Page 6 of I Love My Mistake
Chapter Four
Eighteen Minutes Later
Standing on the subway platform, I sneak a look at the many posters of upcoming movies and see one where someone’s drawn a mustache on Vince Vaughn. I bet he’s the kind of guy who’d think that was really funny. If Jess were here, we’d be amused together and she’d lighten my mood. As it is, I’m alone. I stare ahead and wait with a small group of three other New Yorkers, a group that grows to ten, fifteen, twenty, then forty, within less than five minutes. The wind picks up, the one that says a train is speeding toward you. I close my eyes because the idea of rat-poop, people-spit and dead skin cells blowing through the air and into my mouth and eyes, is something I’ll never ‘unsee’ once Amber pointed it out to me that that’s what happens. I used to think the wind from the trains down here in the tunnels was romantic. And Jason used to think he was enough for me. Knowledge kills.
As the train comes to a stop, and the wind with it, my ears pick up a brief tidbit of conversation next to me, by two girls who look to be in their late teens. “Is she a model?” one whispers. “Gotta be,” the other says, eyeing me from the side. I wait until we walk on the train to look at them. I consider keeping my mouth shut, but tonight isn’t one of those nights. I turn to let them know with my face, that I overheard them. When I have their attention, I say, “I’m not a model, actually. Modeling doesn’t interest me. I wouldn’t wish it on one of my worst enemies and I suggest you follow my lead. But, thank you for the compliment.”
They share a look and the shorter one asks me, as she grabs onto the pole with the lurching train, “Why not? I’d kill to be a model.”
“Yeah?” Memories of my mother spring to mind, how little she ate, how it killed her in the end. How I’m alone now because she was so obsessed with being skinny. I look at these young souls and decide at the last moment to spare them my sob story. But it’s against my nature to hold back wanting to nudge them in a healthier direction. They’re both staring at me, waiting for the response they know is coming. I’m sure I look very serious. Good.
“I don’t know girls, to be judged like that – all the time? On what you look like, and not who you are? I get that enough with my skin color. It’s not fun.” I give them my best look of experience, like I’m one of the wise people who answer questions from snowy mountaintops.
One of them mutters under her breath, “Whatever,” not trying to disguise her disdain. The other leans in to her friend and agrees, “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” Either I missed my mark, or my wisdom is lost on these two. Teenagers think they know everything.
Normally I’d keep my mouth shut and write them off, go back to staring forward and waiting for my stop, but when I hear them share a knowing giggle and a look, one that clearly says I’m crazy and old – and I’m only twenty-nine! – agitation gets the best of me and I can’t help but say, “You know what?! Fuck you guys.”
Their jaws drop open as the bags on their shoulders sway from the speeding corner. They’ve got that freaked out look I’ve seen on people’s faces when I’m angry. But I don’t care right now. Both the little twats are holding onto poles and I hope they’re covered in germs like Amber says they are.
“You heard me. I’m giving you a piece of knowledge and you giggle in my face, and act like I can’t see you being rude? Least you could do is wait to talk about me behind my back. I mean, really. You think you know things? You know zip. Buckle up, girls.” The train lurches as though to prove my point. “Life ain’t gonna be what you think it is.” The hissing sound of the door opening behind me, pulls my attention – this is my stop – but I hold their eyes prisoner for a powerful extra second, then turn and glide off the train right before the doors close again.
When I walk up the stairs and out into the streets of Manhattan, my phone lights up with a text from Jason: Lose him.
I talk to the text like he can hear me, walking as I squeeze my jacket tighter against the chilled night air. “I’m sorry Jason, but you’ll go before he does. Life is short and this chick ain’t giving up yet.” I tuck it away and head home.