** Negative, Ghostrider. **
She sat on the warm concrete – ass on the yellow line. Dangeled her feet over the edge and stared down at the train tracks. Her suicidal silhouette laying patiently on the rails for the next Metrolink. Asshole – she muttered. Don’t tempt me.
It was hot out. And sticky. Too hot for January, despite being California. She blew her bangs out of her eyes and russled around in her bag for the Marlboros and a lighter. Dangeled the smoke from her lips and leaned back on her palms, face toward the offending sun, swinging her legs.
The day had been inconsequential. Another blip in the long line of her mediocre past. A photographic negative – the kind you find in a box of crap burried deep in your mother’s attic while looking for that vintage record collection your grandfather used to have. Hey mom – you know what this is? She gently plucks the negative from your attic stained fingers. Holds it up to the light – blurred and expressionless faces stare back at her in sepia tones. "Don’t know dear – I can’t tell. Mayb-"
Man plops down on the concrete next to her. Flings his obtrusive soft guitar case to the side and shrugs off his backpack. It plops noisly behind him, smashing her fingers.
The fuck man. She glares at him ineffectively behind her oversized sunglasses. Ten million benches. Ten million other people. She flips the lighter around and around in her hand before bringing it up to light the smoke. Inhales. Where is the fuckin train, anyway… Exhales.
"Got an extra smoke?"
He’s looking at her now – she can feel him right there.
No. "Yeah." Digs in her bag again. Hands him the gold.
He smiles, sheepishly. "Lighter?"
Really? She stops twirling. Thrusts her palm in his direction and opens.
"Thanks." He opens the pack.
"Only got two left. You don’t flip a lucky?"
"Not anymore."
"No? Guys like me – we need all the luck we can get."
His eyes bore holes into the side of her upturned face.
"Guess you wouldn’t understand."
She doesn’t move. He shakes his head, pulls out a smoke. Gives her back the lighter. Inhales. Exhales.
"So… you said ‘not anymore.’ What happened?"
She remembers him then – from all those years ago. This one night – they lit the side of her parents house on fire. They were just kids – sharing their first cigarette. He swore he heard her mother open the front door. Oh shit! He laughed. Your mom’s coming! He grabbed the half spent cigarette from between her lips and tossed it into the trash. She coughed and flailed her arms – trying to clear the smoke. They waited. Waited. Nothing. Just the TV dude – they’re still in the living room – she punched his arm and laughed. It was only a few seconds later that they smelled it – saw the wild orange dancing out of the corner of their eye. She saw it first – yelled out. A series of oh shit!s and what did you do!s and put it out! put it out!s. She remembers laughing at him as he flipped over the enflamed can, shuffled his feet over the embers and flailed his arms like the crazy chicken. Breathless. She couldn’t breathe – could only grab her belly and press her hand over her mouth, sinking to the ground – uncontrollable laughter escaping her best attempt to stifle their stupid indiscretions. After the fire was out, they walked the melted trash can three blocks away and stuffed it inside the bushes next to the canal. Can’t be too careful, he laughed, your mom won’t find it here though. When they made it back to the house all they could hear was that damn TV. He looked at her and grinned. She shook her head and mouthed you asshole. But she was smiling. They stared at the blackened patch on the side of the house. He scratched his head. She tucked her hair behind her ears. They were quiet. Hey – He peeked at her, smiling – wanna go to the jumps? It was getting dark. She caught his eyes – mischief there, dancing in the indigo blue. She laughed – Yep. But you’re riding the handle bars this time…
"That bad, huh?" He laughed.
Shit. What? She blinked. Lost the blue. Found herself again in the dull gray of the concrete platform. "Hmph. No… it’s a long story."
"Train’s delayed. We got time."
Thank you Metrolink. Inhale. Somewhere along the lines she had started spinning that lighter again. Gripped it now. Tight. Tight. Tighter. Exhaled.
"Had a friend once. He smoked my lucky one night. Last time he ever smoked."
"What – he quit? That’s not bad… that’s a pretty damn good luc-"
"He died. That night… Dead."
Guy got quiet. Inhaled. Exhaled. The platform was busy now. Man on a cell phone making dinner plans with his wife. Woman with her blackberry sending emails. Dude in a cowboy hat and a bag of golf clubs went on about his position at Kaiser.
Minutes passed. She sat there, spinning.
"What was his name?" Inhale. Exhale. He looked at her.
Hey – wanna go to the jumps? "His name? Oh – You didn’t know him."
The bells started in then – lights flashing. Platform security making a fuss about clearing behind the yellow line. She gathered up her things and stood.
"Thanks for the smoke." He said – handing her the pack.
"Yeah."
She hadn’t been back to see him – not since the funeral. Couldn’t even remember where he was, really. They were still kids then – on the edge of something more. Not him, though. Not now. Like a negative – tucked away in some box full of shit up in the attic. Undeveloped. His face among those swimming in a sea of warm copper and black. Copper and black in a sea of indigo blue. Hey mom – you know what this is?
The train squealed to a stop. She held her breath against the current of hot air and smell of grinding steel. Pulled out the Marlboros. Flipped the remaining cigarette upside down. Stepped onto the train – smiled as she tossed the pack into the trash.
For you, asshole.
A beep. Static. And then the conductor. "Next stop – Corona North Main. North Main Corona."
Almost home.