The view outside the window was clear except for the streaks that traced across where the raindrops had been, where the wind was beating, where the railroad ran parallel to the horizon. The smell of coffee. The beating of the engine, the ticking of the tracks as we crossed the New York landscape.
A New York Minute. Sixty by twenty-four makes a day.
Marla had struggled with the minute. Counted to sixty seconds, forgetting seven and seventeen and twenty-seven. She still skipped numbers. The letters on her ticket were a jumble, the signs incomprehensible. She took out a book, not reading it. She listened for the sound of the other passengers' breathing. The laughter of the child, the humming of the mother, the soft sighs of the elderly woman. The nagging of the middle-aged wife.
She didn't know the last time she had sat down and breathed. Since Michael had just decided that it was better to leave after all, she couldn't find reassurance in the pages she'd so long ago treasured. Curling up on the couch seemed inconsequential compared to the bills she had to pay, now, on her own. Funny how life throws these curve balls at you, the photograph of memories now thrown in sharp contrast with what they'd once been.
The words he'd said a month ago - "Why should you read, when there's things to be done? Your fantasy worlds, they're nothing compared to the real world." Taking on new meaning now. She'd laughed it off, reminded him that she liked to save money to travel in her books and not to travel to faraway places like France, which cost thousands of times more, and impossible on their little budget. Of course, she'd forgotten of years ago in lost closets of memories, that once he'd read too, and he'd dreamt along with her of traveling to Paris in real life. They were memories that she'd given up for the comfort of the home, the security of his paycheck, the knowledge of being loved.
And all false.
Maybe that's what he'd wanted in the first place, when they held hands and promised to love each other forever. To travel, to experience, to live. She'd thrown her dreams under the train of her need of him, where they'd never breathe and live again for their own sake. She'd thrown them away, thinking they'd build new dreams together, but no, they were both miserable in
A New York Minute. Sixty by twenty-four makes a day.
Marla had struggled with the minute. Counted to sixty seconds, forgetting seven and seventeen and twenty-seven. She still skipped numbers. The letters on her ticket were a jumble, the signs incomprehensible. She took out a book, not reading it. She listened for the sound of the other passengers' breathing. The laughter of the child, the humming of the mother, the soft sighs of the elderly woman. The nagging of the middle-aged wife.
She didn't know the last time she had sat down and breathed. Since Michael had just decided that it was better to leave after all, she couldn't find reassurance in the pages she'd so long ago treasured. Curling up on the couch seemed inconsequential compared to the bills she had to pay, now, on her own. Funny how life throws these curve balls at you, the photograph of memories now thrown in sharp contrast with what they'd once been.
The words he'd said a month ago - "Why should you read, when there's things to be done? Your fantasy worlds, they're nothing compared to the real world." Taking on new meaning now. She'd laughed it off, reminded him that she liked to save money to travel in her books and not to travel to faraway places like France, which cost thousands of times more, and impossible on their little budget. Of course, she'd forgotten of years ago in lost closets of memories, that once he'd read too, and he'd dreamt along with her of traveling to Paris in real life. They were memories that she'd given up for the comfort of the home, the security of his paycheck, the knowledge of being loved.
And all false.
Maybe that's what he'd wanted in the first place, when they held hands and promised to love each other forever. To travel, to experience, to live. She'd thrown her dreams under the train of her need of him, where they'd never breathe and live again for their own sake. She'd thrown them away, thinking they'd build new dreams together, but no, they were both miserable in
