Green Line

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

Now

I should have eaten breakfast.

Blinking away my daze, I take in my surroundings.  I’m on the subway but for a moment, I can’t remember if I’m coming or going.  My blood sugar feels low and I’m fighting a wave of nausea.  I slide my bag into my lap and begin digging around for a candy bar or a bottle of water.  Anything to clear the fogginess in my head.

I find a dirty piece of gum that became unwrapped and the sight of it only further makes me ill.  With a sigh, I toss it back into my bag and look around the car of the train.  Twenty or so people line the seats and hold on to bars as we glide through the tunnels.  When a man raises a bagel covered in cream cheese to his mouth and takes a bite, my stomach grumbles in jealousy.

I’m going.

To work, that is.

The thought of my job causes the muscles in my abdomen to clench with dread.  I’ve been there for two months and already three things are certain.

1) My boss hates me.

2) I’m really bad at making her coffee the ‘right’ way.

3) If you’re even five minutes late, the entire office looks at you in disgust as if you carry the plague. 

I promised myself that once I paid this month’s rent, I would switch jobs.  Anything is better than working for the punctual witch with bizarre sugar to creamer ratio requirements.  Yet, the thought of pouring coffee into plain white mugs for tired, third shift patrons at the diner Mom used to work at has me really wanting to puke.  

But how long can I go on like this?

Each day, taking the green line from my apartment in the Lower East Side into the financial district. Each day marching up the steps out of the subway and toward my barely above minimum wage job. Each day coming back home to a shared shoebox of a home where my roommate leaves used condoms on the bathroom floor, never seeming able to make them into the trash can.  Each day thwarting the pleading of my ex-boyfriend to come back to him.

Another day in the life that’s me.

It’s exhausting.

My mind drifts to the pill bottle in my bag.  I’ve stopped taking the newest pill.  For seven years I’ve stuck it out with Dr. Morris.  Every so often, he mixes up my medication regime and we deal with the consequences as my body grows used to the newest concoction.  It’s only been six days and I’m beginning to slip back into my old ways.  

Melancholy thoughts twist themselves deep into my brain.

A permanent ache that can’t be soothed has formed in my chest. 

Dark clouds of despair swirl around in my head as an epic storm of depression forms.

I’m tempted to dig my phone out and call Brian.  Even though we’re broken up now, it’s times like these that I miss him.  Of course, I don’t miss the way he was when he’d drink one too many shots of whiskey which was often toward the end of our relationship.  But I missed the early days.  When we’d lie in bed all day and talk about nothing.  The days when all that mattered was grabbing a quick bite so we could crawl back under the covers and hold onto each other for dear life.

Loving Brian wasn’t easy or a feat I’d managed to accomplish.  However, I truly loved being with him when he was Brian.  Not that thing he became late at night—that thing that poked holes into my soul, further tattering it.

When he was the Brian playing grab-ass in the shower or rubbing my feet after a long day at work—that was the part of him I loved.  If only he wasn’t two different people, life could have almost been pretty okay.  I could have managed to ignore the way I hated my job.  I could have moved in with him.  I could have eventually loved him.

But six days later, my ribs still hurt.  

My pride hurts.

The loss of the most constant person in my life, really fucking hurts.

I clutch my bag and take a deep breath.  Being off my meds means that everything is clearer.  More brutal.  More threatening to my wellbeing.  

I will not call Brian.

With a rush of air, I exhale and lift my chin.  I can do this.  My job may be awful but I can always get a new one.  The man I thought I had a future with can go to hell.  I can be a stable woman without the foggy assistance of the medication.

My eyes scan the other passengers who all seem oblivious to my internal struggles.  They’re all probably dealing with their own shortcomings and unhappiness.  Not one person smiles or shows any signs of life.  Not a single person even attempts a smile.

They’re all just as lost as me.

Everyone sways in the same direction as the subway quickly screeches to a halt.  We’ve reached my stop—the stop where I go face more despondent people at my dreary place of employment.  The doors open once we’ve come to the end of our ride.  People file out in haste as more rush in, eager to get to wherever it is they’re going.

I stand on shaky feet and sling my bag over my shoulder.  My mood has only darkened with each step as I exit the train.  The nauseating feeling rushes over me once again and I wonder in a fleeting moment if stopping to pick up a parfait in the deli of our building is worth the condescending looks I’ll undoubtedly get should I be late because of it.

The floor seems to spin out from beneath me and I’m thankful for the sturdy column that I’m able to grab onto.  Screw their looks.  I’m getting food.

Awareness that someone is watching me prickles the hairs on my arms.  I lift my eyes and scan the crowd, searching for the cause.  Amidst the sea of faceless drones, one sticks out.  This one is different.  This one isn’t staring past me.  This one is staring at me. 

His dark hair sticks out from under his charcoal grey woven beanie and attempts to hide his chocolate-colored eyes from me.  But his eyes tell a story and aren’t keen on staying hidden.  They’re kind and I see laughter in them as they peek through the hair at me.  If his eyes seem happy, I wonder about his mouth.  My stomach clenches for an entirely different reason this time as my eyes land on his full lips that are quirked up in a half grin.  

I’m mesmerized by him.

This man staring at me.

The man that reminds me of Crow, a silly yet loyal bird.  I narrow my eyes at him and send him a silent message, much like I would that old bag of feathers. 

Maybe you’ll be here this afternoon, Crow.

The name seems fitting.

With a twinkle in his eyes, he winks at me and his smile broadens.

Maybe I will.

This man, I think I like him.