Kings Cross: A Short Story

Kings Cross

Their eyes meet each time she descends into the subway station.  An unfamiliar sensation washes over her each time he tilts his head in her direction.  There is weight to his gaze and it slows everything around her.  She wants to pause, to stare, but she moves past him and the moment is lost.

She knows nothing about him except that he must be a similar creature of habit.  He is always waiting against the wall in the early hour of the morning with his hands deep in his pockets.  A black baseball cap crowns his head and shades the deep blue of his eyes until his chin lifts.  There is an inkling of recognition but she's certain it's because he has become a mainstay in her morning routine.

He's always dressed in black.  It makes his lean figure look more taller than he already is.  He resembles a long shadow that follows her when the sun is close to setting.  She can't think that he is singling her out because she's never thought of herself as someone important enough to warrant attention.

The woman spends no other time of the day thinking of him.  She takes the train deeper into London, dives deeply into her office accounting work, buys supper for herself, then returns home via Kings Cross once again at the end of the day.  He is never there at night but she will always find him in the same place each morning.  

She will unwind in front of the television, dressed in comfortable fleece pajamas with her dark hair bundled atop of her head instead of slickly pulled back.  As she eats her power bowl and sips her tea, she'll laugh at her favorite comedies and watch her soaps.  It is often in her small apartment that she falls asleep on the couch as opposed to climbing into bed.  She lives alone but there is no greater feeling.

Her dreams bring her to unwelcome places.  She is stuffed into tiny dresses and her cheeks are pinched until they are red.  A pounce of powder applied to her face makes her sneeze.  The woman is always being pushed to one place and then another.  She is made to sit uncomfortably in a chair.  She is forced to say things she knows are outright lies.  She is ordered to kiss the rings adorning a man's hand.

They put a crown on her head and call her Queen, but it is so heavy and improperly fitted that it scratches at her skin and makes her scalp bleed.  The demands on her time are overwhelming and she has no say in what she can do and when she can do so.  Everything revolves around him- his time, his words, and his demands.

The details are often so suffocating that the feelings will always wake her with a start.  Her breathing is heavy and she intakes more air than she needs.  For a brief moment, like the moment that man in the station looks at her, she grasps a hint of recognition that there is something deeper happening to her than mere coincidences and wild dreams.

Today as every other day, she readies to walk to Kings Cross station.  Today, instead of a fleeting glance, she descends the stairs and stares directly at him.  Her honey brown gaze does not falter.  It persists and it meets the icy stare reflecting back to her as he tips his head back.  The stare is uncomfortable but she gains power and knowledge facing him head on.  The look peel back memories and she remembers he once wore a crown before he wore a black baseball cap.

Her heels stop once she hits the bottom step.  He pushed away from the wall, removes his hands from his pockets, and bends a knee.

"Set me free." He demands.  "I deserve none of this!  I am the conqueror of kingdoms!  The high ruler! This curse, you witch, break it!"

Her fingers curl against her brief case as she looks down at him.  He carries on despite his position in front of her.  The man is pleading.  He looks ridiculous.  It's what he deserves. Her head tilts away and she turns to walk away.

"That's no way to speak to a Queen." She remarks with a wry tone as others weave around him and past her.  Whatever he was means nothing now.  Not here.  Not in this time or place.  She pauses as he begins to scream.   Her head turns over her shoulder and stares at him.  He looks hopeful that his tantrum has dented her resolve.

A smile pulls to one corner of her lips as he shifts to stand. Her hand lifts to the side of her lips to call out as the train rails into the station to drown out the noise.  

"I have a train to catch!"