Othello Station (15 page)

“Relax, Grant,” Samantha giggles, glancing over her shoulder at me. She reaches out to accept the tray Mira’s offering. “It’s just the room service I ordered.” She laughs again and rolls her eyes at Mira. “Sorry, honey. He’s a little on edge today. Is this everything?”

Mira’s hands tremble a little as they hand Samantha the silver tray. The exchange is simple, but Mira’s expression lances me. I can’t bear to watch. So I step forward to take the tray from Samantha’s hands, moving to set it down on the edge of the desk. “Yes,” Mira’s voice cracks. “That should be everything. Can I get you anything else?”

“No,” we both answer at the same time.

“Grant, the tip?” Samantha just her chin out, pointing to my wallet on the table. I hurriedly snatch it up and yank out the first bills I get my hands on.

“Yeah, of course.” I clear my throat and walk back to the door, extending the handful of cash. “Thank you for bringing this up.”

Mira’s voice tightens as she shakes her head, adamantly refusing the money. “Actually, we cannot accept tips. It’s a hotel policy. Thank you, though.”

“What kind of hotel policy is that?” Samantha’s nose scrunches in disbelief and disgust. “You can’t be serious. This is the service industry. You guys must be able to take tips!”

“The rules vary from hotel to hotel. Sadly, we’re not a tipping establishment.”

“Well, we insist.” Samantha shoves the tip at Mira and eyes the food tray. “Our little secret. Oh, that smells soooo good. Oh!” She looks at me in question. “Do we have plates? I don’t think we have—”

“We have plates,” I say, moving to shut the door.

“What about forks? We’re going to need forks.”

I place my hands firmly on Samantha’s shoulders and move her aside, out of Mira’s view. “Yep. Have those, too.” My head drops and I thank Mira under my breath, unable to look at her. Unable to imagine the thoughts that must be racing through her head right this moment.

As she turns to leave, she mutters softly. “Coward.” It’s not an accusation. It’s not even an insult. It’s a statement. The door is nearly closed, turning on its hinges.

I yank it back open.

“Be right back,” I say to Samantha. “I was wrong. We need silverware.”

“What? No, we don’t.” She holds up some utensils she’s found near the kitchenette. “We have some right here.”

“Cups, then.” I reach for my shirt and tug it on, then take off running down the hall after Mira. Samantha’s voice continues to call after me, silenced when the door slams. “Mira!”

She’s already to the elevator. Shoulders stiff, eyes watering. She jams the button over and over. “Come on,” she mumbles, begging the elevator gods to let her through.

“Mira, hold up.” Like an idiot, I rush up to her and reach out to touch her shoulder. She flinches and jerks away.”

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Listen to me.”

“Don’t fucking speak to me.”

“I’m not good for you.”

“Clearly.” She jams the button again, cursing.

“I don’t…I don’t commit. I don’t get involved. Ever. I can’t.”

“I never asked you for anything.”

“You didn’t. But I want—”

“To hurt people? To hurt yourself? That’s obvious. Spare me, will you?”

“I want you.” The words cut me on the way out. They sting every part of me. I can’t stand what this girl’s doing to me.

“Yeah, you sure have a fucked-up way of showing it.”

“I’m not ready, Mira. I’m not ready for you. There was no warning. I hate that you just flew into my life and stirred shit up, okay? You make me feel things that I’m not ready to feel. I don’t want it!”

“Why, because feeling something is so bad? Let me ask you something, Grant.” She turns sharply on her heel to face me head on. The elevator finally opens, but no one’s inside. I slam it shut, pounding the button to close the doors. “You think you’re the only one who lost something?”

“What? No. What are you talking—”

“I don’t know what happened to your father. I’m sure it was really goddamn bad, whatever it was. And I’m sorry for that. I think it really fucked you up. I lost a baby. In Portland. I didn’t want it to begin with, and he didn’t, either. But I chose to keep it. And life took it away from me in the end, anyway. So I came here. Only to lead myself into another mess. Another loss. But you know what?” She steps closer, bringing us nose to nose. I almost step back. I want to. “Not once did I ever deliberately hurt someone to protect myself. To somehow justify the fucked up universe. I didn’t blame the world or anyone else. Bad things just happen—everyday, to all kinds of people. We can’t control it and we can’t change it. But we can choose to be decent fucking human beings. To get back on the horse, even when we don’t feel like it. We can choose to see the good in people. In ourselves. And get on with our lives.” Her hand lifts to touch my face, hesitating in anger.

I blink, transfixed by the angel’s touch. The dove’s wings flap all around me, breathing life into me from every direction. I cannot move; I cannot breathe.

“I’m sorry for your pain. I didn’t know your father, and I know nothing of his death. But I doubt he would have wanted this for you. But I won’t be collateral. I’ve come too far and have fought too hard to face my own demons. You’re not going to take me down with you.” She lets go of my cheek and backs away. “I wanted you, too. I think I fell in love with you. But love shouldn’t hurt. Not like this.” The elevator gods’ timing is perfect. They open again, finally letting her pass the pearly gates. She hurriedly steps inside as the doors glide open, joining a small cluster of waiting hotel guests. They separate me from her. The second her face is good, something clenches in my chest. I stand there, lifeless, catching my reflection in the elevator doors. It stares back at me, hard and unyielding, just as it did that day in the kitchen, in my apartment.

I look away.

Then I bolt, heading straight for my hotel room. I knock on the door and Samantha lets me in, her hair blown back as I whiz past her. Once again, my body and mind are possessed. I have only two thoughts. “Get out,” I say to Samantha. That’s one.

“What?”

“Leave. Please.”

“Not this again.” Her head falls back dramatically. She’s standing there munching on a sandwich, rolling her eyes at me. “You can’t be serious. I’ve barely eaten. I just got here!”

I grab her clothes and shove everything on the food tray into a pile, then dump it just outside the door.

“Hey! What the hell, Grant?”

I spin around and hold the door open. “What if I told you, right now, that every time we’ve seen each other meant nothing to me? That I have zero interest in ever getting to know you. That this thing is never going anywhere, ever. Would that change something for you? Would you stop spreading your legs for me at the drop of a hat, every time I call?”

She freezes, her sandwich hanging in midair.

“You’ve known all this. I’ve made it clear from the get-go. But if any small part of you ever wondered even for a second, that this could turn into something more, let me clarify it for you now. It won’t. I’m done. I need you to leave.”

It takes another second for Samantha to get her bearings. To move. To realize just what a prick I am. To finally see the ugliness. The same ugliness I see everytime I think of what a coward I am. Mira couldn’t have been more dead on. “Bastard.” Samantha chucks the sandwich on the desk and snatches her clothes from the floor, then flies out the door. She doesn’t look back. She shouldn’t. Because the only other thought racing through my head right now is that I’m in love with another girl. I’m in love with Mira.

Fuck.

I swing around, eyes wild. My pulse is pounding. Sweat trickles, beads of it forming on my forehead and neck. My body throws me into action. I dart to my suitcase, rifling through my shit to find the blood pressure cuff. I dig it out and then rush to the desk, grabbing bottle after bottle of vitamins with shaky hands. I screw off the lids one by one, popping out one of each. I pop them down the hatch, gulping at a bottle of water. Images of the photos Mira discovered slam me, piercing my thoughts like shots to the chest. “Aahhh!” I shout into the hotel’s room’s silence, cursing at the emptiness and the world that created it—at the universe for dealing me this hand.

My shaky hands shoot forward, knocking the vitamin bottles clear off the desk. They tumble everywhere, some of them flying across the room, bouncing off the wall. I throw the blood pressure cuff down, ripping the Velcro off my arm in rage. What does it matter? How does any of this matter? So what if I end up sick like my father? Then I die, too. Just like him. Then what? It’s all over. Big fucking deal. What am I so goddamn afraid of? I’ve been kidding myself. I can’t control what happens to me anymore than I could control what happened to my father.

Mira was right.

Everything is a blur around me as I stumble to the edge of the bed, dropping my head in my hands. With sweaty, unsteady fingers, I brace my temples, breathing in deeply, then back out, just like the shrink taught me. Just like the self-help books and health anxiety support groups suggested. None of that shit lasted long. Now I wish I could remember everything else they taught me. I wish I would’ve paid more attention. I wish I would’ve kept up with it all. But it was too easy to let it go. Too easy to walk away, to avoid.

I give up on the breathing exercise and yank my coat from the chair, then hightail it out of the hotel room. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t have to. All I know is I can’t spend another minute in this hotel room. And I can’t go home.

I don’t know where home is anymore.

The night swallows me up as I run down Denny Ave. I’m not wearing my workout clothes. I don’t even have my iPod. I’m just running until my lungs burn. Until I can’t feel anything but the pain radiating in my chest. It swims there, along with another brand of pain. One I’ve never felt before. I’m in love with a girl. She should’ve been nothing. But as I haul ass down the sidewalk like a crazed person running from invisible demons, I realize she’s everything now. The reason I can’t avoid life anymore. The reason I can’t think straight and the reason I suddenly miss the carefree elation that comes with a good smile.

I pat my coat pocket for my wallet and phone. Thank God, they’re both there. I make it another three blocks and finally slow down, resting my hands on my knees to drag in some breath. I’ve chased some of the panic away. I’ve pushed out some of the demons. But they’re still hot on my tail, fighting to take me back to that place I know so well. Desperate to escape them for good, I jog to the corner of the sidewalk and hail the first cab to drive by. I jump in and direct the driver to take me to Capitol Hill. I have to get to Mira’s place. She’s still at work, for all I know. But I have to get there. I have to be there when she gets home. I have to be ready, be waiting. And waiting at the hotel’s front desk is not the place to do this.

She has to know I love her, too. She has to know she’s changed me. And that I don’t want to hurt her. That I know pushing her away isn’t the answer. Killing this thing dead just as it’s coming to life is downright stupid. It’s just another prime example of what I can’t control. I can’t control love. I can’t stop my feelings for Mira. They’re fireballs, spiraling and sailing straight for their target, and if I don’t get out of their way and let them do their thing, I’ll burn with them. I can’t fuck with the natural course.

The city is thriving as usual as we cruise toward the Hill. Loads of traffic piles up, bumper to bumper, as middle fingers fly and shouts from disgruntled cab drivers burst from car windows. Pedestrians dart out into the crosswalks on death wishes, while my cab driver curses at them in some foreign tongue. My mind is filled with all of the things I want to say to Mira. With everything I wish I would’ve said—wish I would’ve realized—while standing there with her at the elevator. A dam explodes, and all I want to do is confess. I want to tell her everything. The desire is nearly choking me, threatening to stake claim on my life. But I wasn’t ready. I’m still not, but timing is a real bitch. We don’t get to choose that, either.

The cab slows as we hit a throng of traffic. Denny Way is at a complete standstill. This is the senseless art of driving in the city. It takes you thirty damn minutes just to make it three blocks. “Hey, I don’t mean to be a pain in the ass, but can you pick up the pace? Try hopping on 5
th
Ave. and cutting down Olive. Hell, head all the way down to Pike, maybe. Anything will be faster than this.”

The driver waves his hand in irritation. “No matter which way I go, it will be busy.” His eyes flash to mine in the rearview mirror. “You live downtown?”

“Yeah.”

“So, then you know. This is just how it is. Faster if you walk.”

I look at him like he’s an idiot. Is he trying to cut my fare in half? He’s the one losing, if so. “Forget it. Keep going.” I might look at him like he’s an idiot, and his attitude might be pissing me the hell off, but I’ll give credit where credit is due. He’s right. Traffic in the city this time of day is bad no matter which road you choose to get to your destination. And I just happen to be heading for one of the most popular neighborhoods around. A bus is cheaper, but it won’t be any faster.

The driver goes silent, banging his steering wheel as he tries to change lanes, and I lean back in the seat and let him be. Maybe if I back off, he’ll want to throttle me less and get me to my destination sooner. We’re slowly inching our way closer to the Hill, and my heart rate is finally slowing down a little. If anything, the traffic is giving me time to gather my thoughts and chill the fuck out. I exhale and let my head roll back onto the headrest, allowing my eyes to drift shut. The car accelerates and lurches forward. Tires screech, and the cab driver shouts.

My head snaps up and my eyes pop open.

A rush of air is punched from my lungs. Everything slows down, creating a dichotomy of sensation. The world flashes in front of me quickly, with sharp precision, but plays in slow motion at the same time. The hard pounding of metal mixes with the dense crack of plastic. Glass shatters all around me, spraying my body with little shards. My body shifts all the way to the left, then to the right, matching the driver’s track. We both ricochet off the center consoles and are flung back into our seats, snapping like rubber bands.

Wings flap above my head, drowning out the crunching of glass and the scraping of metal on concrete. Horns blare from outside, but those are drowned out, too. The wings fan my face and neck, sending a whimsical, peaceful breeze from above. Another loud band sounds from somewhere in the distance, this one with more gusto. People scream and more tires screech. Someone yells for someone else to call 911. Adrenaline pumps through me, and everything speeds up, as if the world is on fast forward. My driver falls limp in front of me, his head rolling to the side. Bright red trickles from the corner of his temple, and I can’t look away.

I can’t stop staring at the blood.

My limbs jerk, and I’m suddenly flying forward, then wiggling from left to right, trying to find a way out of the car. Gasoline stings my nostrils, the stench filling the car with such intensity, I’m on the verge of passing out. Lightheadedness swamps me and I cry out, feeling something sharp slice my back. My fingers move to my hip, feeling for the seatbelt. I hear a click and some of the pressure lessens at my hip and back. I struggle to grip the door handle, throwing my body weight against the door to jam it open. My skin is numb. Everything is numb as I work to manipulate my limbs, as if I’m paralyzed and have to guess where my feet and fingers are, as if I’m learning to use them for the first time.

“Hey, Kid!” A man in a business suit dashes toward my door, but pauses, glancing frantically at the front of the car. His gaze is wild as he takes in the scene around us.  “Ambulance is on the way, but we have to get you out. We need to get your driver out, too.” He points to the hood of the car and my dizzy gaze wobbles, following his gesture. A plume of smoke has formed over the hood, billowing out and up into the air around us. The sight only sends my brain into overdrive, pushing it to work harder to figure out how to move my arms and legs.

I slam my body into the door again, yanking the handle as hard as I can.

The businessman yells something else at me, but he continues to keep his distance. I can’t make out his words now. Everything is muddled. My vision grows blurrier by the second. I manage to open the car door and stumble out into the street, tripping and falling onto my side. The gasoline stings my eyes. It’s everywhere, saturating the road around us. The man and a group of other pedestrians hurry toward me, trying to pick me up and drag me away from the car, lifting my arms over their shoulders. My eyelids grow heavier and heavier, but the smell of the gas keeps me conscious.

In seconds, I’ve been placed on a nearby sidewalk, and then my heroes dart toward the cab again, this time going for the driver, who still remains unconscious behind the wheel. Sirens fill the air, moaning in the distance, and I begin to give into the heavy weight that’s pulling on my eyelids.

“Hey, Kid?” The businessman’s voice calls to me again, but his image is blurry. The weight is winning. “Can you hear me? We need to keep moving.” He and the others drag me and the cab driver farther down the sidewalk, grunting and panting with every step. The sirens grow closer. Firetrucks sound, joining the chorus. My eyes finally start to close, catching one last glimpse of the scene before me before shutting me off to the world. A chaotic pile-up litters the road. At least four vehicles are involved, one of them a delivery truck of some sort.

The world disappears, fading to black, but not before a flash of orange explodes before us, drenching us in skin-searing warmth. Screams sound from every direction, and for a split second, my eyes pop open wide in one last battle cry, determined to see my fate. Another flash dances with another loud bang, and then I’m gone. The black has taken me. But not before I gentle flapping of the dove’s wings fan my face once more. They tickle my face, then cover me in warmth, pouring rich, decadent peace all over me, from head to toe. I give into the blackness, just like I give into the dove’s touch. This is heaven.

This is home.

***

White surrounds me. But this isn’t like last time. Or the time before that. Nothing about this sensation is anything like my previous dreams. The dove is nowhere to be found, and neither is the angel that must live with the dove. Somewhere, somehow, they reside together, maybe in the clouds or some shit. Who knows. They must be in that sacred place, because they’re not here.

But Mira is.

My eyes focus on her as they adjust to the bright white. Her brown irises are wide and filled with concern. Mascara streaks her face, cascading down her cheeks as I register the feel of her hand on mine. “Grant?” Her voice is like rich caramel. “Can you hear me?”

I attempt to nod, but it hurts like a bitch so I try to speak instead. “Yes.”

“Are you okay?”

Even in my immobile state, I easily relay my signature bland expression, passing it to her with the utmost finesse.

“I know,” she shakes her head, a sad grin peeking through, “stupid question.”

“Very.”

“What I mean is, I need you to be okay. Should I get the nurse?”

“No.” I swallow. My throat is dry. I feel as if I could drink ten gallons of water. I sigh heavily, wincing from the pain in my ribcage. “I hate hospitals.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“You fought with me in the ambulance the whole way here.”

“I did?”  My tired, achy mind attempts to piece together all that brought me here. Images of my run down Denny and the cab ride come back, slowly but surely allowing me to relive the awful scene. “How did you find me?”

“You told the cops to call me at the hotel. They asked you for a name, a contact, while you were still somewhat coherent.”

“And I asked for you?”

“Yeah. You asked for me.” She squeezes my hand, and I realize the feeling is coming back. The paralyzing sensation that was surely brought on by shock is gone.

I squeeze her hand back. “Mira, there’s so much I need to say to you.”

“It can wait.”

“No. It can’t.”

“Grant, you’re in a hospital bed. You have broken ribs and a nasty wound on your back from broken glass. And you almost burned to death. We can talk about petty life drama later.”

“But this isn’t petty.” I call on what little strength I have to sit up a bit, flinching with each muscle movement. Mira flinches with me, reaching out but thinking twice before she touches me. I nod to the cup of water on the bedside, and she jumps to retrieve it, bringing it to my lips. I take it from her and sip slowly, letting it soothe my dry throat. “You’re right.” My voice is stronger this time. “My dad’s passing fucked me up. I know that doesn’t make me any different from anyone else who lost a parent. I know I’ve been blaming the world. But I’ve mostly been blaming myself.”

Mira waits patiently for a beta of silence to pass between us. “Why?”

“Because I wasn’t there when he needed me most. I checked out. Completely. He’d meet me at Othello Station and we’d take the train together to his chemo appointments downtown. But towards the end, I…I couldn’t stand to see him anymore. I’d watch him from my apartment window. Watch him stand at the station. Watch him wait for me. He’d never come to the building to knock on my door. He just…” I cough, and it sends a shooting pain through my throat. I take another sip of water, inhaling slowly to draw on more strength. I’m not sure where it comes from. This subject is threatening to take my life all over again.

My eyes meet Mira’s, and I realize exactly where it’s coming from.

“He just knew,” I choke out. “And then the day came. The end. And I got the call.”

“And?”

My fingers tighten around Mira’s. A flood of pain beats at me, but I push through. I can, because the dove’s here. The angel’s wings are around me. “And I didn’t go to see him. I never said goodbye.”

Mira’s jaw clenches and it’s as if all the air is sucked from the room. Seconds tick by. They feel like hours. She finally stands and moves closer to my side, peering down at me with the most empathetic, beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.

“The health anxiety stuff.”

“Yeah.”

“It all makes sense.”

“Does it? It just seems fucking whacked to me.”

“Well, that too.”

“Thanks.”

She bends toward me, her head floating down over mine , bringing her lips to my forehead. She sighs and folds her arms, studying me. “You’re just as crazy as me.”

“I am?”

“Yup.” A little laugh escapes as she wipes at her tears.

“Well, then. I guess I knew it’d never work out.”

“You have it all wrong. Crazy dwells with other Crazy.”

“That sounds like a really bad quote from Ghandi. I wouldn’t quit my job at the hotel, if I were you.”