Chapter 59.2: 1995, Ruiz

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Chapter 59.2: 1995, Ruiz

I was halfway to Georgina's place before I remembered where she was. What had happened. I slumped against the pole on the train. Oh god, what was I supposed to do? 

People were staring at me. There was a kid kicking my ruffled train from one of the seats, probably scuffing it. I didn't care anymore. A lot of the ruffles on the bottom were shredded, the pink organdy not holding up against the gritty streets. 

"Your dress reminds me of Ginger Rogers," drifted the voice of a kind lady next to me. She was dressed in nurse's scrubs herself, teddy bears and colorful balloons on it. She reminded me of my Mama. As she smiled at me, tears filled my eyes. Finally, I was crying. I hadn't felt anything the whole way here. I looked towards one of the black windows, opposite her so she couldn't see. 

"Thank you," I replied quietly.

"Where are you going dressed like Ginger Rogers?"

"Um..." I couldn't think. "A party..."

"I want to go to that party, then. I bet it will be wonderful."

"Y- yeah..."

The train stopped and I gripped the pole to prevent myself from falling forward. But I was falling on the inside.

"Oh, this is my stop," said the kind lady. "Have a good night! I bet you will!"

"You, too," I called to her, not looking at her.

The kid was still kicking my dress. I stared at him. He stared back at me. The woman next to him was reading Vanity Fair. I wondered if that was his mama, but they weren't dressed similarly enough.

A few stops later the lady got up and took the boy's hand. So she was his mama. And she hadn't stopped him from kicking my dress. Instead of dwelling on it I stole her seat, plopping down hard. My feet were arguing with me, unhappy in my six inch heels. I wanted to unstrap them so badly but I couldn't do that here. They were the same color as my dress. In one tiny spot near the heel I saw where it wasn't dyed well enough. These shoes had been white. 

Ambrose. The idea of him kneeled over a plastic bin full of pink dye appeared in my mind. Had he dyed these shoes to match my dress? Had he worked that hard?

I snuffled, halfway a sniffle and halfway a sob. My hand traveled upwards and latched onto my pearls, like a child. My other hand joined it, next to my face, holding onto one of the innumerable cotton candy-like ringlets of my wig. My finger twisted into the curl as I looked up at the ceiling, the lights of the train car faceting as I tried not to cry.

At the next stop, a lot of people got on and included with them was a pregnant woman, so I got up and gave her my seat. She said thank you, but her eyebrows said she was unsure about me. I didn't blame her. Not really. Suddenly I felt so exposed, my clothes radically out of place. It was like everyone was staring at me, seeing me for what I was. I shrank, pressing my elbows in to my sides against the pole. People crowded around me, grabbing the pole above and between my body. My heart started to beat out way too hard.

When the train stopped again, I bumped people and shoved. I grabbed the train of my dress and felt it rip, only feeling not hearing because everything was so loud. It came away half gone, the expensive blush lace just gone. 

A flashback of that day in the snow, Ambrose staring at me. His face was devastated, confused. He'd looked so beautiful, like a supermodel. In his hands had been two bags, one of them containing the blush pink lace that was now gone. 

I had no time to mourn it as I swam in the sea of people trying to get on the train, trying to force me back on the train. Where were they all coming from? But I remembered how crowded it could become on a Friday night, especially so close to clubs opening. So I gathered up the rest of my ruffles, bringing them up past my shins to protect them, and pushed and shoved as hard as I could.

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