Short Story
3 min
Sunday
Cassius Cougar
She sat down next to him on the subway and gave him a sideways look. "So, you wanted to talk?"
He hummed and bit at a hangnail on his right ring finger. "Yeah. I mean, it's been so long. Mostly I just wanted to check in on you."
The subway car started moving with a jolt, knocking her left shoulder into his right. "I'm doing okay," she said. "Pretty good, thanks to you. I just wanted to say I'm sorry. That's why I called you here."
His dark wooly brows knit together. "Kitty, I called you here."
"Oh." She paused, confused. The whizzing of lights and people and ads outside the dingy window was distracting her. There was nothing to observe but the subway wall. She just couldn't stop staring at the fluorescent reflections in the dirty glass.
"Earth to Kitty." He jostled her shoulder, and she was forced to turn and look at him for the first time. The first thing she clocked was a pimple below his right cheekbone. She looked back at the flashing window.
"I asked you how you were doing. I mean, it's been so long since we talked. Truly and seriously."
"I've spoken to your mom plenty," she offered. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for our sinners.
His thick eyebrows pinched together again, and then he carried on. "Your art?" A safe subject to start on. "How's that going?"
This tore her attention from the subway window. She had been watching the reflection of a couple making out on the other end of the car. They both had long hair.
"I journal," she said optimistically. "It really helps me. I draw, a little bit. Haven't made any music yet. I'm certainly always writing. And consuming," she said after a pause. "Endless consuming."
"That's good. I'm proud of you," he said. She smiled.
"How's your family?" he went on.
She frowned. "Oh, you know." The subway seemed to be slowing down. Somehow, she could hear city police sirens above the cacophony of wheels on track, through layers of concrete and earth.
He nodded, slowly. "Honor your father and mother, that your days may be long upon the land which the Lord your God is giving you."
"Naturally," she said.
The subway door opened. They had come to the next stop. A bearded man stumbled on board. He was clutching a magazine, his face set in grim alarm. One of the headlines read, SATELLITE IMAGES REVEAL DEVASTATING IMAGES FROM IRAN WAR. The cover image was of some model.
She grit her teeth and looked away.
"I'd like to ask a favor," she said.
"Okay." He set his palms on top of his jeans.
"Look after my grandparents, please. Bless my mom, and I guess my dad and my brother. Bless all those who suffer from war and hunger and mental health issues. And thank you for creating the sun and sky and wind and stars and fish and grass and birds and snow. Thank you for answering my prayers. Amen."
He nodded. He had heard this all before. Then she wouldn't answer him for weeks. "You said you were going to say sorry?"
"Yes. For ingratitude."
"You don't have to repent for that. That's not a sin."
"I'm reading my own book."
He placed his hand on her shoulder. She felt his warmth, and his weight, through the fabric of her hoodie. "Are you going to confess?"
"Whatever for?" She glanced at her phone. Her stop was coming up in a few minutes. She had a lot of people to see and places to go. Her leg bounced up and down.
He closed his eyes and let them sit in silence for a while. Then he lifted his phone. "For my sake, promise me you'll answer my DMs."
Not one to make promises, she didn't respond. She slid her own phone into her pocket, grabbed her briefcase, and stood up. "East Lansing," the P.A. announced politely. She stood in front of the doors and watched them slide ajar.
"I'll see you around," she said. Instead of making eye contact with him, she kept her gaze straight ahead to the world opening before her.
He raised his hand in farewell. He was just glad she had decided to say goodbye. Do not be afraid, I am with you. I have called you each by name.
She stepped onto the train platform and turned around. People crowded past, mostly ignoring her, save for a baby in a stroller which gazed up at her with liquid eyes.
When the people cleared, she looked for him before the train began to pull away. He was not in the window where they had just sat.
Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.
-Catherine Thielen
A Conant High School student wrote this work.
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