Train (2021)
He knew his affectionate touches were annoying Rebecca, like a puppy seeking affirmation. Her shoulders tensed in anticipation when he passed by to put the plates back in the cupboard. When he didn’t graze a finger, her shoulders slouched, and the absence of contact felt worse than if he’d never touched her at all.
BY GREGORY CUPILLARI
IMAGE BY ALEXANDER ZVIR
Snowy fields of wheat surrounded the station. The only sounds one could hear were the far-off growl of engines and wind through leafless trees. The other notable structure lining the horizon stood a factory that had stopped production long ago and now served as a relic of past human activity. The station was flat, and its faded exterior and angular roof reminded Brian of a trading outpost in the times of covered wagons, beaver pelts, and roaming buffalo. As a child, Brian read about the origins of Canada and wanted to become a pioneer who explored the wild frontier. He felt the same now.
The gloomy Canadian winter hung over everyone: Brian was no exception.
Rebecca grabbed for Brian’s hand as they walked from her blue Honda CR-V. She slid her pink-mittened hand back into her coat pocket when he didn’t squeeze back. Inside the station, people sat on metallic chairs, and near the corner nestled a stand for food and coffee. She tugged on Brian’s sleeve.
“It’s a three-hour trip. You should eat something,” Rebecca said.
“No thanks,” Brian shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”
“Are you sure? You didn’t eat anything this morning either.”
Brian sighed and ordered two cups of coffee from the woman behind the counter. The woman tapped a button on the dusty machine; it bubbled briefly and sputtered coffee into two foam cups. He pulled out his credit card.
“Cash only.” The woman tapped the sign on the counter with her acrylic nails.
He slid his credit card back into a pouch and leafed through his wallet. The woman held the two billowing cups.
Rebecca said, “I think I have some cash on me. I can p—”
“Got it.”
Brian placed a five on the counter and handed a cup to Rebecca, who cradled it with both hands.
“You’re two trains away,” she said, motioning to the departure sign with a nod.
Brian grunted, and the people sitting laughed among themselves, almost taunting him; he squeezed the flimsy cup tighter.
Yesterday morning, as the train neared the sleepy college town, the hum of locomotion lulled Brian into idle fantasies about his arrival. He pictured the iron horse screeching to a halt and the engine roaring loud one last time before it sputtered off. Among the cloud of smoke dancing from the chimney, Rebecca would be waiting on the platform. He would hold her suspended in his arms and kiss her. Brian would shed all his boyish insecurities, and he would feel like a man in this infinite caress.
Rebecca derailed Brian’s dream with a message saying she couldn’t make the arrival because of a quiz on Monday. He thought the quiz was a trivial matter that she used as an excuse to cancel the trip. He also had projects and assignments due next week, but they paled in comparison to the time spent with her.
Nevertheless—by virtue of being a supportive boyfriend—if she cared about something, he cared about it too. So, when Rebecca mentioned her concerns over the phone, Brian did not press the issue and felt his needs were not worth mentioning.
The train arrived silently, and he left the train with no fanfare, no smoke billowing, and no prolonged kiss.
Rebecca sat on the stairs in the lobby of her apartment that late morning. When Brian entered, she got up slowly, as if an inconvenience, and took a long pause before reciprocating his greeting.
He mirrored her lack of enthusiasm by offering a quick hug and an even quicker kiss. Brian commented on her new shorter hairstyle, which he said he loved, though he’d preferred it the way it had been, long and flowing. She scratched the back of her head as they walked up the stairs, sighing to herself and holding her head at an angle, unsure of something.
Rebecca shared the apartment with two college roommates, one she liked; the other she didn’t. The one who annoyed her talked loudly on her phone and started small grease fires every time she cooked a meal that stunk up the common area. Brian knew this because Rebecca spoke at length about her housemates in their daily phone calls when they had nothing else to talk about.
Her room had many post-it notes stuck on a whiteboard, and a rainbow of coloured page markers stuffed her textbooks. The room reassured Brian that Rebecca was studying for the quiz and not using it as an excuse.
A stack of textbooks blocked a framed picture on her nightstand. Them in a park during the summer, before the school year, their pinkish cheeks glowed, and they squinted because of the sun. Brian didn’t recognize the guy in the photo, but the nose gave it away. He forgot how happy he used to be. When the picture was taken, their love was not in question, but now its foundation eroded and teetered on contingencies.
They spent their Saturday touring the campus and grocery shopping for their dinner. Afterwards, Brian winced at nothing as he washed the dishes, and she wiped the table. Something was missing between them, which became more obvious during these quaint, domestic rituals.
He knew his affectionate touches were annoying Rebecca, like a puppy seeking affirmation. Her shoulders tensed in anticipation when he passed by to put the plates back in the cupboard. When he didn’t graze a finger, her shoulders slouched, and the absence of contact felt worse than if he’d never touched her at all.
Excited voices came loud through the walls. Other students were getting ready to go out, and they chose to stay in and watch a movie on her laptop. That night, they engaged in a tug-of-war over Rebecca’s thin Ikea bedsheets that left both feeling cold. Rebecca waited for the sunlight to filter through the shutters to start her day. The sunlight never came. The clouds were thick and gray, and Brian woke up when a freshman returned from a night out and vomited in the hallway.
It snowed when they left Rebecca’s apartment in the morning. During the ride, they only spoke of dry logistics: What time was the train leaving again? Had Brian printed his ticket? Had he forgotten anything at her place? After they sorted his itinerary, only the heater and the car’s wipers filled the silence. Stubby buildings, rusted pickup trucks, and wide two-lane streets all passed by his passenger window. They travelled by a boarded-up farmhouse, and the years of snow and rain weathered the wood almost black; the silo nearby was in similar condition. The expansive landscape made Brian feel like an inmate.
Rebecca tried to start a conversation outside of his travel plans, but after clearing her throat to ask something, she only gripped the steering wheel tighter and drove on in silence.
Now, at the station, they bought coffee and exited onto the platform because there were no available seats within. The cold forced Rebecca to zip up her coat, and she patted her hair to hold it against the wind. They found a steel table with chipped black paint parallel to the tracks under a weather protector. Beyond the tracks stood a factory with shuttered windows and smokestacks lining the roof. The snow covered the building and the horizon in a thin veil.
“Man, why did we get here so early?” Brian said, “I’m freezing.”
“I love being on time,” Rebecca said. “And you’re lucky too.”
Brian shifted his glare from the abandoned factory to Rebecca.
“You got a window seat,” Rebecca said and took a small sip from the cup. “This coffee is yummy.”
Brian pinched the bridge of his nose, “You know—there’re better words than yummy, like delicious, good, tasty—whatever.”
“But it is yummy,” Rebecca said to herself and adjusted her hair. A guy at the table on the far side of the platform kissed the girl next to him, and she rubbed the spot on her cheek.
“Look at that cute couple over there,” she said. “This’ll be their first time apart.”
“He looks depressed,” Brian said.
“What makes you say that? The guy will really miss her when she leaves.”
“Why do you think the girl is leaving?” Rebecca said.
“Well, see how nervous the guy is? He’s holding onto her knee and is always looking at her because he doesn’t want her to go. It’s sad, really. It’ll be the end of something when she leaves, and he knows it,” Brian said.
Rebecca rubbed Brian’s thigh underneath the table.
“Remember when you visited the first time?” she said, “you were so cute—you picked me up and swung me around. A bit clumsy, too. My favourite cream-coloured sweater got stretched,” Rebecca grinned. “People must have thought we were crazy.”
“I remember. After in the cab, you were stressing about something, maybe the directions. And yeah, well. I don’t know. I guess I cared about you a lot back then.”
“And you still do?”
Brian shifted in his chair, “Why are you, like, asking me this?”
“I don’t know. You’ve been acting a bit weird this weekend.”
“I’m okay. I mean, I guess I have been…”
They smiled faintly and sipped their coffee. A chime rang from the overhead speaker, announcing a train’s arrival. People exited the station and lined the platform. When the first train passed, the arriving travellers went with excited faces. The boarding passengers looked more cautious.
The wind whistled through the shelter, and Brian picked up his cup and put it down, noticing it was empty.
“You done yours?” Brian asked.
“No, not yet.”
He stood and tossed the mangled cup, which he destroyed during their silence, into the garbage beside the station door. The other couple still sat at their table.
Brian sat down and said, “Looks like that girl over there will probably be with me on the same train.”
“I still don’t get why you think the guy looks sad. He seems sweet.”
Brian sighed, “The guy knows the spark is out when she gets on that train. And I think she knows it too. But neither have the guts to admit it and move on.”
“That spark can’t last forever,” Rebecca said, her voice determined and even. “There’s school, jobs, and other commitments that separate people, and you just need to tough it out. Relationships aren’t always pretty.”
“Believe me, I know it can’t,” Brian said, pointing a finger in the air. “But without it, you’re nothing. You’d just be going through the motions. The scary part is—relationships are over long before they actually end.”
The second train arrived. A middle-aged man exited the train and scanned the lineup of people. A little girl among the crowd let go of her mother’s hand and ran to him.
“Maria!” the man exclaimed.
“Daddy!” The little girl said, running to him with open arms.
The father dropped his bag and lifted the child, who rubbed her cheek against his beard. He carried his daughter along with his bags to his wife, who kissed him, and they exited the platform.
The father returning to his loving family drained all life out of Brian. The scene forced him to grapple with how little he cared. Maybe not that he didn’t care, but that he numbed all feelings—negative or otherwise. And that made it worse.
“I don’t know.” Brian’s image of Rebecca always lived in the summer: her in high-waisted jeans and a white T-shirt that accentuated her slim figure. She used to do everything in slow motion, like twirling her hair and laughing with her whole, vibrant face. Rebecca, now, hair cut too short and shivering in the cold, replaced that glowing image. “Life is rough sometimes, and I guess I’m not as happy as I once was in this relationship.”
Rebecca shook her head quickly, “You’re just tired. You don’t really mean that.”
“You’re not listening to what I’m saying.”
“Okay, what are you saying?”
“There’s no need to get angry, Becca.”
“Don’t call me Becca, after what you just said.”
“Fine, I won’t.”
Her eyes fluttered and steadied at a point far off in the distance. “Okay, so, so what does this mean?”
“I don’t know.” His stomach swirled, and his throat clenched. He opened the path, and forward was the only way out.
“Well, I know things have been difficult, with school and everything, but I’ll change.” She tried to swallow but couldn’t. “I’ll make more time for us, and I’ll visit you more often. We’ll spend weekends together, and I’ll be more affectionate, and, and…”
“No, it’s okay. I don’t want to force you.”
“You wouldn’t be forcing me. I love you.”
“I love you too, but it wouldn’t work.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I know you. For a bit, things will be better. But then you’ll start to get resentful about how much time you’re spending with me instead of studying. Then you’ll become distant, and we’ll be here again. That cycle hurts too much. I don’t think I can handle it anymore.” Brian spoke as if the answer was obvious, and he’d ignored it until now, “We got lost along the way, and now we’re at a dead end: a place where we hide our feelings and hurt each other in subtle ways. The terrible part is—I’m doing this to you, someone I once loved so much that I couldn’t imagine a life without.”
The speakers chimed one last time. Brian breathed deep and held the cold air in his lungs. The other couple began collecting the girl’s bags.
“Can you please call me when you get back?”
The last travellers exited the station, and the train slowed and stopped, letting out a long exhale. Rebecca hugged Brian. Passengers entered the train and consulted the attendants, who directed them to their seats. He tried to pull away, but she stopped him. Her grip loosened as more people boarded. He kissed her on the cheek, and she began to cry. He picked up his bag, walked to the first car, and climbed aboard.
Brian rested his head on the vibrating window of the train as it began to move. Rebecca left the terminal before the train departed. His lodestar receded along with the college town, and the frontier of snow-padded farmland soon stretched out before him. The man was now a pioneer, unencumbered and free.
Gregory Cupillari is enrolled in Humber College’s Creative Writing Certificate Program. He is currently tan and rocking and rolling on a beach somewhere.
Image: Train Photo (Pexels)
Edited for publication by Brock Kirwin, as part of the Professional Writing and Communications Program.
HLR Spotlight is a collaboration between the Faculty of Media & Creative Arts and the Faculty of Liberal Arts & Sciences and Innovative Learning at Humber College in Toronto, Ontario. This project is funded by Humber’s Office of Research & Innovation.