Jack finished reading his paper about 10 minutes after boarding the train. If anyone was throwing looks at him, they were furtive in their spying. The carriage was heavy with disinterest. Still, it is an odd sight these days to see anyone under 30 with a newspaper. Jack liked to pick up an issue once every week or two. Maybe as an homage to a passing art or maybe just because he thought it made him look refined. Like ordering a Manhattan when his buddies drink nothing but cheap beer.
Despite appearances, he typically skims most of the paper when he pays his respects to the forgotten medium. The first few pages are mostly the same. A few articles on crimes around the city or local politics. Then there are the national politics usually flavored with foreign wars, i.e. “international policing”. Peppered through the humdrum of the same old stuff, every once in a while, a color piece will catch Jack’s attention. Was not really the case today.
There was one article on the back that looked promising but quickly lost its fading potential. It was on the recent high incident rate of drowning in the Dead Sea. Interesting idea for a story, but ultimately very predictable. One loses their balance, drops into the water face down, and can’t right themselves in the problematic dynamics of extremely salty water. Young kids and old folks have the hardest time. Anything that gets someone off their feet is the problem. Every one of them drowns while half their body floats above the surface. Ironic. Neat story. Nice tributes to some victims. Nothing surprising.
With 5 minutes left until he arrived at his uptown stop, Jack reapplied the crease to his story. He knew he had a few moments to send a last minute text to Jenna. She had tolerated him for the past two years, and he had learned that she preferred to always be kept up to speed. Up to the minute. Which gave him something to tolerate about her. It took a long time for him to find that something. Almost there, Babe. Few minutes out. See you soon.
Jack fell in love with Jenna’s smile first. Or maybe it was her laugh. Probably both at the same time. Either way, her positivity and effervescence have ever been intoxicating. All of his friends, in spite of their poor taste in alcohol, agreed that she was great. Always happy to hang out with the guys, ready and humble enough to cook and serve, but spunky enough to hold her own on the important stuff. And in the words of Adam, she was a total babe. Jack often reminded Adam that he should watch himself and not Jenna.
Even without the paper to entertain him, entertaining as it was, Jack always enjoyed riding the train. With headphones in, he had a chance to detach from and watch the carnival around him. He was a contented spectator.
In the car, there was the one or two passengers that everyone was aware and nervous of. Those who looked like they’d forgotten to shower for the past 5 days and filled up that shower time by shotgunning Starbucks’ canned coffees. There was usually a young mom with 4 kids, 3 backpacks, a few stains, and no patience. They always made all the noise on an otherwise wordless train. And then there was a healthy dose of professionals or students who wanted to get home, take off their shoes, pass out watching reruns of Two and a Half Men, and wake up after 20 minutes of hitting snooze to be late for work and class.
Missing most of these commuters on Sunday, Jack still kept to his polite routine. As the train approached his stop, he picked up his backpack and headed toward the doors behind him. A good citizen of the subway system, he knew his responsibility to exit the car as fast as he could. Any extra time trying to get out was time wasted. Time away from Two and a Half Men. And Jack would hate to be the one to hold up the somber train. So he walked out just as the doors opened.
He climbed the stairs back into May sunlight. Underground or shaded from the sun, coolness remained. But the gentle breeze was brushing away winter’s last tendrils as warmth was leeched from the great stone facades. It blew down streets, avenues, and boulevards, yet it still did not quite reach the narrow alleyways.
Jenna’s apartment was down one of those alleys, just around the corner from a bustling intersection. Busy by small city standards, but comfortably spacious for a this sprawling metropolis and oddly calm for a weekend and a nice spring morning. In the square across the street, a smattering of people took up a few of the benches. One young family was taking a walk around, looking at, and climbing on the old cast iron sculptures.
Jack turned the corner to head back to the fire escape, the easiest route into Jenna’s apartment, before he remembered she wasn’t there. She had asked to meet him in the coffee shop that shared the same building. Jack was puzzled why they would be meeting there. The shop was familiar enough. The routine wasn’t. But Jenna was particular about her caffeine. He tried not to ask questions or dig too deep into that rabbit hole. Anyway, they’d go back to her apartment after to relax for a bit. She had probably planned for them to go to Metro Park with friends in the afternoon after a cozy weekend nap. Perfect plans, if those were the plans. So he turned around and walked through the glass door with a spring in his step to find Jenna.
Without fail, every time Jack entered the shop he always felt a little awkward. The baristas were ever welcoming and patient as he tried to figure out his order which in time got much faster and very repetitive. But it just wasn’t his scene. It felt like a hipster oasis planted oddly amongst some of the largest financial institutions and law offices in the city. The building itself was dwarfed by almost all around it and did not have the block’s brass and glass and stone and prestige – although the patrons probably did meet the district’s requirements of pretension. From inside, the 180 degrees of 20 foot tall windows made a comfortable first floor watchtower. Those in the shop were definitively disconnected from those out, yet they could spy so intimately on the world on the other side. Jack felt he belonged to neither world, really.
But even he could admit this shop was a great spot for conversation. All awkward breaks were smoothed and every difficult dialogue punctuated by watching the passersby. Jack and Jenna spent their first few months getting to know each other sitting by those front windows, and they had since taken to using the shop as a great way to end a weekday date. Weekends typically ended at Jenna’s. Still, in spite of the private fun that her apartment promised, Jack thought more fondly of all the time letting the coffee wash over him from within while Jenna bathed him in her words. Her presence was a wave, rolling well over his head, flowing by and flowing through, rinsing clean, enveloping with sensation. And after each ripple of delight, Jack gloried in the warm glow of her radiance. Jenna was paradise.
He would save these lines, no matter how cheesy, for a more romantic time when they were alone. For now he was just happy to be with her once again. So he approached her table in the back with eager anticipation.
Hey J.
Hi Jack.
Without sitting, he doffed his bag, gently brushed Jenna’s hair back, kissed her forehead, and headed toward the counter with an I’ll be right back.
As was the square outside, the coffee shop was not very crowded. There was no line, and within 20 seconds, Jack’s typical order was taken and paid for. Another 20 seconds saw his cup of Columbian drip delivered. Black. Adding cream was an unwarranted waste of time. Within the minute he was taking his seat across from Jenna, smiling sweetly as he lifted the cup gingerly to his lips, steam wisping around his nose. Jack had always thought he was never more comfortable than with a hot drink in hand and Jenna right beside him. Not comfortable. Cozy.
Jenna broke the brief silence with something Jack had not planned on hearing: we’ve got to touch base. They probably started using the phrase after joking about Jenna’s old boss’s Monday ritual, but quickly their touch bases began to mean a little more. Jenna had only said it seriously a few times. When an old high school friend was killed in a crash. When she was denied a part in that community play. When she asked him to diagnose the spot on her back, and then when the dermatologist said it was nothing. When she was promoted within a year of starting with her current company.
So Jack knew this was something that mattered to her and that he needed to get ready to be supportive, at least. He needed to be present. She needed him behind her, no matter what, good or bad. Maybe he would even get to celebrate with her. But her tone did not intimate joy. He sat up straight and leaned in, trying not to be distracted by the huge painting behind her.
I’m sorry if I’m curt, but I’m not going to dance around what I want to talk to you about. It’s time.
With that she started a bit of oratory.
We’ve been together for over two years now. And we’ve spent so much time together in those two years. I feel like I know you better than I know anyone else. And I probably know you better than anyone else knows you.
Jenna’s practiced words and phrasing concerned Jack. She might have been auditioning for a new role if he was not the only one hearing her monologue in the clatter of the cafe.
You know all the ways to make me laugh, and I know all the perfect little ways to get under your skin. We’ve learned how to make each other feel loved.
Jack nodded with attention and uttered a mmhmm. He always tried to be an active listener. Right now he did not have to try. Jenna already had his heart rate raised and the hairs on his neck irritated.
And in spite of all that, I’m still not sure we are actually loving each other. We’ve both complained about wanting to take this beyond what it has been, beyond what it is, but we still haven’t found out how. You’ve been my best friend for the past two years, but I’m getting a little weary of fighting against the current. We just can’t seem to make this work the way we want it to.
His concerned heart dropped in his chest, and Jack’s head sunk into his hands. He rubbed his eyes with his palms. He pulled back his hair. He tried to keep listening. He tried to refresh himself. He tried to revive himself.
Jack, hear this. I love you. I really do. But I can’t be with you. I just can’t keep pouring my life into you. My heart is draining, and I’m tired. We’ve given it all we’ve got and gotten so little in return.
She was slowing down and Jack was ready to make his response, which was nothing short of a plea. A plea to give it some more time. A plea to rekindle Jenna’s once fiery emotions for him by sharing the conflagration of love he always stoked for her. The blaze that first burst into flames two years ago that night when she overcame his nerves and kissed him in the park across the street.
Jenna please, I just need to…
Jack, no. I can’t do this right now. Not here. I know this is probably the most selfish thing I’ll ever say, but this is really hard for me, and I just, I can’t keep talking about it. I’ve been torn apart for the past few weeks, and I’ve made up my mind. I’m sorry for being so short with this, but I don’t know how else I can deal with it. I’m so sorry, Jack.
They had not been sitting together for more than a couple minutes, yet she stood up. Jenna cupped the back of his head, the token pressure enough to keep him from looking up as she kissed his crown. She said with the sincerest of whispers, coughing between the coming tears,
I love you.
And she was gone.
Jack might have peripherally seen her walking around to her apartment if he was not still so focused on the art hanging directly in front of him. And he would have stayed in that position if it were not for the swell in his chest that kicked him forward into his crossed arms. And he might have minded the mess on the table if everything solid was not crumbling out from underneath him. As it was, Jack experienced nothing but a drawing in, an isolation from everything that was beyond now, beyond loss.
Under the weight of the emptiness that was his love, Jack began to lose sense. No light leaked through his clinched lids. No sensation nuzzled past his numbed skin. All sound was muffled below the beat of rushing blood. All flickered dark.
And as the light and sound receded, so did the air. Jack began to gasp for breath as wave after wave of grief methodically drew him deeper. Buoyed by the love that had lingered and would linger still, Jack lie face down above the depths of a sea of unrequited longing. Unable, or perhaps unwilling, to right himself, he filled his lungs with fitful solitude and drowned in it floating high as hope.