Stu tasted blood
and saw red stars go black and only the pain didn’t reside as he opened his
eyes to watch the train continue down the track. And now it was too fast, even
if he was ten years younger he wouldn’t make it.
Just
as he lifted his head to watch his ride leave him bleeding, aching and
penniless: laughter rang out beside him-“Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve
laughed.” A young woman said behind her hand, she was still smiling and
writhing with mirth looking at Stu’s state. She had dark skin and Stu noticed
first that-though filled with laughter after his fall-her eyes were kind.
“Shou’da
made i’,” Stu said digging in his bag of personal affects for a sock to stuff
up his nose. “Not ash spry ash I used’a be.”
“Well
you have a great attitude,” the woman said controlling her self and perking up
on the wooden bench.
“What’cha
mean?” Asked Stu choosing his black sock and pinching his nose as he stood up.
“I
mean most people would have swore or gotten noticeably upset about missing
their train, and not to mention breaking their nose-come sit here for a moment,
I’ll watch your case,” she sprung up and swiftly lifted the suitcase to a
standing position while Stu sat on the bench in the middle of the platform. The
woman turned to him and continued, “Some people would expect help immediately or swear or spit,
curse this station the people of the world and-whatever in the world you have
in here?”
She
patted the bulging suitcase, which she now sat on, Stu noticed no ring, and
spotted her figure being thin and light. The suitcase would tear at the zipper
and seams should he sit atop the case. “Books,” Stu said simply massaging his
forehead. He asked “Ho’ bad my nose bleedin’?” “You’ll live. And I feel like
that’s your attitude, just the feeling you give off. Hughes?”
“Sorry,”
Stu responded.
“Do
you have any Langston Hughes?” She said her hands resting on her thighs holding
her bag. Her dark green skirt hanging down just below her knees
“James
Ba’dwin,” Stu replied.
“Shame,
were you trying to catch an appointment? I bet you were, you looked in a hurry.
But it’s not so bad to miss something, who ever said it was always good to be
somewhere of some imaginary importance, being anywhere-being alive!-that I
believe is important,” the woman said, looking pleasant in her wisdom and
melancholy sitting atop words written by people that must have shared in
forming that piece of knowledge. She shoved that aside, perked up and asked,
“It’s useless to ask you where you were heading, but what are you going to do
now, were you trying to sell these books earlier? At that book fair?”
“Sure,
n’Y was there yest’rday,” Stu felt safe and fascinated by this woman. Young, he
thought, but has age in the way of maturity-independent, he would describe her,
but something was wrong with her-and by wrong I mean, wronged: “’nstead of
sellin’ some of m’ books, n’Y bought some. N’Y’m a great sales’an,” she laughed. Stu asked, “Nyu don’
have ta catch’a train do nyu? Or are nyu the t’pe of person ta sit in pub’ic
placesh and watch the world go round?”
“Neither,
although I like to do the latter,” she smiled brightly-although, again-Stu
noticed a pain behind that. But she was pleasant to look at in her dark blue
blouse, her hair was loose and flowing-just above her shoulders. Stu noticed
his shirt had some blood on it’s collar, the sock was half drenched too. The bleeding
had slowed substantially, only a lesser degree of pain remained.
“M’
name’s Stu,” he proclaimed.
“Jessica,”
she replied. “The hiding-from-her-rotten-boyfriend-Jessica, well I wish it to be
ex-boyfriend. He likes to follow me you see, but I gave him the slip and have
been here for an hour. Where were you an hour ago? I could have used a book
then.”
“’Ow
abou’ a book now?”
To Be Continued (I apologize but Part 3 will be in two weeks!) Justin Vaisnor
-Next Week's Fiction Titled: "Voters"
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