Part One
SASHA
2016
“Please don’t let me be late. I don’t want to take the next train,” I mumbled to myself as I increased my pace. I virtually ran from the cab to the train station, my mind alight with panicked thoughts. Always anal about time, I was obsessed with the fear of being late. I was returning home to Brooklyn from Philadelphia after graduating from college to plan this anniversary, which wasn’t on my ideal list of things to do, but I loved my parents and had to save money while I decided on my next step in life—whatever that step might be.
“I hope I figure everything out,” I muttered. I was good at prioritizing, but for some reason, having to deal with the anniversary and my own undecided future seemed doubly daunting. I wanted to run and hide. Regardless, I was going home to do something vitally important—something I had to do because I cared.
Thus far, I had only been home on breaks due to my hectic school schedule, but my parents had come to see me often. The thought of home was hazy, although every time I managed the trip nothing had changed. I, on the other hand, had changed so much during college it was hard to imagine everything at home was exactly the same as it had been growing up.
I approached the ticket booth and fumbled for my ticket, which I’d filed carefully in my wallet. I handed it to a lady who looked eerily like my elementary education professor.
“Sasha. What a pretty name,” she commented with a smile. I could see the reflection of my tired face in her big glasses. Looking at her was almost painful because it reminded me of Professor McCotti barking about finals, which had thankfully just ended. I’d also finished my teaching internship with excellent results, much to my satisfaction.
“Thank you,” I replied.
“And you’re on your way to Penn Station, New York,” she muttered, fumbling with the computer.
“Yes. Oh, and I also have a student discount!” I exclaimed.
“Okay, just a second,” she answered and continued mumbling to herself. “Here you go. I’m sure Philly will miss you.” She handed me my ticket.
I nearly ripped it out of her hand in my excitement. I wanted to get to the train as quickly as I could, and I made my way down the long corridor to the waiting room, hoping this Amtrak ride would be a better experience than my previous ones. I always encountered the oddest people and the strangest situations. Once this dude told me about his son for the whole ride just to look at me, bewildered, when I asked his son’s name as we disembarked. That kind of craziness was hard for me to process, and the train ride never gave me the space I needed to think about my life.
Speaking of process, I had to go to the bathroom and knew better than to use the ones on the train. I looked for the nearest one, dodging the cleaning cart parked outside. Luckily, it had been recently cleaned, because for an admitted clean-freak like me, this was very important.
I tried to ignore the other women in the bathroom and quickly handled my business. I washed my hands, looking in the mirror. My dark hazel eyes stared back at me, framed by my shoulder-length hair, which I tied back as I looked in the mirror. I had recently gotten my hair cut in a side-bangs style and really liked the way it fell. I wore my skull t-shirt and skinny jeans with black combat boots. Now that I was out of school, I had the summer to look as unprofessional as possible. My usual gothic attire did not blend well in the school setting, and I was constantly forced to look appropriate.
“Attention, all Amtrak passengers. The train to New York Penn Station is now boarding.”
“Crap,” I muttered. I dried my hands hastily on my pants and grabbed my bag, making my weary way to the train, ready to be done with the day already. I had a strange anxiety that I would miss the train—as if it would just disappear and I’d have to wait for another one.
I dodged a sea of people, some of whom who were walking far too slowly. Definitely not city-dwellers, I decided irritably. I was out of breath by the time I got to the train, the back of my neck simmering with sweat from the warm, crowded station.
The conductor looked sleepy and uninterested, as usual. I gave him my ticket, and he put a stub on my seat. I sat down and pulled out my headphones. I had stocked my iPhone with plenty of songs for this occasion. My loud metal music blared, waking up some guy who was sleeping in the corner. He looked startled and angry.
“What the hell?” he muttered, glaring at me.
“Sorry,” I said with a small, embarrassed grin. I turned my music down, searched through my phone for Eddy’s contact information, and shot him a quick text.
Sasha: Hey. Just got on the train.
Bro: I’m meeting you at Penn Station at 2 pm, right?
Sasha: Yes. I’ll see you then.
Bro: I’m so glad you’re coming home to help out with Mom and Dad’s anniversary party. It’s all they can talk about. I hope we don’t fuck it up.
Sasha: Nonsense. Besides, I’ll teach you everything you need to know about party planning. I am a certified teacher now, which has made me organized and worldly, and all that jazz.
Bro: Smarty-pants. I’ll see you soon.
Eddy had always called me smarty-pants, and he hadn’t changed much, either. He was still a friendly, gentle giant. Going home reminded me of other things, as well—things I wanted to forget. People I wanted to forget, rather. Like Shane. My thoughts drifted as I fell slowly into an uncomfortable sleep, dreaming of the past.
SASHA
2003
I had come home from school for the day, looking forward to seeing my mom and dad, but I’d forgotten they were working that night. My older brother, Eddy, was playing video games with some kid I’d never seen before. I could tell he had the slightly grown look of a teenager, which twelve-year-old me found very intimidating. Eddy took a sip of his soda pop, plopping his game controller in his lap. He greeted me with a small nod.
“Where are Mom and Dad?” I whined.
“They’re out. We’re watching you, so you better not run away or do anything stupid,” Eddy explained.
“Great. I’m going upstairs to do homework.”
“Like a good nerd,” Eddy jeered, cackling.
The boy sitting next to my brother cursed at the screen. One of his video game characters had just died. I stuck my tongue out at my brother, who turned around to play. The boy he was with stood up, clearly frustrated. He turned around, facing me. When I saw his face, I nearly fell over. He was the cutest boy I had ever seen. His dark hair was spiky, and he had UFO pants on. He raised a thick eyebrow, looking at me with his beautiful, clear blue eyes.
“What?” he spat.
“Who are you?” I asked in a bratty voice.
“I’m Shane. I just moved in to the apartment next door, and I’m hungry, so buzz off,” he grumbled.
He meandered to the kitchen to get some snacks. I couldn’t ignore the blushing heat that consumed me, so I turned on my heel and ran up the stairs to my room. I locked the door and plopped on my bed. Under my pillow was the pink, password-protected diary my parents had given me for Christmas. I keyed in the nifty little passcode and opened it. My pink fuzzy pen with feathers on the tip was still on my nightstand from last night’s writing session. I wrote when I felt scared or any other emotion that was strong and raw, too much to deal with. It was no different now.