Chapter 22
I’m so afraid. The street is filled with cars.
It would be so easy to step out in front of one of them.
I hug the opposite side of the sidewalk, trail a hand along the wall of the grocery store that sits next to the street, its painted concrete exterior cold and wet.
It’s raining. I have to stay as far away from the street as possible, or I might lose control and step off.
A big truck would take me out for sure. Or I could pick an SUV, that might do it—Idontwanttodie—I have to get home somehow, but if I go into the train station, I might jump in front of the train.
The grocery store is gone and my hand hits branches, a hedge of small bushes in front of a boxy condo.
It hurts. A truck hitting me would hurt.
But just for a second, before I hit the ground—stop—head smacking the pavement—stopidontwannadie—the train station’s mouth opens up and I walk into it, scan my fare card on autopilot, take the escalator down, down, down into its belly.
I can’t stop. Am I actually under my own control or is this other thing, this something wrong, taking over?
The train station is crowded. If I jumped everyone would see, they’d scream, someone would rush to the train, beating on its side, but it would be too late, I’d—STOP STOP STOP!
THIS ISN’T REAL, IT’S NOT HAPPENING, THIS ISN’T REAL, IT’S NOT HAPPENING, THIS ISN’T REAL, IT’S NOT HAPPENING—back against the metal side of the escalator as the train roars into the station, eyes shut as it comes to a stop, step inside where it’s safe, I’m safe, grab the metal pole but that’s too close to the doors and if I’m too close to the doors I might slip out when they open again and run to the front and jump on the tracks as the train pulls away and walk to the back of the car, the last row, an open seat, and someone sits beside me, thank god, I can’t push past this person to get out, but what if I do?
What if I do?
What if I do?
What if I do?
What if I do?