ALEXIS MADDEN
"You got a spare?"
Charles rubs his pointer finger over the fingernail of his left thumb as he looks straight ahead of him, instead of at the woman sitting beside him. He can feel her though; feel her heat rub against his body.
Charles finally looks at her for the first time as she answers. Her green eyes reveal an empty apartment with two cats and lonely dinners at a table facing the television.
"A smoke. You got another one?"
The woman has perfect manicured nails and a freshly perfumed neck. Charles wants to tell her that he understands, that everything will be okay, but it's too late in the evening to lie. She reaches into a black leather purse and pulls out a pack of Parliaments and hands one over.
"Thanks."
Charles fumbles around his leather jacket for a lighter but comes up short with only matches. He hunches his body over and flicks a match against the box. It goes out.
"Shit, excuse me."
He pulls his jacket over his head and lights another match and then his cigarette. He yanks the jacket back down and looks over at the woman. She's not even paying attention.
"Windy, huh?"
"Train stations, they're like this tunnel of wind, you know? Makes it hard, matches, you know?"
Charles watches the woman cross her left leg over her right. He watches her left foot kick back and forth. He watches her look at her watch and then down at the empty track. He watches her as she doesn't smile at his joke. He wants to tell her that someday we'll all die alone, and it's okay to have a head start. Charles slips the cigarette between his lips and pushes his hands deep into his pockets. His brown polyester pants ride up his calves as he shifts his position on the wooden bench. They reveal red cowboy boots with worn down soles.
"You goin' on a trip?"
The ash on his cigarette falls into his lap as he speaks. He pulls the cigarette out of his mouth and wipes at his thighs. He laughs at himself. The woman ignores him.
The wind picks up and causes his brown hair to fall into his eyes. The woman becomes a motion picture to him. Strips of hair acting as a shutter. He wants to tell her that he already knows the ending. Finally, a train pulls into the station, and before he realizes it, the woman, the train, and the wind are gone. He's alone with only the stub of his cigarette. Silence.
Suddenly, he hears a ringing noise. He looks around. One of the pay phones is ringing.
He flicks the cigarette at the empty track and walks up to the phone. It rings again. He hesitates and then reluctantly picks up.
"Hello? Who?"
Charles looks around the platform.
"No. No one's here."
"Yeah, it is, but no one's here. It's just me."
"Alabama, huh? I'm sure she's okay. She's probably just runnin' late. You 'er ma?"
"You must be an awfully good mother to be so worried. I'm sure she's fine though."
Charles reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of Camels. He slides one out of the pack and sticks it in his mouth.
"Hold on, 'kay?"
He sets the phone down and uses his last match to light the cigarette. He tosses the matchbook to his feet.
"You there? What'cher name?"
"That's very pretty. I'm sure your daughter…Alabama, right?"
"I'm sure Alabama will be here any minute now."
"Oh sorry, my name's Charles. Charlie."
"My ma? Yeah, she was a wonderful woman."
"Yeah, she um…she passed away, awhile back."
"That's okay, no need to apologize. It wasn't your fault."
"Ten."
"You know what's funny though?"
"I still remember her smell. I do."
"No, it's still only me out here. I'm sure she'll be comin' around. Your daughter's a lucky girl."
"Cherub. That was my mother's name. I remember this one time I woke up in the middle of the night. I kept havin' these horrible nightmares 'bout…you know what, I don't even remember what they were 'bout, but I woke up crying and snuck into my mother's bed. And I remember her pullin' the blankets up tight, right under my chin. Makin' me feel real safe, you know? And she brushed her fingers through my hair and kissed my wet cheeks. She didn't stop runnin' her hand though my hair until I fell asleep. I…"
"Oh, another call?"
"Okay."
"Well I hope it's her too."
"Okay, Okay. Bye now. You tell
Alabama…Hello? Hello?"
Charles looks at the phone and then gently places it back on the receiver.
He puts his hands deep into his pockets and the walks down the steps onto the railroad tracks. He starts whistling a tune to himself as his boots echo against the metal rails. The evening wind picks up his hair asking for one last dance before he goes.
Soon the world will forget this tune that he plays and he'll be gone, just like matches.
YOU GOT A SPARE?
