Mind the Gap | ✔️

December 31 @ 9:14 A.M.: Evan

A concussion like yours is not to be trifled with, the doctor had said to me, and he had urgently advised me to stay in bed until mid-January.

He couldn't have known what these words would do to me.

He couldn't have known about Liam who had called me right after Christmas, telling me great things were afoot. Things that needed my presence. Things involving that promotion of mine and a possible move from the 12th to the 13th floor of our 22-floor building. So his boss—a divine member of the Pantheon a.k.a. the board—wanted to see me, to have the talk with me. And the talk had to take place before the end of the year because the semi-god would be on a sabbatical for six months starting January.

Neither could the doctor have known about Braces. The time to show her my phone number was running out.

And today was the last fucking day of the year. The last chance.

A chance? 

It did not even merit that name. It was more of a... tiny probability, further reduced by the fact that I had to drag myself out of bed and onto an earlier train than usual because the talk was scheduled for 9:40.

Bad luck had tricked me out of my multiple chances to stalk Braces in December.

Yesterday, I had spent all day in bed, trying to come to terms with my fate.

But then, Janice and Helen had visited me, with Helen wearing a resigned smile and Janice a curly Lego-blue hairdo.

Our daughter told me you love women with dyed hair, Helen had said, winking. So we thought this might cheer you up.

And sorry to inform you, she had added, but I won't start dyeing my own hair.

That had made me frown at Janice and ask her what else she had told her mother.

My daughter's crimson blush had looked cute against her blue hair. She shrugged defensively. I just told her you're superdad, she added, and that you can make things come true.

So here I was, my head spinning from its untimely concussion, approaching Charles/MGH, trying to make things come true.

My gaze wandered to the iPad screen. Battery: 94 percent. Good.

I then forced myself to relax my grip on the tablet, afraid I'd break it.

There just had to be a train on the track next to us. And she just had to be on it.

But there wasn't. And she wasn't.

As my passenger car came to a stop, the slot next to it was empty—there was no Braces in sight.

Beyond the deserted track, bland-faced commuters stared into nowhere, standing in front of a billboard advertising T-Mobile's services in magenta: Get Your Year's Deal Now. Time is Running Out.

I pushed my head against the window, peeking ahead, willing her train to appear with my mind.

It didn't.

The door next to me opened, admitting a small crowd and a tiny gust of fresh air.

Seconds passed, probabilities dwindled. T-Mobile was right—time was running out.

"Please stand back." The speakers warned.

Pneumatics hissed.

Grabbing my stuff, I lunged for the door and blocked its closing jaws with my bag.

With a reproachful beep, they opened again, and I escaped, stumbling out onto the deserted platform.

I'd just take the next subway. I'd blame MBTA for being a few minutes late for the meeting.