Stations of Life

by Chloe Spencer

  “Wow. How insightful. You’re right, I don’t. And I’m pissed that this debt, which has been hanging over our heads for the past two years, has magically been paid off. You kept secrets from me.”

  “But I wanted the trip to be a surprise.”

  “I don’t care. How is the trip a priority over debt?”

  “Juniper, I understand that you’re angry.”

  “I’m pissed.”

  “I know. And I think it would be best if you came over and we talked about this some more. Look, I’m about to head home right now. Maybe I could get those spring rolls from Sawatdee that you like, and—”

  “No. I’m not getting dinner with you.”

  “It’s better than my cooking, isn’t it?

  “Don’t make a joke. Don’t do that.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t exactly know what to say. What are you supposed to say when the woman you’ve been with for twelve years wants to leave you?” She broke down, sobbing.

  I uncomfortably waited for her cries to subside, but they didn’t.

  “I’m coming by tonight around seven to get my stuff, and that’s it. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  Then I ended the call. I leaned back against my seat with a huff, and I closed my eyes. A few tears escaped. I didn’t care. I had to leave for things to get better, and there was nothing that Eloise could say or do to change that.

  When I opened my eyes again, I realized the train had stopped. Outside the windows, I could only see fog. Weird. Was it raining outside? Why was there suddenly so much fog? Or wait, was that smoke?

  Alarmed, I sprang to my feet, slinging my backpack around my shoulders. I ran over to the windows and peered through. No, that was definitely fog. It wasn’t thick enough or dark enough to be smoke. Plus, if the train were on fire, wouldn’t alarms be going off? Or wouldn’t the conductor come over the radio to say something? This was spooky. A chill trickled down my spine. The old woman who had been sitting across from me was now gone, along with the young girl. Where had they gone?

  As if in answer to my question, the doors of the train car opened. I scrambled out, my heart nearly leaping out of my chest. I was standing on cracked concrete, traces of faded chalk etched onto its surface. The fog still surrounded me, so I could barely make anything out. I could see a shadow moving about a few feet away. They moved slowly, almost as if they were stalking me.

  “Hey!” I screeched, slinging my backpack in front of me like a shield. “Stay back!”

  The figure held up its hands, and finally emerged through the fog. It was the young girl on the train. Her brown eyes were wide with fear.

  “Whoa, calm down! I’m just a kid!”

  “Where are we? What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. I was trying to get to the train conductor to figure out what’s going on. I think we’re the only two people here.”

  “How? What? Did everyone else get off?”

  She pouted. “I was playing on my Nintendo DS, so I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “You didn’t notice that the train stopped?”

  “I was in the middle of a battle with a gym leader.”

  “What?”

  “Pokémon,” she said, irritated. “You know? Pokémon? One of the biggest franchises ever?”

  “I know what Pokémon is. I just don’t understand how you could be so zonked out that you wouldn’t notice a train stopping in the middle of the track and getting engulfed in fog.”

  “Oh my God, lady, you’re so cranky. You remind me of my dad.”

  I rolled my eyes. Clearly this obnoxious brat didn’t understand the urgency of the situation. “Do you know where we are? Did you see any street signs?”

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “Really? You have no idea where we are?”

  “I mean…” She trailed off. “I saw a sign for a middle school.”

  A middle school? The light rail didn’t stop anywhere near a middle school, as far as I knew.

  “Okay. Come on. Let’s go ask for help,” I sighed, shaking my head.

  I pulled my backpack straps over my shoulders again and motioned for her to follow me into the fog.

  I was probably dreaming. That seemed to be the only thing that made logical sense at this point. So the only thing left to do was follow the dream to its end, right?

  * * * *

  We pushed through the fog for about five minutes, until it cleared. I could see the tall, red brick building looming before us. Its tall black windows reflected white light; it was almost like looking at half-filled glasses of milk.

  That’s when I recognized the building. This was Park Middle School. My middle school. This was where I met Eloise.

  “Hey kid,” I called out, turning around to face her, but she was already walking up the steps and through the doors.

  I followed her cautiously. Inside it was dark and empty, the rows of forest green lockers ominous and stiff, like soldiers standing at attention. They framed either side of the hallway and continued in what felt like an endless line. Funny, I didn’t remember this place being so big.

  “Hey kid, how did we end up here?” I asked her.

  She stopped and glanced over her shoulder, blinking. “I dunno.”

  “Do you know this place?”

  “Yeah, this is my school.”

  “Your school? This was…” I trailed off, my eyes widening.

  Wait.

  The backpack. The blue hair. This girl was me. Young me.

  “Can you not call me kid? My name is Juniper. You can call me June for short.”

  “I…do you know who I am?”

  She arched a brow. “A bitchy lady?”

  “No, I mean I’m you.”

  Young June laughed, putting a hand over her mouth to hide the gap in her teeth. Before I got braces, this was how I used to laugh—joyful, but simultaneously ashamed of the way I looked.

  “Oh, I knew that,” she said. “I was waiting for you to catch on. I can’t believe you didn’t realize. You didn’t remember the blue hair phase?”

  “I blocked out most of my middle school memories.”

  Her eyes softened. “But why? Was it that bad?”

  “Are you kidding me? It’s middle school. It’s inherently awful.”

  “Well…I didn’t think it was,” she answered. “Maybe you’re remembering things wrong.”

  “I am not.”

  “This is where we met Eloise. How could it be that bad?”

  I sighed, rolling my eyes up to the ceiling. Young June motioned for me to follow her with an inviting smile.

  “Come on,” she urged. “I want to show you something.”

  “I don’t think I want to come with.”

  “You have no choice.” She blinked, and her smile went from being genuine to passive aggressive. “If you want to get out of here, you have to come with me. Besides, I want to show you cool things.”

  “Fine. I’ll come with.” At least until I wake up from this nightmare. The dark hallways and locker-armies were freaking me out.

  “Chop chop, let’s get moving.” She briskly walked down the hallway and turned left. I followed her, noting the rows of bulletin boards that adorned the walls. A lot of them featured essays or poems. When I started the sixth grade here, this was the first unit we worked on in English class. Write a limerick or a haiku. Tell us about yourself.

  “Please don’t tell me you’re going to show me my terrible poetry. I’m not down for that.”

  I stopped once I reached Ms. Pedersen’s class, and saw my name. Like most of the kids in my class, I didn’t like or understood the mechanics of poetry. Instead of doing a limerick or a haiku, I opted to do something else.

  My name is Juniper

  But my friends call me June

  I like drawing and playing cool tunes

  I was born in Wisconsin

  But moved to St. Paul

  And I’m excited to start class with you all

  Wow. Q
uality work there, Young June. That did not deserve a B plus. Pretty sure the teacher only gave me that grade because I was kissing ass.

  “Don’t read that,” Young June snapped. “That’s not what I came to show you. You must follow me. Why don’t you listen to instructions?”

  “And you say that I’m the cranky one.”

  “Well, I’m cranky because you don’t listen. God, you are so much like Dad, it’s gross.”

  I flinched. Young June held a lot of animosity towards her father, which I could understand. When I was in middle school, my relationship with my dad was strained. My older brother Peter had dropped out of college to go backpack across Europe, and my father decided that there would be hell to pay if I ended up the same way. He ragged on me constantly about everything. My manners at the dinner table, the way I dressed, what hobbies I enjoyed. He hated the fact that I played Pokémon, and there was no reason for it.

  “Playing that goddamn game again?” he would comment as he walked by my bedroom. As a kid I remembered thinking that if I was perfect, his comments would cease. If I had straight A’s, who gave a shit if I spent all my spare time playing Pokémon?

  But it didn’t work. In the eighth grade, I had straight A’s all year, and he still bitched at me for playing Pokémon. Oh, and for dying my hair blue. Looking back, I didn’t know why I thought getting good grades would change him. Maybe I was trying to justify his awful behavior.

  “Sorry. Okay, what were you going to show me?”

  She led me down the hallway towards the cafeteria. Unlike the rest of the building, it was brightly lit. I could see a younger version of myself already sitting at one of the tables. I could tell it was me because she still had brown hair. I’d dyed my hair blue in eighth grade.

  This June was a lot cuter. Rosy plump cheeks. She was me before I lost all that weight playing soccer in high school. The only thing that disturbed me was her sad eyes. Her hollow brown eyes stared down at the sheets of notebook paper, cluttered with monster drawings.

  “Why are we so sad?”

  “We just moved here from Madison, remember? We didn’t know anyone. And we had to leave all our friends behind,” Young June explained.

  “My friends? In Madison?” I laughed, shaking my head in disbelief. I couldn’t even remember their names.

  “Maddie? Jason? At recess we played witches and wizards? We were Double, Maddie was Toil, Jason was Trouble.”

  “I can’t believe you remember that. How old are you, again?”

  “I’m fourteen.”

  “So you are eighth grade me. Er, us.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then that June is from sixth grade, on our first day at Park.”

  “Bingo.”

  “Well, this isn’t interesting at all. This is just sad. We look like we’re on the verge of tears.”

  I stared at sixth grade me. I watched as her stubby pencil traced the lines of her creatures, over and over again, until the paper was smudged with lead. I wanted so badly to hug her and tell her everything would be okay. I moved towards her, but Young June’s arm flew out, stopping me.

  “You can’t,” she protested. “She can’t hear you or see you.”

  “How come I can see you?”

  “I don’t have time nor the patience to explain the logistics of the world to you. Settle down and watch.”

  From the doors on the opposite side of the cafeteria, a girl in baggy jeans rolled through. Her hands were in her pockets, her braided blond hair hanging over her shoulders. I recognized her immediately. It was Eloise. It was so funny to see how light and long her hair was back then, almost platinum in appearance. In my present, she was darker, like an earthy gold.

  Two girls clung to either side of her. They were all yakking it up over something. They passed by sixth grade June’s table. Eloise glanced over with a malicious smile. She planted her hands on the table with a forceful slam. June dropped her pencil.

  “What are you drawing?” Eloise picked up a sheet of paper, laughing at the drawings. “Is this Pokémon? Guys, look at this, she’s drawing Pokémon. What a dork.”

  “Give it back,” June demanded faintly.

  Eloise cupped a hand around her ear. “What was that? I didn’t catch that.”

  “Give it back.”

  “Guys, seriously do you hear anything?”

  The other two girls snickered and shook their heads. Eloise crumpled up the drawing and threw it at June. She watched as the laughing girls walked away.

  “I forgot how we met,” I told Young June. “God. It feels like an awful premonition.”

  “I don’t know what you mean by that, but we’re not done here. Come on. Next stop.”

  I followed Young June through the cafeteria doors and down the hallway. A door was propped open. Raucous laughter erupted from inside the room. I read the name on the plaque outside the door. Mr. Bernhower. My seventh-grade homeroom teacher. I stopped in my tracks.

  “Young June, I can’t…go in here.”

  Bernhower died in a car accident when we were in our sophomore year of high school. Eloise and I went to the funeral together and sat in the front row. We held hands and sobbed as countless students told stories about him. I still remember the sorrowful look on his young wife’s face, as she bounced their infant daughter on their lap. “Tragic” didn’t even begin to describe what happened to him.

  I didn’t know how much Young June knew about any of this. I didn’t know if I wanted to tell her, or if I should let her experience the grief for herself.

  But Young June was unfazed by my grief. “I need you to see this.”

  I turned the corner and saw Bernhower standing at the front of the classroom, his hands on his hips. He had a large mustache, like an old-time vaudeville star. The kids used to tease him and say he looked like Super Mario, but they all loved him. He was one of those adults that just got us.

  “Class, class, settle down,” Bernhower laughed. “Come on, we have to talk about your projects for My Side of The Mountain. I’m assigning you each a partner.”

  “We don’t get to pick our own?!” a kid cried out, and a chorus of boos rose up.

  Bernhower shook his head, but the smile didn’t leave his face. I thought I would never see that smile again. My eyes welled with tears and I placed a hand over my mouth to keep from crying.

  “Guys, this project is so much fun, I have to find some way to keep it serious, okay? Plus you all work so well with others. It’s not going to be a problem.”

  Everyone got along well with others, except of course, Eloise. At this time in her life, she had taken on a scene kid phase. She had dyed portions of her blond hair black and had multiple ear piercings. It kind of made her look like a skunk, and she had a skunky attitude to go with it—she got into a lot of fights with other kids.

  Bernhower returned to his desk and called out the names. Seventh-grade June was paired with Eloise, who laughed out loud at the announcement, like it was too ridiculous for her to even believe. Pissed, Eloise responded by crumpling up sheets of paper on her desk and whipping them at the back of her head. Teary eyed, June raced up to Bernhower’s desk and begged to be switched. But Bernhower shook his head.

  “I know Eloise tends to be a bit, well, combative, but you’re one of my best students. And I think she could really use your help.”

  “She hates me. In sixth grade she used to rip up my drawings and throw the shreds at me. I can’t work with her alone.”

  “What if the two of you worked together after school in my classroom? Would that be better?”

  June begrudgingly conceded to this arrangement. I remembered boiling in anger the rest of that day. As all the students went home, here I was, sitting in a classroom with my worst enemy. What a sick joke. I thought Bernhower hated me.

  Young June escorted me from the room. A heard an echo of a bell down the hallway. Shadows of kids exited the room and dispersed into the darkness. Inside Eloise and June sat side by side. June had her copy of the book
open, but Eloise was snapping her gum and blowing bubbles.

  “A lot of people are doing presentations on certain chapters, but I thought we could just do one on the main character,” June suggested in a bored, pissed-off tone. “How does that sound?”

  Eloise popped her gum in response, her blue eyes glazed over like that of a dead fish. Bernhower scolded her from where he was grading papers.

  “Eloise. Spit out your gum. That’s not allowed in school.”

  “School’s not in session.”

  “If you’re still on school grounds, you have to follow the rules.” He straightened his tie and stood up. “Girls, I have to go talk to Ms. Matthews about something for a moment. I’ll be back.”

  Young June and I watched as our teacher exited the room. We glanced at each other and sputtered into laughter. Both of us knew that this was our worst nightmare coming true. Teacher promises not to leave us alone together. Teacher promptly leaves us alone together. Of course.

  “So, did you want to do a presentation about Sam? We could also do Bando.”

  “Do whatever you want.” Eloise stared at her chipped nails.

  “I’m not doing this presentation on my own. I hope you know that.”

  “I didn’t say you would. I could design the poster board and everything.”

  “Oh, so you just want to do the fun stuff, and leave me with the hard work?”

  Eloise rolled her eyes. “Here we go.”

  “You’re going to have to help out more than that.”

  “Gonna be hard to do that, princess, because I didn’t read the book.”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “What do you mean what do I mean? I didn’t read it.”

  “We’ve had four months to read a book that’s not even two hundred pages long. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Eloise’s eyes flashed. “Shut up.”

  “Start reading. Right now. I will work on finding examples of character development.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Your book is right there. Quit being a pain in the ass.”

  “No.”

  Furious, June picked up the book, and chucked it across the room. It hit the whiteboard with a resounding smack. Seething, she stared back at Eloise. But Eloise wouldn’t challenge her. She stared straight ahead and swallowed multiple times, like her throat was parched. Back then I thought she was being an asshole. Looking at it now, I could see she was holding back tears.