Bygone

Part IV

Lavinia began to come over often on Saturdays, and urged me to come outside, and to socialize. I honestly didn’t see the point, but I consented, allowing her to take me on a trip to the market.

“You can’t have your food just delivered to your house through order all the time. It’s suspicious.” I trailed along slowly behind her, arms crossed, baseball cap pushed onto my head, ponytail swinging in the back. I felt uncomfortable. It had been ages since I wore jeans, and they felt tight and my movement constricted. The sun glared at me from above, and I dragged my shoes along the cement like a little child, not wanting or enjoying the walk. Lavinia walked way out in front, not even noticing me lag behind. In the end, she hadn’t even noticed, and gone through and bought all her groceries and returned to my house before realizing my absence. I wasn’t that shocked, though I was annoyed. It wasn’t her fault, I guess. It’s not that she was a forgetful person; I was just the type of person to be forgotten about.  I didn’t need her to escort me through the town anyway.

            I trudged along, watching the busy people swarm around the like a river. I was the boulder, and they parted behind me, merging back again in front. Large grey buildings with lots of windows stood on either side of the road, creating shadows in which we all walked, cold and humid. I silently thanked myself for wearing jeans. It was hot where the sun was, but down below where we trod beneath the feet of the incorporations, the cold seeped up from the asphalt. I decided I would walk all the way up the railroad station before turning around. It was interesting, seeing how everything had progressed, or regressed, since I was out and about before. Clothes went out of fashion and back in, old restaurants were replaced or deserted, and local trinket shops taken over by larger businesses. I walked with my head cast downwards, subconsciously stepping on the cracks that cut the sidewalk into neat little cubes, not really a part of the world but a spectator.

            The railroad station was old. Concrete was used sparingly, and most everything was made of wood, and whitewashed. Sheets of metal created a shelter from light rains, and the guard sat in a foldable metal chair in the corner, hat askew on his head, dozing off. A map was painted onto the ground, telling the routes of the train, and several people were gathered on top, seeing at which station they must get off. I knew that once the sun began to slip over the horizon, when the sky turned into a blend of lilac, apricot, and coral, people would escape from their cubicles and amass here, packed like sardines, home on their minds. I imagined Mr.Moffet among them, standing a head taller than most, glancing down at his watch every so often, periodically smoothing his short sandy hair down. Some would be reading newspapers, or pretending to, not really registering the words but simply trying to look important, and some would be on their cell phones, asking what dinner was, or talking to their kids. But right now, as I stood there thinking all these things, there were only five, a group of tourists, judging by the brochures they held, that had just toured the Temple car factory. No, I corrected myself. There was another, a sixth, sitting on one of the two benches that lined the wall, nose stuck in a book. I recognized it as White Fang.

            Most other people would have assumed that it was just a new book, or one that a less famous author had written. I knew different, however. I looked at him closely. He had distinct, sharp features, a fair complexion, and hair the color of midnight. He seemed average in height, and weight, with long fingers. His hair was medium length and spiked, and he wore thick black glasses. I could count two ear piercings on the left side. The suit that he wore was grey, with a white, unblemished shirt and red tie. He seemed intent on his reading, eyes rapidly flickering across the sentences, one hand ready to flip the next page, the other resting on his chin. I looked closer and saw the telltale black crescents that spoke of sleepless nights. I couldn’t believe my luck in finding another on my first day outside again. Someone coughs behind my shoulder. I quickly avert my gaze, as if I were just interested in the station, and I hear the cough again.