A Train To Chicago

Harry's Memory

I dreamed of her that night. The girl who lay on my bottom bunk.
I felt absolutely no guilt when I kissed her wine-stained lips.
This girl is going to die in a few months...
no...
That's not how I feel.
I didn't kiss Liz because I felt sorry for her.
The thoughts of what Sophie might have thought did spiral through my mind before I kissed her.
It wasn't because of the drink I'd taken.
It wasn't because I was romantically attracted to her.
I guess it was just because... I don't know... in the heat of the moment? No... maybe I loved her.
Maybe I did.
There's never going to be another girl like her in the world. I'm calling it. There's only one Liz.

In other ways, there's only one Sophie. Or is there? She left me when I needed her most when I had serious depression.
Would Liz have ever left me? She's only got months left... what if I ran away with her? Do I love her? Do I love her more than I love Sophie?

Oh god I'm a cheater... I've only known the girl a day and I'm already drop dead in love- no I'm not. I can't be.
We're friends.
I love her.
We're friends.
She's a journey.
I think I care too much about her to want to tamper with her obviously fragile emotions... but I did.
But what about Sophie?
There's a reason I bought her that engagement ring, there's a reason I got her pregnant, there's a reason I'm on this train, there's a reason I'm moving back to Ireland.
I love her.
We're more than friends.
I'm having a baby girl with her, and Sophie's the girl that made me happy again. She's the girl that blows my imagination wild.
I love her.

I stood up out of bed before feeling my heart thud inside my chest as a message was brought loudly out on the speakers.
"NEXT STOP: CHICAGO, IN ONE HOUR."
I got changed immediately and packed my bags, feeling my heart swell with mixed emotions.
Both Liz and I had to leave here, but I'd be getting the next train to New York... god knows where she'd go.
With a sorrowful gaze I walked into the main carriage, seeing Liz in her usual seat, she was on the final few pages of 'The Distance' I knew she'd be getting towards the sad ending where the protagonist finally gives up and accepts that her partner has died, and that there's no way her hallucinations were real.
"Morning." I greeted, wanting to save every last drop of conversation we could have together. But I noticed the tears running down her cheeks as she turned to the final page as she failed to respond.
"Sorry.." she uttered as she tried to turn the page after reading 'The End' as if searching for some hidden resolution.
"How was that?" I asked her, folding my arms on the table and leaning in, smiling at her damp cheeks. I'd never seen a live review to my book before, and if I'm honest this wasn't the reaction I was going for when I wrote it.
"Maybe you should read this... you might relate to it." She suggested, drying her eyes with her blue kimono.
"Maybe I should." I sighed,
"You can have my copy." She invited, closing the book and pushing it over to my side of the table.
"Can you sign it?" I asked her, "just for the memories."
"You got a pen?" She asked, smiling at me as I reached into my pocket and pulled out the black biro that I'd written the initial draft for that very book in.
She wrote down in curled writing 'Elizabeth Rowen'.
"Thought you didn't like being called Elizabeth." I said, briefly inspecting the calligraphy.
"You can be my only exception." She responded, grinning at me before she pulled out her sketchbook and glanced at a drawing which I couldn't quite see.
"Have you ever looked through your sketchbook?" I asked her, noticing how cautious she was when flicking a new page, trying not to glimpse at old sketches.
"No- god no." She replied, looking down.
"Why not?" I questioned, gazing sympathetically into her eyes.
"I'm saving them."
"For when?"
"You know when." She responded, her sincere gaze dropping.
She meant just before she died..
"No." I said, quite suddenly and admittedly I hadn't a clue what I would say next.
"Harry... I've been drawing in this book since I was nineteen years old. When I turn a page I don't look back at the old pages. There's thirteen years of history in there and a lot of it I don't want to relive just right now."
"You'll find it easier when- when you're at death's door? Really?" I asked her.
"I'll read it when it's done." She concluded, "I've still got a few pages left to fill."
I nodded in respect before gazing out the window and seeing a city in the distance. It was only a matter of about twenty minutes till the train stopped, and I was sitting here wasting those moments.
"Can I draw in it?" I asked her, out of the blue, even surprising myself with the question.
She was as confused as I was, but smiled and handed me over her sketchbook and pencil.
"No words. It's only allowed to be pictures." She warned me, amusing me with her rules.
"I hope you know I'm an artist." I chuckled, flicking a few pages forward- she only had a mere three pages left, so I left one blank and drew on the second page, allowing the last page to be for her alone.
I contemplated what to draw, then resulted in my childish instincts.
"I'm going to break your rule." I told her,
"I said no words!" She complained jokingly.
"Trust me." I assured her, grinning.
I sketched childish-like figures of two people, these shapes were supposedly myself and Liz, which I pointed out with arrows. I drew us with microphones in our 'hands' with speech boxes of us singing, "we are the champions!" And a few music notes scattered around the page.
Just to amuse myself, I signed the name 'Harry Arnoll' on the bottom of the page, wondering if Liz would correlate between my name and the author of the book she'd just given me, almost hoping she wouldn't.