Dying To Forget (The Station)

by Trish Marie Dawson

  Today is his day off and instead of turning on the TV and parking himself on the couch with a giant box of delivery pizza across his lap, he’s cleaning the apartment. Amazingly, this is not my doing. He has a date. Well, sort of.

  Laundry Mom turned cougar is coming over with her son Gabe for dinner. It wasn’t exactly what I was expecting when I spent three days urging him to invite a friend over to hang out. I don’t really like the flirty looks the single mom gives Sloan but she’s a person he’s willing to make his friend. And this is a good thing.

  If I knew you’d actually clean your apartment for a guest, I would have tried to get you to throw a party weeks ago.

  I help him pick out seasonings for the spaghetti sauce and remind him when it’s time to pull the garlic bread from the oven. Living with only my Dad for a few years definitely made me more of a foodie. I wish I had appreciated that back then. Enough…not about you, remember, Piper? I turn my thoughts away from home and back to dinner.

  When a soft knock on the door is followed by a flurry of shorter knocks below the door knob, Sloan is sliding the rest of the chopped veggies off the cutting board and into the bowl of lettuce.

  “Just a sec!” He hollers across the small apartment. It smells of lemon Pine-Sol and Italian food. I wish I could taste it. I do miss good food.

  He wipes his hands on a towel and throws it over his shoulder with a flick of his wrist. I catch his reflection on the glass front of the microwave as he walks by. His smile would send shivers down my spine, if it was connected to me still. The hand towel looks as if it's always been at home, draped over the top of his upper body…he’s getting more confidant in the kitchen, it suits him.

  See that - you look like a bona-fide chef now!

  “Hi.” He smiles politely as he opens the door and invites the expectant duo in.

  Gabe grabs at his legs momentarily for a quick hug before running around the small living area, finally settling on the couch with his Darth Vader and Bumblebee toys. I can see bulges on both sides of his jeans and assume he has also stashed some of the matchbox cars into his pockets. He really is a cute kid.

  “I brought some dessert wine. I didn’t know if you like white or red.”

  Cougar Mom hands him the bottle of chilled Moscato and he smiles at her while he carries it into the kitchen. I feel stirrings inside him as he lets his mind wander. He’s actually imagining her without her clothes on! It’s even easy for me to do, since she’s wearing a very short summer skirt with a gauzy sleeveless top. The outline of her baby-blue bra is clearly defined. This is NOT what you wear to a friendly-neighbor dinner.

  Easy boy. It’s just food. With a friend, remember?

  “Thanks, Sandy.”

  He smiles at her again, I can tell because she bats her eyelashes at him in response. Yes, I know his smiles are ridiculously sexy, but get over it woman, he’s too young for you! I scowl inwardly. I’m tapping my missing foot irritably and somewhere my after-life eyes are batting in mocked exaggeration at her.

  ***

  I wish I had a dark corner to hide in while they eat dinner. The conversation is electric with sexual undertones from both of them. Sloan ignores my complaints and warnings completely, so I have no choice but to watch silently as the playful banter between the two unfold.

  I know it’s been awhile, Sloan. But come on. She’s almost old enough to be your mom!

  Gabe adores Sloan and spends half the meal trying to climb into his lap. At first Sloan seems surprised by the close contact, but he’s really rather good with children…and somehow he’s able to get the boy to eat at least a third of his meal, including three pieces of lettuce and a tomato wedge.

  When Gabe saunters away from the table to sit on the couch for a late evening viewing of SpongeBob, Sandy makes her first move. It’s a subtle gesture but it ripples through Sloan like a jolt of lightening. I can almost smell the charred remnants of my imaginary hair as my head bursts into flame somewhere far away from here.

  He is staring down at his lap, where her petite hand is resting just inside the top of his thigh while she laughs, in the middle of some story I lost interest in nearly half an hour ago. Back at the Station, my mouth gapes at her. I feel Sloan’s heart-rate increase dramatically and that stirring sensation roars through him like the Grand Rapids.

  “And so I told him he couldn’t possibly expect me to carry that table out to the car myself, and wouldn’t you know, it took three men to get it into my little Explorer.” She laughs and I’m bored out of my mind listening to her talk about furniture shopping for her apartment.

  Sloan laughs along with her, though I doubt he is interested in the story either. If he's remembered any of it at all. He’s currently preoccupied with Sandy’s sheer top. Her small breasts sit up a bit too high and I assume it’s mostly padding making her look that perky. I almost want him to strip her clothes off so he can be disappointed by her lack of real breasts.

  “Want more wine?” As he stands, her hand slowly slides off his leg.

  “Sure,” she purrs.

  “How did you like dinner?” He is now in the kitchen, refilling her wine glass. I notice he doesn’t top off his own.

  Smart choice, Sloan.

  “Oh, Sloan, it was great! You’re such a tease!” She has turned in the chair to face him and he watches as she slowly uncrosses, then re-crosses her legs.

  “A tease?” He balks at her in surprise…we both do actually. Neither of us having missed her Sharon Stone moment.

  “You said you couldn’t cook! And this was magnificent. Thank you.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome. It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be,” he laughs.

  That’s because I was helping you, dork.

  I try to zone out as they begin cleaning up the table and putting away the leftover food. There's so much intentional elbow bumping, arm grazing, and hand brushing at the kitchen sink I want to puke. It’s the first time I have EVER actually wanted to throw up.

  The kiss is unexpected. He’s leaning forward one moment, sliding the clean plates into the cupboard and when he turns, her mouth is just there. A burst of tiny firecrackers seem to go off inside him. I feel lighter suddenly, almost untethered to him. I don’t understand the sensation and it freaks me out.

  What the heck is that?!

  I panic and begin screaming in his head. YOU CANNOT MAKEOUT WITH THIS WOMAN WHILE HER SON SLEEPS ON YOUR COUCH!

  He pulls away from her instantly and she looks up at him with large golden-brown eyes, surprised and maybe - hopefully - even shocked by his sudden withdraw.

  That’s right, lady! Back off!

  “Sorry…but…what about Gabe?” He looks over his shoulder to glance at the couch.

  As the heat inside him slowly cools, I try to stop myself from mentally hyperventilating.

  “Oh, gosh. You’re right.”

  She smiles awkwardly before walking over to the couch to check on her sleeping child. Sloan follows her and I feel him warm up inside as he watches the rhythmic rise and fall of Gabe’s chest while he dreams.

  “It’s late. I should probably take him home.” She stares at Sloan for a moment too long, waiting for a protest, maybe?

  Send her home, Sloan.

  “Can I help you?” He asks, gesturing to Gabe.

  “No, I carry him all the time.” She smiles before tilting upward and planting a soft kiss on Sloan’s cheek…her fingers caress the muscles of his biceps while she slowly pulls away. “This was really nice. Maybe next time we can do it at my place, since Gabe has his own room.”

  Her implication is not lost on either of us. I’m fuming.

  “Okay, sure.” He agrees a bit too eagerly and then walks them to the door…Sandy with her arms full of Gabe’s sleeping body, and Sloan, softly chewing on his lower lip.

  “Thanks, again. I had a great night.”

  “Me too.” His answer is short and simple, but his voice is husky with emotion.

  Oh crap. I think he really likes her
. Even though I know it’s very wrong, I can’t help but feel a fiery pang of jealously slice through me. It’s like a dagger to my heart. I try hard to push this feeling aside. I should be encouraging new relationships, not hoping to keep Sloan all to myself. It’s not appropriate, I know this.

  Sandy smiles broadly, before turning to walk down the open hall to the concrete-step staircase, her shoulder-length hair swaying like a pendulum against the back of her neck. Sloan leans against the doorway, gazing down at them as she slowly crosses the courtyard. She turns to see him watching just before she opens her door and gives him a little wave. He raises his hand up briefly in return and walks back inside the apartment, closing the door behind him softly.

  “Huh,” he says out-loud to the empty room.

  I imagine my hands on my hips with a stern look of displeasure on my face as Sloan makes his way to the bathroom before undressing and crawling into bed. After he collapses onto his pillow he stares up at the ceiling for a while, gently caressing his lower lip with his index finger, lost in his thoughts about Sandy.

  Oh, you just wait till you go to sleep. I’m going to scream so much sense into your brain tonight - even your dreams will be nagging you!

  ***

  Though I have prepared a plethora of selfish observations laced with an extensive collection of colorful expletives to dish out to him, along with a heaping side of negative comments and a dollop of chiding remarks as the cherry on top of my planned tongue lashing, I fume silently in his head while he snores.

  Just in the few weeks that Sloan has been my Assignment, I’ve grown quite attached to him. I understand completely why Mallory felt let down when I ended things the way I did. She must have worked so hard – months – just to have me quit on everything. I refuse to let that happen with Sloan and to my heart-felt delight, he’s making tremendous improvements. He hasn’t thought of the gun in days. He’s learning to take care of his body – internally and externally, which makes him happy. He’s making friends too; even if they happen to be older, sex-crazed, single-moms.

  Sandy isn’t really that bad, is she? I struggle to answer this question, because my first instinct is to say: YES! She’s a HOOCH! But I know this is ridiculous. She’s simply interested sexually in Sloan, and I can’t blame her for that. He’s gorgeous and on top of that; loves her kid. He’d never hurt her. But she doesn’t understand, not even a teeny bit, how messed up Sloan is. I know it all, and I don’t think she can handle it. I wonder if anyone really could. It would have to be the perfect woman. Perfect.

  I hope you find her, the girl of your dreams…because if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you, Sloan.

  I save my near deluge of reprimanding for another time. Tonight, I’ll let him sleep in peace. Plus, I have to make a plan for the next few weeks. I can feel the darkness in Sloan ebbing away, and my grasp on him is slipping. I can tell now that our connection isn’t as strong. I’m not sure how his case will close but I know I want to leave him with the best possible future I can. I won’t fail him.

  CHAPTER 12

  The wet pavement sparkles like glitter while the sun beats down on it after the second downpour of the week. I never imagined a city could look so beautiful after a rainstorm, but the hills of San Francisco shine and shimmer like something ethereal. Sloan takes the streets a bit slower now, enjoying his bike rides, but also more aware of the dangers of speeding recklessly. He’s starting to come around to the idea that he may not want to die just yet.

  We pass the familiar corner with the magazine stand and José waves at Sloan from behind the cover of a Spanish People magazine. Sloan waves back of course and not long after we are pulling up in front of Steam. I’m so familiar with the job by now that I’m certain I could be a master Barista back at the Station…if they had espresso there. I’m sure I can even do the little latte flower art with my eyes closed…that’s how confidant I am.

  The ladies of the neighborhood (and some that I’m sure don’t live anywhere nearby) flock to the shop like crack is slipped into the coffee by the tablespoon. Sloan is much more relaxed around the forward women, which is great for him in the long run, but his change in attitude, and his friendlier demeanor clearly gives some of them hope that Sloan might actually call the number they slip to him on the back of their business cards and coffee receipts. And he won't, I know he won't.

  I try to tell myself it’s not all Sandy’s doing…but I’d be lying. They see each other almost every day…having meals together at least twice a week. And this weekend Gabe will be staying with his grandparents. I’m a little freaked out.

  Training was supposed to prepare all Volunteers for experiencing sex through their assignments but I truly do not want to go there with Sloan and Sandy. Not only does she annoy me incessantly but I don’t think she’s right for him, and even though right now he seems a bit happier, it won’t last. And then what? What if something happens between them after I’m already gone? I can’t stand the thought of Sandy hurting Sloan but it seems inevitable. Of course – he doesn’t agree at all. He’s on a Sandy-high with the perky-fake-boobs and the flirty I-like-to-touch-you-hands. Bleck.

  I’ve let my mind wander so much that I’m amazed to see it’s less than five minutes till the end of Sloan’s shift. That was the fastest work day ever! After he hangs up his apron in the back room and tries his best to avoid the small talk from the Barbie twins sitting at a small table in the corner, he hurries out the front toward the rack where he locked up his bike.

  A harried-looking man in his forties leans against the nearby light-post with a folded newspaper in his hand. Who reads those nowadays? When Sloan reaches down to fumble with the combination lock, the man lowers the paper slowly and stares in our direction. I think I know him from somewhere but I can’t quite place the memory. But as soon as Sloan rises and turns to look up the sidewalk, their eyes meet and memories flash flood through me.

  Oh no. Not good, this is not good.

  “Sloan.” The man speaks his name softly, full of emotion.

  I wait to see how long it will take for Sloan to bolt away on his bike but when he actually speaks it surprises both me and the man with the wire-rimmed glasses staring at us anxiously.

  “Dad?”

  Something changes behind the older man’s lenses. His eyes seem to warm a bit and it looks as if he might cry. Perhaps he’s been waiting to hear someone refer to him with that title for a long time…too long, I imagine.

  “Hi, son.”

  Neither men move, they just stare at each other. Finally the Barbie twins exit the coffee shop and one of them hollers out a goodbye to Sloan, which seems to snap him back to reality. He shuffles nervously on his feet as he carefully leans the bike handlebars against his thigh. Maybe he’s not going to bolt, after all?

  “What are you doing here?” Sloan asks the question with surprise, but not anger.

  “Your girlfriend told me where you work and I wanted to see you.” He looks nervous, and rolls the newspaper in his hands until the paper threatens to tear.

  “My girlfriend?” Sloan is shocked, rightly so…even though I know exactly who his step-dad is referring to.

  “Sandy, is it? I went to your apartment and I ran into her downstairs. She said you were working…here.” He waves at Steam but doesn’t seem to be judging the little coffee house.

  “Oh.”

  Yeah, let that shock sink in…’girlfriend’.

  “So, what are you doing around here?” Sloan tries not to sound nervous but I know he is. I can feel his heartbeat accelerate to a speed that shouldn’t be possible and his breathing is dangerously erratic. He’s actually afraid of his step-dad. I want to hug him, but I left my arms in the after-life a couple months ago.

  Now it’s the older man’s turn to look concerned. “Should I not have come?” His masculine voice sounds tiny and hurt.

  “No…I mean, yes, its fine. I’m just surprised, I guess. It’s been a while.” Sloan shifts on his feet again.

  “Yes, it h
as. I’m sorry.”

  Sloan nearly faints at the words. He grips his fingertips into the handlebars so tightly I’m afraid they might snap off like dry twigs. The race between his heart and lungs has ceased and as his heart rate plummets, I’m afraid he’s not breathing at all.

  Sloan! Crap! Breathe…bend over - stick your head between your knees…something! BREATHE!

  His bike tilts to the side suddenly and crashes loudly onto the curb as Sloan leans into his thighs, lowering his head between his legs.

  “Sloan! Are you okay?!”

  The newspaper falls with a flourish to the concrete and flops open to the sports page, while Step-Dad rushes to Sloan’s side and helps him to a bus bench not far from the front door of the coffee house.

  “I’m…fine.” He sounds shaky, not fine to me.

  “Good lord, you gave me a scare.”

  Step-Dad is sitting on the edge of the bench, right next to Sloan, patting his knee reassuringly, and now I know why he’s so familiar…he has Mick’s eyes and mouth. The only memories Sloan has with his step-father are fleeting, not nearly detailed enough for me to truly know what the man looks like. Plus, the last few years haven’t been kind to him. His face looks gaunt and yellowish. He seems to have aged twenty years in just the last few. I think I’m as nervous as Sloan.

  “I’m okay. Really, just…maybe I need to eat. Are you hungry?” Sloan asks hesitantly, as if prepared to be let down with a familiar rejection.

  “Food…that sounds good. Let’s get you something to eat.” Step-Dad smiles, and there it is again…a little piece of Mick.

  ***

  The Chinese restaurant that Sloan picks is one he hasn’t visited since I’ve been on his case. The place is small, with rows of dark-pleather benched seating lining the walls and several square tables with wooden chairs filling up the center of the room. Stunning Chinese artwork as tall as a person hangs inside polished wooden frames on the furthest wall, just behind the self-serve buffet counter.