True Connection_A Short Story

by Jon Mills

  “Are you lost?” I asked.

  “What?” she replied, obviously fixated on the riveting details of the time table.

  “Trying to find somewhere?”

  She hesitated before replying. Her eyes looked nervous.

  “Yeah. I’m meant to be spending Thanksgiving with my grandparents on Long Island, but I still haven’t got used to finding my way around this city.”

  “Trust me, even when you do, you’ll still find yourself walking into posts.”

  She smiled.

  “I gather that was your train?” she replied.

  “Yes, that was the second one I’ve missed this evening.”

  I pursed my lips together trying hard not to grind my teeth.

  She nodded slowly, looking as if she felt my frustration.

  “Going home for Thanksgiving?” she continued.

  “At this rate, no.” I stifled a laugh. “But yes, I’m heading back for a few days.”

  “Where’s home?” she enquired.

  “Hyannis, Cape Cod.”

  A spiral of smoke expelled from her, as if her very spirit was leaving.

  “Are you at NYU?” I asked.

  “Cornell.”

  I nodded. Taking a drag of my cigarette, I watched as the remaining burning ember glowed hot in the cool air. There was silence for a moment, as if both of us were contemplating what to say next. Despite knowing that my parents would ride my ass if I never got to spend the holiday with them, I decided to ask her, “Would you like to get a drink?”

  “Coffee?”

  “No I mean…,” I trailed off realizing how forward I was being.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I really should be getting going. I’m already running late.”

  I nodded slowly.

  “Got it. No problem.”

  I rose to my feet.

  “Well nice to have met you.”

  I gave a slight smile. She nodded.

  Turning away, I had only taken a few steps when she spoke again.

  “Oh, what the hell. One drink,” she said.

  “Really?”

  “Why not?”

  To say I was shocked would have been an understatement. Standing to her feet I got a better look at her. She was well put-together. Neither thin nor overweight, at least by the standards of the skeletons Rico tended to bring back to the dorm. She wore a cream colored long coat that reached her knees, navy blue slacks, and of course those bright candy red heels. She slung her bag over her shoulder.

  “Shall we?” she said, smiling.

  In that exact moment, that smile did what the last two cigarettes failed to do. It reduced my stress to zero.

  ***

  Stepping out into the drizzle of Manhattan, a cold wind nipped at my ears, chilling me to the bone. We entered the first bar that we could find. It was an Irish establishment, low key, and dimly-lit. A few patrons huddled into a corner; two men in their fifties sat on stools at the bar watching a ball game on the black and white TV perched above a row of bottles.. As I went to place an order, I realized I still hadn’t gotten her name. I watched her take a seat inside a booth. Her eyes flicked over several times, she smiled before looking away. I came back with two bottles of beer and a couple of glasses and took a seat across from her.

  “This is so bizarre,” I said placing her beer in front of her.

  “What is?”

  “This,” I indicated to the both of us. “I know it might seem hard to fathom but it’s so out of character for me to do this, especially when I should be on a train right now half way to Boston,” I said.

  “Ah,” she smiled. “So I’m to believe you don’t make it a habit to pick up girls from stations.”

  “No.”

  I paused for a second, entertaining the opportunity to jump all over that.

  “Alright you’ve got me. I missed my train on purpose just so I could talk to you.”

  “Really?” She eyed me over her drink, “And the collision with the post?”

  “Dramatic flair.”

  “The watch thief?”

  “My brother-in law.”

  “Ahhh,” she laughed.

  I smiled, taking a swig of my drink.

  “I never got your name?”

  “Imagine that,” she replied. “I’m not sure I should give it. You could be a stalker, a pervert, an escaped asylum patient.”

  “True. True. Or,” I paused, breathing in deeply, “Your soul mate.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Destined to meet?”

  “Why not? Look at the unusual circumstances in which we find ourselves.”

  “In which you found yourself,” she replied.

  “Okay, where I found myself.”

  “Among the New York gum, grime, and concrete.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.”

  We sipped on our drinks, taking in the atmosphere of the bar.

  “Platform two, not exactly where I imagine I would meet my soul mate.”

  “Point taken. Maybe next time I can make it a beach, a palm tree instead of a post, sand instead of concrete, and jellyfish instead of gum. How does that sound?”

  “That could work.” She chuckled before saying her name.

  “Sophie Carrington.”

  “Sophie.” I smiled back. “I’m Ryan Whitter.” I offered my hand to her. She shook it while we both studied each other with a glint of amusement. Her hand was small, soft, and warm.

  “So tell me… Ryan Whitter. What are you studying at NYU?”

  I noted that she chose not to pour the beer out of the bottle into the glass. I studied her face as she brought the bottle to her lips before I replied.

  “Majoring in English. I’m hoping to become a professor.”

  “You don’t look like one.”

  “Really? What does one look like, might I ask?”

  “Spectacles, fly away hair, salt and pepper beard, clothing out of the bargain bin. Probably on their third marriage. The usual.”

  “Third marriage? I was thinking of skipping it altogether.”

  “Ah, see, that’s where you would be wrong. You see someone so dedicated to his profession would collapse under the weight of the monumental—”

  “Monumental,” I interjected, smirking, taking another drink.

  She continued her mouth curling up, “Monumental task of nurturing young minds in the greatest forms of literature since Shakespeare. And so, of course, he would have a spectacular wife who would not only make sure he looked his best each day, but she would be the inspiration behind every letter he wrote, sentence he taught, and word he spoke. She would be his muse.”

  “His muse…. I like that.”

  I nodded finding her thoughts quite amusing.

  “And tell me Sophie Carrington, what would his wife be doing when she wasn’t inspiring the hell out of this grand specimen of a man?”

  “She would be running her own business, of course.”

  “Well of course,” I replied as if what she was stating was an obvious fact.

  “A successful one. One that made even more money than her husband.”

  I laughed and lit up another cigarette. Her outlook was refreshing. I enjoyed her warm banter. She was different than the women I’d spent time with. Smart, witty, and intriguing. I downed my beer fast. The first always went down quick.

  “You want another drink?”

  She glanced at my bottle, and then looked at her own.

  “Sure.”

  When I returned she was squinting at me.

  “What?” I said.

  “If I wasn’t mistaken, I would think you are trying to get me drunk, Mr. Whitter.”

  I laughed.

  “Well, I’ll drink yours then.”

  She tapped my hand as I reached for her bottle.

  I scrutinized her, amused.

  She cocked her head to one side. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

  There was an unusual comfort found in our exchange. We knew little of each other, and yet
whether it was purely physical attraction or something deeper, more wonderful it was hard to tell. Even harder as liquid courage took the reins and I relaxed into the leather seating.

  “So Cornell?”

  She pursed her lips, nodding. “I’m taking the Visual Arts program.”

  “Sculptor?”

  “Drawing, painting.”

  “I would love to see some of your work some time.”

  “You can see some now, if you like.”

  She took out a pen from her jacket.

  Now this would be interesting, I thought.

  “Ok turn away.”

  She took a sip from her beer and began scribbling on a napkin.

  “Are you drawing a portrait of me?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Several minutes passed.

  I shot her a sideways glance.

  “No peeking.”

  I chuckled under my breath.

  “Hold on it’s neeaarrrly done,” she said.

  A few more minutes went by.

  “Ok, it’s done.”

  She slid it over, looking exceptionally pleased with herself.

  “I’m impressed.”

  I held it out in front of me observing it fully. It displayed a stick figure chasing a badly sketched train and stumbling over his feet. She had even drawn a second stick figure running off with what appeared to be a watch. Her named was signed in the bottom left corner.

  I raised both eyebrows. “Looks like you have a promising career ahead of you.”

  She smirked.

  “I’m guessing that’s my watch.” I indicated to the incomplete circle of ink with squiggly lines representing the hands.

  She nodded affirmatively.

  “Well you do know now that I have to keep this. I mean that was an expensive watch, and with your signature, I will easily be able to sell this for several hundred dollars once you are rich and famous.”

  “Several hundred? Several thousand.”

  “I stand corrected.”

  “Nope, I can’t let you show this to anyone.”

  We laughed, and she pocketed the napkin.

  ***

  After leaving the midtown bar, it was just after one in the morning. The rest of our conversation had been easy, circling back and forth between us. Outside, the vast crowds had thinned out, and the rain was now coming down hard. We stood for a moment huddled beneath the bars awning.

  “Well I have to say this has been quite an experience, Ryan Whitter.”

  “Yep,” I replied.

  “Will you catch the next train out?” she asked.

  “No, unfortunately that was the last train until eight in the morning. I’m going to head back to my dorm.”

  She nodded.

  “Do you want to come back?” I couldn’t believe I had the nerve to ask, as we only had a few drinks in us.

  “Umm, a drink, yes. Your dorm, umm,” she said.

  “Right,” I nodded. “You think you still have time to catch your bus?”

  She glanced at her watch.

  “Yeah.”

  I smiled. There was a moment where I was sure that even she knew something had taken place here that went beyond anything that either of us ever experienced or would have even considered. Spotting a cab approaching, I hailed it, and it pulled in close, splashing a large amount of rainwater onto the sidewalk.

  Opening the rear door, I hesitated. “Do you want me come with you? See you off I mean?” Again I blurted words out, not thinking how ridiculous it sounded. She bit the side of her lip.

  “I have a better idea, jump in.”

  I cocked my head, curious as to where this was leading. Inside the cab driver asked us for the address.

  “Lower east side,” she replied.

  “But?”

  “I’ll get the next bus.”

  She flashed a smile.

  ***

  It was a short dash to the residence after being dropped off. A gust of wind took my breath away as I forced the door shut behind us. We shook the rain from our clothing and laughed at the insane weather. By the time we arrived, it had turned into a full-scale hailstorm. Frequent booms of thunder and sheet lightning added to the intensity of the evening.

  “That was wild,” Sophie said letting out a lungful of air.

  “You’re telling me.”

  I began patting my pockets for my keys. After a few seconds, the expression on my face must have said it all.

  “Lost your key?”

  “It’s ok, my roommate…” I knocked a few times on the door.

  Silence.

  I tried again. Still no reply.

  “Probably sleeping,” I said looking over my shoulder. A highly unlikely scenario, as he was more than likely either stoned somewhere, devouring munchies, or sowing his seed with some poor woman.

  After a few more tries I turned back and tapped the air with my finger.

  “I have an idea.”

  We entered the stairwell and went up two flights. There was only one other person I could think of who could get us in — Thompson. It wasn’t my first choice, but the idea of camping outside in the hallway - or seeing Sophie leave - wasn’t exactly how I saw this playing out. As usual Thompson was still up. The guy wasn’t human — honestly who studied when everyone had left for Thanksgiving? And at one in the morning?

  When he opened his door, he peered at Sophie.

  “Whitter? I thought you had gone home?”

  “Yeah… about that. I need to ask a favor.”

  “No.”

  “But I haven’t even told you what it was?”

  “I know. No.”

  I turned to Sophie, lifting one finger. “Can you give me a minute?”

  “Oh. Sure, yeah.” She walked a short distance away.

  I leaned in close to Thompson, wrapping my arm around his shoulder.

  “See here’s the thing Thompson. This…” I gestured casually over my shoulder, “This kind of thing doesn’t happen often. Now I don’t know what’s going on, whether there’s a full moon tonight or the stars are aligned…”

  “There is no full moon. That doesn’t occur for—“I cut short his nerd-filled ramblings.

  “Thompson. I need you to get me in my room. Rico’s out.”

  He grinned. I knew that wasn’t a good sign.

  “Didn’t I come to you last month asking for donations?”

  “Yeah—“

  “And I’m pretty sure you refused.”

  “I was short on cash Thompson.”

  “A likely story,” he muttered.

  “Look, are you going help me out or not?”

  He raised his head as if the question required deep thought. He breathed in, then let it out.

  “No.”

  He turned and began heading back into his room.

  “OK. OK. I will donate to your worthy cause.”

  He paused.

  “One hundred dollars.”

  “Fifty,” I replied.

  “Ninety-five, and I won’t take a penny less.”

  I blew my cheeks out.

  “Alright. Whatever.”

  “I’ll be right back, and I’m bringing the pledge form with me.”

  The guy was super-anal about philanthropy. He was the only one in the residence that was championing a new charity every month. It was if he thought donating to every charity under the sun was going to change the world. I wouldn’t have minded, but every month?

  “So is he going to help?” Sophie asked.

  “Yes, the entire world,” I joked.

  She looked confused.

  “You know you don’t have to stick around if you don’t want to,” I said.

  “No, I don’t mind.”

  “You sure?”

  I was convinced that by now she would have turned on her heels and run for the hills. I scrutinized her.

  She nodded.

  A few minutes later Thompson returned carrying a sheet of paper and what looked like a key lock set.


  “Sign here.”

  He turned around, and I rested the paper on his back and signed off.

  “Very good, let’s go.”

  Once we made it back downstairs, Thompson dropped to one knee and began picking the lock. No sooner had he started rattling it around in the lock, then the door opened wide. Standing there with a large grin on his face was Rico.

  “Thompson? Whitter? And hello sunshine! Who is this fine lady?”

  He eased out sliding straight passed us. He took the hand of Sophie and kissed the back of it. She laughed.

  “Quite the charmer.”

  “I like her,” he said to me.

  I shook my head. “Were you in there all the time?”

  “No I just got back.”

  “Looks like I didn’t need your service after all,” I said to Thompson.

  “You still owe me that donation money,” Thompson replied.

  “But you—“

  “No buts.”

  I waved him off and gestured for Sophie to come in. Rico followed in, closing the door behind us. He grabbed a bag and a few clothes.

  “You’re not staying?” I asked.

  “Why, you want me to?” His eyes flashed darting between us.

  I casually shook my head.

  “I can’t anyway. I have two heavenly angels waiting for me over in Jersey.”

  He swung the door open.

  “Oh, nice to meet you. Whoever you are.”

  I realized I hadn’t made any introductions. He was just closing the door when he ducked his head back inside.

  “Oh, Whitter, there is a bottle of wine in the fridge and munchies under my bed. You know, the cookie kind.” He smirked, winked, and pulled the door close.

  “Your roommate?”

  I briefly pursed my lips together. “Unfortunately.”

  “He’s quite the character.”

  I nodded briefly preparing to reply but instead chose to remain quiet. The rain was pelting against the window as I pulled out the bottle of wine. Holding it up, Sophie laughed. There had to have been two fingers in the bottom, barely enough for one mouthful.

  Our room was sparse: two single beds, two oak study tables with matching chairs, and a couple of pieces of art on the walls. For all of Rico’s faults, the guy truly was a clean freak, even if he was slightly disorganized. I pulled out a bag of brown cookies he had beneath his bed. Sophie had taken a seat on the edge of my bed.

  “Hungry?”

  “A little.”

  “I must warn you though, these are not —“