Check out some lovely writing by St Louis’s own Jill Huckelberry. (Her first book “Finding Eve” is available on Amazon. amazon/Finding-Eve-Jill-Huckelberry/dp/1491701315) Eve and Lilith short story. It was an average, ordinary day. Late autumn, leaves swirling in small tornadoes from a brisk northerly wind and the blue was back in the sky after a hazy, hot summer. I went to work on the L, shoulder to shoulder with perfect strangers in diverse garb. Suits, fluorescent vests, jeans, dresses. I wondered sometimes about their lives as I sat or stood, depending on the day. Some of their faces seemed to hold so much emotion, and yet as close as we were, we were all miles apart. Thats the thing about the L, you dont talk. Its barely tolerable that a lot of the time you have no choice but to brush up against someone. Its usually an awkward moment that involves either an uncomfortable grin or a nasty look. Sometimes you get a litany from angry people who need a punching bag. You weigh your options of getting off at the next stop, regardless of the fact that youre not at your destination just to avoid more apathetic or sympathetic looks from other travelers. This is just a way of life for thousands of people just like me, who ride this carousel everyday to get somewhat close to the giant building that you work in and take an elevator up in that same indifferent atmosphere to sit in a tiny cubicle and call people who are angry at you for calling because you interrupted Dr. Phil. And we have the nerve to call it a living. We make money, selling people things they dont need. If you can keep their attention long enough, then you feel guilty because they sound old and possibly have dementia and dont know what the hell you sold them. But you got their credit card number, so your paycheck got a little larger. Your boss might give you a thumbs up, but your heart stays heavy as you choke down a mediocre sub from the deli downstairs. Then its right back to work, wiping crumbs off your chin and checking your teeth in the computer screen. On your way out, you nod to a couple of the people in the office who have shared the line at the deli once or twice. And then, after a short walk its the L again. And silently, you hope that you dont brush up against a crazy person, or sit next to an incessant talker. But this day wasnt like that at all. As I said, it was autumn, which happened to be my favorite season, and the walk to the train was windy, but lovely. Its amazing how weather affects the general population. A smiling young man held the door open for me as I left the building, the cop directing traffic was sort of dancing through the motions, his whistle timed to the beat in his own head. Personally, I was just happy to be out of that building, that tiny box that I spend more time in than my own bed. The air was clean, after a rain that fell the night before and I found myself smiling as I waited for my train to arrive. And thats when I saw her. Nothing extraordinary, not a leggy model in a short skirt and scarcely hid breasts. She was wearing a shapeless gray sweater, jeans, and a beautiful scarf in subtle pastels. She had nerdy glasses and was listening to music with ear phones. Her foot was tapping slowly, and I imagined that she was listening to Elephant Revival, one of my favorite groups. We both stood there occasionally looking down the dark tunnel, searching for the inevitable light that meant we were going somewhere else, or home. I wondered where she was going. The light came, and the train shuddered to a stop and we waited for people to get off before we got on. I followed her in and, when I noticed two empty seats together, I did something I had never done before. I took her hand and led her to them. I could tell that she was taken aback at first and wanted to yank her hand from mine, but then she looked at me. It amazed me that I spend so much time with thousands of people on a daily basis but no one actually looks at you, but she did. It was like coming home. Not the little square apartment with a mini-kitchen and a tiny bath, but the home I grew up in in the country. White, wood sided house with a white picket fence, the smell of cinnamon rolls coming out of open windows, and a screened in porch with a grandfather playing the violin to his own vision. Thats what it was like. She gave me a tentative smile and then sat, still holding my hand and she pulled me down beside her. She took her ear phones out and let go, holding her other hand out to me for a shake. Hi. I smiled at her, bewildered by the whole thing but not willing to stop it. Hi, back. She took my hand and looked closely at it for a second. Then she looked back at me, into my eyes. Hers were so light blue, they were almost clear. Then she said, I know you. I had never seen her before in my life but I felt the same thing. My instinct was to tell her no, but instead I said, Yeah, I know you too. And I looked away, afraid suddenly that I sounded like one of the crazy people that I try to avoid on a daily basis. But she took her hand and placed it on my cheek gently and turned my face back to her. Every thing, person, sound, seemed to disappear and there was only her. I felt like time stopped and every moment in my life had led up to this. Her hand felt almost electric against my skin. Ive been waiting for you for a long time. I wasnt sure if I said it or she did. But her smile was the warmest thing Id ever felt. Can I keep you? She said, and for the first time since I had seen her, there was worry on her face. Of course you can. I wanted to say You are my destiny, but my tongue got caught on the words. Suddenly, the train slowed and she said, This is my stop. Here, she hastily tore a piece of paper from a well worn book and wrote her number down on it. Will you call me? I stood with her as she rose and in an awkward but beautiful moment, kissed her lips. She was looking into my eyes when I pulled away, slightly shocked at what I had just done, but the smile on her face told me that she didnt mind. The train had stopped and she moved toward the door. Call me. Ill be waiting. And then she walked out, the doors closing behind her. I felt bereft of something, a tugging at my heart, and an overwhelming sense of loss. I looked down at the tattered paper that she had written her number down on. It said Eve with her number. I realized that we didnt even tell each other our names. My stop came shortly thereafter and the feel of her lips lingered on mine. I walked through the station and out into the night, her number on paper still in my hand. The smile on my lips that I hadnt had in years, it seemed, made the people I saw smile back. I was on top of the world when I walked over the chain link covered concrete bridge that took me to my street, when that same brisk, northerly wind ripped that tattered piece of paper from my hand and I watched helplessly as it floated into the traffic below. Flotsam as the tires rushed by.
Posted on: Sun, 13 Jul 2014 16:02:44 +0000
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