How Many Letters Are In Goodbye?

by Yvonne Cassidy

  At the gate, we’re handed a ticket and we have to wait until other people come out before we can go in. And standing there, waiting, I think about the poster with my face on it, about how this is just the kind of place Aunt Ruth might put up a poster like that.

  People come out and it’s our turn to go in, but my feet won’t take me through the gate. I’m imagining it inside, a poster of me on a notice board, Aunt Ruth standing next to it. I’m holding up the queue and someone behind shouts out to move it. I don’t know what to do, but I have to do something, I’m hungry and I have to eat and there’s food in there, you can smell the food every time the door opens. I put my head down, follow the others towards the door where there’s another guy collecting tickets. I’m getting close to him, I see his shoes, Caterpillar boots.

  “Hey,” he goes, when I hand him my ticket. “Is that what I think it is?”

  I don’t know what he means, but I’m ready to run.

  “You think we allow Red Sox fans in here?”

  When I look up he is smiling, he has nice eyes. He points to his baseball cap—a Yankee one like I used to have—and I realise that’s what he’s talking about, my cap. I try and smile back.

  “Enjoy your lunch,” he goes.

  Inside there’s another queue, this time in a tiny corridor. It’s hot and we’re closer to the smell of food. My mouth fills up with saliva and I don’t know if that’s because I’m hungry or if I’m going to be sick. A woman is coming the other way with a walkie-talkie. She says hello to people as she passes. She stops right at me and my heart starts beating, really fast.

  “Excuse me,” she goes.

  “I have a ticket!”

  She smiles. “I know, I just need to get into the office there.”

  She gestures at a door that I hadn’t seen, next to where I’m standing.

  “Sorry.”

  She jangles keys in the lock, turns back to me. “Is that a Scottish accent I hear?”

  “Irish.”

  “Irish, yes, now I hear it,” she says. The walkie-talkie crackles. “Enjoy your lunch—it’s meatballs and spaghetti today, it’s really good.”

  Ahead of me, people are starting to move, the man with the wispy hair is already a few tiles in front of me

  “Thanks.”

  I don’t know what I’m expecting, Mum, but after all the queues and corridors I was not expecting the space to open up as big as it did, for the whole inside of the church to be taken up with round tables and chairs like the parties that Cooper sometimes catered. There’s people on one side, handing out trays of food and a drink, everyone smiling, everyone saying to enjoy our lunch. I’ve lost the wispy-haired man in front of me and I feel lonely all of a sudden, like I wanted to sit next to him. I don’t know where to sit, so I walk over towards the huge organ, towards a table where there are two free seats. There’s one other woman at the table, an old lady, eating slowly. She’s wearing a cardigan, a nice watch. She’s not someone I thought would eat somewhere like this. A young guy sits down in the other empty seat straightaway.

  I barely even notice all the different things on the tray, just start eating it all, the meatballs and the spaghetti and broccoli and bread. I want to slow down, but I’m too hungry to eat slowly so I just keep eating and eating until it’s gone. And it’s only then I remember to check for any posters of me, but there aren’t any—there aren’t any posters of anyone.

  The young guy next to me has already finished and is getting up to leave. He hasn’t eaten his apple and he sees me looking at it. “You want it?”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  It’s on my way out that I see her, the woman from the meeting, at the table by the door in a white hat and apron, her grey hair tied back in a ponytail. I’m going to walk by, I’m pretending not to see her, but she sees me and starts waving.

  “Lisa!” she calls, “Lisa!”

  For a second, I forget that’s my name and then I remember, smile.

  “Hi,” I go.

  “Hello,” she says, “you remember me, don’t you? Winnie? From the diner?”

  “Yeah, I remember. Nice to see you.”

  “I haven’t seen you,” she says. “Are you still coming?”

  “No,” I go. “I kind of forgot.”

  That part is true, I had kind of forgotten, can’t even remember how long it was since I was there.

  “Do you want some bread to take with you? We got really nice stuff today.”

  The bread does look nice all laid out, Kaiser rolls and bagels and sourdough.

  “I can take some of this?”

  “Sure,” she says, “whatever you want. You know you can go in for seconds too?”

  I didn’t know. “Can you?”

  She smiles. “Sure, just join the end of the line outside, get another ticket.”

  Another meal would fill me up, another meal would last me until tomorrow, especially with the bread.

  “And I can take the bread then, on my way out? Will you still have some, do you think?”

  She slides her glasses up her nose. “I’ll still have some, don’t worry. If we’re running low, I’ll keep you some.”

  That’s the mistake I make, Mum, going around a second time. If I’d left then and taken the bread and the apple, I’d have been okay. If I’d left then, I don’t know where I’d be writing from now, maybe Battery Park or the new little playground I found near Varick with the benches where you can stretch out properly. But I didn’t leave then, I joined the queue and took another ticket.

  The second time, my table by the organ is full, so I sit at the one next to it, just me and all men, until two guys get up and a girl takes the place next to me. When she sits down, she takes time arranging herself, takes off her cap and her headphones. I watch her as I try to slow down my eating this time around.

  “Hey,” she says. “I’m Pat.”

  “Lisa.”

  She doesn’t use the spoon, she picks up the broccoli, dangles it by the stalk into her mouth.

  “Every damn day they have vegetables as part of the menu. I always eat it first, so I can get it out of the way, enjoy the rest.”

  I laugh. “You come here a lot?”

  She nods. “Most days. It’s a good place. Usually, I listen to my music if they don’t have any playing, but you looked like you might want to chat.”

  “You’re lucky,” I go, nodding towards her Walkman. “I’d kill to have my music with me.”

  She puts the broccoli down, lifts her headphones from around her neck. “Here, listen to mine.”

  “No, it’s okay, I don’t want to use up your batteries—”

  “They won’t last forever, but you can listen to one song.”

  I take the headphones from her, put them on. They’re the old-fashioned kind where the spongy bit sits on top of your ear. She reaches into her pocket, hits play, and I can hear the tape whirring, a bit of silence and then the twang of a guitar, real slow at first. I recognise the song even before Bono’s voice starts, “Running to Stand Still,” Lisa’s favourite song from The Joshua Tree. Listening to the song it’s as if I’m back in Lisa’s house lying on the floor of the bedroom she shares with her sister. It’s like I’m there but I’m in this church too, watching the people with empty trays and full trays all moving in time with Bono’s voice. And just as he gets to my favourite part, the part about running through the streets, I see the woman with the walkie-talkie coming down the steps where the food line is, and she stops, right where the man is handing out drinks, and it looks like she’s scanning the room for someone, she’s definitely scanning the room for someone, and then I see the person behind her.

  It’s Aunt Ruth.

  The music is still going, Bono’s voice too loud now, and I rip the headphones from around my neck, shove them in a bundle at Pat.

  In one movement, I twi
st around in my chair, slide under the table. I forget about my backpack and without my weight to balance the chair, it pulls it over with a crash.

  Something kicks me in the back and I realise I was leaning into someone’s legs, so I scrunch myself up, as small as I can. Hands are picking up my backpack, the chair. Pat’s face appears in the space where I should be.

  “What the fuck? You okay?”

  “Did she see me? Is she coming over?”

  “Who, Chrissie?” She says it loud, starts to look around.

  “I don’t know her name—the one with the walkie-talkie. Is she coming over?”

  I wait for her to ask me why, but she doesn’t.

  “Sit tight,” she goes. “Stay down.”

  A chair pushes back at the table and jeans and white runners are replaced by black trousers and black shoes. Pat takes my backpack and puts it under her chair and I hear a scraping noise on the table over my head and I know she’s pushing my tray under hers.

  Another pair of feet, legs are coming over to where my chair was. I hear Pat tell them the spot is taken. I hold my breath, the feet move away.

  Pat’s face is there again. “Chrissie’s gone. She went outside with that other woman.” I shuffle over to my empty chair. “They might wait at the gate though, until you come out. I’ve seen that before.”

  My heart is going too fast, my breath. “Is there another way out?”

  “No. Best thing to do is hide out until they leave.”

  I knew this was a bad idea, coming in here, that it was a trap. “Where? Where is there to hide?”

  “The bathroom is over there, by where you came in. Only place in the city where there’s never a line for the women.”

  A young girl refilling the milk on the table sees me half sticking out from under the table. She looks scared, like she might call someone over, so I pull myself all the way out, sit on the chair.

  I glance around but I can’t see Chrissie, I can’t see either of them. The door at the back of the church opens and closes as people leave. For a second I think I’m going to be sick.

  “Here, swap.” Pat is handing me her baseball cap. “If Chrissie’s seen you already, it might throw her off.”

  Her baseball cap is purple, the inside has a line of sweat. She plucks mine from my head and it’s stupid but, in the middle of everything else, I think about the day Laurie gave it to me and I nearly want to snatch it back. When I put Pat’s on, it’s big, falling down almost into my eyes, but I tip it up.

  “Don’t worry about your tray, I got it.”

  “Thanks, thank you so much.”

  I grab my backpack, take a breath, and start to walk towards the food line, where people are still streaming in, trays and trays still being handed out. A woman on a walker has someone carry her tray for her and I step around them both. Two of the volunteers are joking with a little boy, who is holding onto the handle of the buggy his mother is pushing. I put my head down. I am waiting for someone to stop me, for a hand to grab me, for someone to call out my name. There are steps up to the bathroom and I take each one without looking up. Outside the men’s, someone is waiting. The women’s is right next to me, I try the handle. Pat was right, it opens, I’m inside, I lock the door.

  I take a deep breath, another one, like I haven’t been breathing at all. I take off my backpack, lean against the door, and slide all the way down to the floor.

  There’s no window, no way out.

  I don’t know how long I’m sitting like that before the knocking starts. It stops and then I hold my breath and then it starts again. A voice comes through the door. “Hurry up in there, there’s other people waiting. Other people need to go.”

  Maybe I should have said something back—that I’m sick or for them to go away—but I don’t, I only sit there, gripping on to my backpack. The knocking stops and more time passes. If I’d still had my G-Shock, if I hadn’t sold it, I’d know exactly how much time, but I don’t have it and it could be minutes or hours or only seconds before I hear footsteps outside and the knocking starts again. This time, it is a different voice.

  “Hello? Hello in there? Are you okay?”

  I don’t say anything.

  “You need to open the door. There are other people waiting who need to use the bathroom.”

  I open my eyes. I recognise the voice, I think I do. It’s Winnie. I’m almost sure it’s her.

  “If you don’t open up I’m going to have to get someone to open it. We have a master key.”

  I push my ear up against the wood, to hear better. Outside, there is noise of people moving, other voices. The knock, when it comes again, is louder.

  “Okay then, suit yourself, one of the guys will be coming back to open up.”

  “Wait!”

  I push myself into a stand, grab the lock. It sticks a bit but then it moves and when I open the door, I hold it open a crack, to see if I’m right. On the other side of the door, I see grey hair, glasses. I’m right, it’s her.

  “Lisa?” She frowns and smiles at the same time. “What has you in there for so long, I was just about to get someone to—”

  “Please, Winnie, you have to help me.”

  Behind her, the queue of people waiting for trays has stopped. One of the men is looking at me and I pull my cap down lower.

  “What’s happened? Are you sick?” Winnie’s voice sounds concerned.

  “I need to find a way out. Is there another way out of here?”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  A woman next to her grabs the door, pushes it properly open. “You coming out or what? You’re not the only one who needs the bathroom you know!”

  I step out of the bathroom so she can go in. I am totally exposed now.

  “Winnie, you have to help me. People are here—looking for me. I can’t go back. I can’t go back.”

  Everyone in the queue can hear me, but I don’t care.

  “Who? Who’s looking for you?”

  “Please, Winnie. I thought it was safe here. You have to help me.”

  Winnie’s eyes are on mine, as if she’s trying to see into my head. She’s on the cusp of helping me, I know she is.

  “Please.”

  “Come on.”

  She doesn’t wait to see if I’m following her, just starts walking back against the crowd of people flowing in. We pass by a man at the top of the queue and I hear his walkie-talkie crackling too and it sounds like Chrissie’s voice and I know she’s asking him about me. Winnie is leading me back the way I came in, right to where Chrissie’s office was. And just when I think it’s a trap, she keeps going, past the office and around the corner to a flight of stairs I hadn’t seen.

  “Careful going down here,” she says.

  For an old lady, she is very quick on the stairs and I am quick behind her. We are in a little kitchen where there are two women in white coats cutting up chickens, behind them there are basins and basins of it, still to go. Winnie nods at them and we hurry past, make a left around a corner, and another down a corridor that gets darker and darker until you can hardly see the light from the kitchen at all.

  There’s a door to the left and Winnie opens it. There’s no light in here, but I can see bulky shapes in the dark, boxes.

  “No one should come in here, but hide in the back just in case. Wait until I come and get you.”

  She doesn’t wait for me to answer her, just closes the door and it is pitch black inside. I can hear her runners squeaking on the tiles as she goes back towards the kitchen and after all that, I nearly run after her. It feels like I can’t breathe in the darkness, but I can breathe, there is air, there is enough air. I reach out and feel the shape of something in front of me, cardboard, then a gap, then splintery wood. I can smell apples, I focus on the apple smell. I remember what she said about getting to the back and I let my hand go tha
t way first, leading me, then one foot, then the next. There’s sounds in the room, a rummaging sound, something alive. My heart stops because I know it’s a rat but I force a breath, force myself to move forward, to do what she said, to trust her.

  Your subway map is what saves me, Mum, in that basement, waiting for Winnie. And even though it’s pitch black, I close my eyes to picture it. I use my finger on the box in front of me to trace each line, each stop. I start on a really hard line, the pink one, the 7, and I hardly ever do that so I really have to concentrate on the stops and when I’m finished that I do the M and that’s a funny one too because it starts and ends in Queens. And after those I do the J and then the GG and your line, the AA, and Dad’s line, the D, but I don’t do the RR. And every time I hear the rats, every time I think there’s one of them at my foot, every time I forget to breathe, I scrunch my toes up inside my Docs and go back to the start of the line I’m on and I begin again.

  And that’s what I’m doing when finally there’s a noise outside the door and it opens and I can see the insides of the room and Winnie, outside, peering in, her white apron and hat gone now. After the blackness of the room, the corridor feels light this time and the kitchen is so bright it’s like my eyes are going to bleed. And when we get outside, my eyes are streaming and there’s too much to see all at once, even though everyone is gone, and it’s quiet now and the only evidence of all the people is one guy hosing down outside.

  Winnie puts her hand on my shoulder, but lightly. “You okay?”

  I nod, I don’t know if I am or not, but I know I will be.

  “Good, come on.” She walks towards the gate, turns around when she sees I’m not behind her. “Are you coming?”

  The guy is about to hose where I’m standing, I need to move.

  “Where?”

  And she says it like it’s so simple, as if there’s no other possible answer.

  “Home, with me.”

  Rhea

  Dear Mum,

  When I wake up, the clock on the mantelpiece says it’s a quarter past ten and I’m confused, because it’s bright still, but then I realise that it’s a quarter past ten in the morning—that I’d slept all afternoon, all evening and all night.