I walked, weaving between people, passing a man playing some kind of instrument near the intersection of an overflowing trash can and a crowded metal bench. I didn't get a good look at him, only seeing his tattered brown overcoat and black beanie for a moment before a stone pillar blocked my view. However, the music still made its way to my ears; hearing "La Vie en Rose'' in a modern metropolitan train station wasn't exactly a common occurrence.
If you closed your eyes and ignored the smell, you'd think I was in Paris rather than Philadelphia. Stumbling towards my platform, the location of not really being of importance, I caught a glimpse of myself in the protective glass of an advertisement and truly saw who I was for the first time in a decade.
My hair was the same as it had been before my job- that chestnut brown colour my grandparents had always said I'd been blessed with.
My eyes weren't much different either, maybe I had a couple wrinkles around them but that's to be expected for women with my occupation. Blending in, never knowing if they would both get caught, always changing appearances: it was a tough life.
A life that wasn't my own. I had been living as Sophie, as Juliana, as any other woman for too long. Running a few quick "get it and go" schemes should not have taken several years.
Running away from a life that seemed too simple, too boring, too safe.
As I peered at the streaky glass, a freckled face staring back, I realized that I never should have ran at all. Maybe all my decisions had been mistakes- maybe it wasn't worth it.
No, I tried to shake myself out of my delusion, turning around and stepping towards the edge of the platform, No. I thought, You are being ridiculous, Ives. Are you exhausted? Sure. Do you go to sleep feeling wrecked with guilt? Sometimes. But won't it all be worth it? It should be worth it. It has to be.
Al would know what to tell me.
Alice, I thought, I have to find Alice.
Alice- my partner in crime, nearly always had convinced me to continue with our games. I didn't even know if Alice was really her name, but from the start that was how she was introduced. From our first thrill- masquerading our way into The Plaza in New York, to our most recent "jewelery store operation", as one might call it: Alice- as mysterious and alluring as she was- had never let me down.
We had never been caught- not once. Without Alice though, for the first time in years, I almost felt free- no plans to follow, no rich playboys to swindle- without Alice, I had found my truth in a web of my own lies.
I imagined what my life could have been like. Maybe I would have still met her- in a meadow somewhere, green and peaceful, in the afternoon: at a crossroads so different from the one in their reality. Chatting, the halo around us being almost too illuminating- resembling that kind of glowing sunlight they use only during the flashbacks in romance movies. My life though, was certainly not a romance movie. There had been too much violence and blood on my hands for it to ever be considered a romance.
Alice could not fix me. Alice barely knew me, yet for some reason, I trusted her completely, with my entire being. I always had.
It's an odd feeling: to be trusted, and to trust in someone other than myself.
What has gotten into me? Why was I suddenly shifting my whole life just by glancing at my reflection one time? How does that even-
The pedantic voice of a middle-aged woman loudly interrupted my daydream, "Excuse me? Miss? You're standing over the line. You need to step back dear, I'm concerned for your safety".
Yeah right "concerned for my safety"- she was clearly the type to dramatize perfectly ordinary situations.
Oh wonderful a crowd.
At the sound of the older woman's voice, several heads had turned to listen in.
"Oh, thank you so much ma'am, I'm so grateful there are folks like you who look out for people", I replied, putting on a posh accent- matching the woman's, while I took a few steps back. I blinked, then stared sideways across the platform, not fully believing what I saw.
"Alice?", I muttered.
How could she be here?
We'd agreed to meet at the rendezvous in Chicago, despite the risk of sneaking onto separate trains, two days apart with our "tickets", it was a safe plan. A long one, but a reliable one. We'd already done it once- about 6 years ago, give or take. We hadn't repeated it in ages- there was no need for a change. This was our last mission- we both agreed to it.
One more adventure, one more, then we'd settle down. Lay low. Stick to the plan. So why was Alice suddenly there?
Wait- where?
She must have slipped away- she was gone.
Shit.
It's not like I could call her- we'd agreed to only use phones in emergencies. Alice would have called me if the plan had been foiled. She would have. Right?
A sinking feeling took over my whole being. This part of the plan: the transition- was the most vulnerable. The most difficult. Today it felt too easy- too simple. I'd gotten too comfortable with risk. Daydreaming when I should've been on high alert. Although, staring off into space did seem to be something many people did frequently. Maybe I'd fit in. But then a sudden movement near the ticket booth startled most of the platform's occupants- it wasn't a fight, no, an argument maybe? A distraction. But what for? Alice.
The plan. Something must have happened.
God, Ivy, think. She's helping you. Do something!
The bright lights of the train burst through the tunnel, illuminating the platform as it passed, and eventually slowed.
The doors opened.
No one moved.
Then everyone moved.
Luckily I was the closest to the door, jumped in, then shuffled through the seats, found mine, and proceeded to pretend to begin reading. It was what we always did. Read. Most people didn't think anything suspicious was happening if a young woman was simply reading on the train. I glanced out the window, and for a split second, recognized Alice.
But it hadn't been Alice at all. This girl, who shared the same hair, the same clothes, the same posture as her, glanced back- but it wasn't Alice.
Something was wrong. They'd been set up. By who- I didn't know, but that didn't matter. Rummaging back through my pockets- I checked my ticket again.
Date: 16/11/15- alright at least the date is right.
Departure time: 20:30pm- okay, that's right too.
Destination: NEW YORK- oh. Oh no. oh no oh no oh no.
How could I have been so stupid? There was absolutely no way I'd gotten the wrong ticket. Alice had been with her. She wouldn't have messed up. No. She wouldn't. It must have been someone. The imposter. Not Alice.
The train started moving. Moving forward. Moving- away from Alice. The real Alice. Alice, who was maybe the one person I cared about. Towards New York. Towards whatever ill-fated experience I had gotten myself into.
Who I was didn't matter anymore- my identity, my self-knowledge, it would be easier to survive this if I let go of it all. Let go of laying-low.
After all, it was ironic that as soon as we decided to slow down- the world caught up to us.
Alice- and I.
YOU ARE READING
The Platform
Short StoryIvy's life had always consisted of two things: begrudging regret, and her tendency to detach from reality.