind.
We find a spot away from the throng of people and pause there. Her body language is closed at every possible spot: narrowed eyes, drawn mouth, crossed arms, and rounded shoulders. Maybe she’s not as intact as I thought. I need to start talking before I do something stupid, like wrap my arms around her and pull her to my chest.
“Hey, thank you for taking a second.” My gratitude serves as a peace offering. Piper doesn’t seem to accept it. “I… I got a call from an attorney yesterday. They want to vet me as a possible witness for the trial. It’s happening. Did you get a call as well?”
Her eyes go wide as she shakes her head, a low exhale escaping from her chest. Relief floods through me; I know how much anxiety she’d have if she were called to testify.
