Sunday Morning. The Day After. I rolled over in bed, peering through squinted eyes at the time on my phone. It was 2 in the afternoon.
Thoughts of Nova had kept me awake until I could see the first splinters of dawn in the otherwise darkened sky. It wasn’t so much as what she had said, as the fact that she had said those things to me.
I forced myself out of bed and downstairs, where I helped myself to some cereal in the kitchen. I took the bowl and walked into the living room where my mother and father both sat on the worn couch, gazing at the TV. I quizzically observed my mother as she furrowed her brow at the local news being broadcasted.
“Why are you both watching TV on a Sunday?” After starting their own web design business, my parents always seemed to be either on their computers or en-route to a meeting. The fact that they were both sitting down, to watch TV, was strange.
“There’s been an accident.” My mother continued to watch the screen, deep in thought as she bit her manicured nail.
“Someone got hit on the tracks. By the train passing through. It just happened last night, so there isn’t any identification yet.” My father finished for her, running a hand through his graying hair.
My mother paused from watching to roll her eyes. “Probably one of those guys that go out to the bars and walk home at 3 am.”
I shrugged. “Oh, okay.” I walked back to my room, not feeling any impact on the news my parents had just explained. A person getting killed by the train wasn’t as much a rare occurrence anymore since a casino had opened up 2 blocks down from the tracks. The victims were always 50-year-old men that spent their days drinking and their nights gambling; too drunk to hear the oncoming train or too worn-out to care.
I spent the day (or what was left of it) finishing up my homework, pausing every now and then to stare out my window into Nova’s. I was looking to see if maybe her eyes would be found peeking out from her bedroom window; maybe she remembered what had happened last night and maybe she cared.
