We had been on the train for over two hours. The oak seat was hard against my back. I tried to get comfortable, but no matter how I shifted, I was unsatisfied. But the discomfort didn�t bother me. I had found other ways to entertain myself. My sister sat across from me, her feet up on the seat, her legs against her chest, and her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. Her skin was tanned, and clear. I watched her as she looked out the window watching the passing fields. I wondered what was on her mind. I hadn�t spoken to her in over a week, and this was the first time that we had been together since father had died. She had her hair pulled back, just as mother had. Her eyes, a deep blue, darker than usual, studied the outside. I sat, silently admiring every inch of her.
Trying to read people was something that I had gotten a knack for. Their eyes, their movements, or their reactions could tell me what they were thinking, or even what kind of person they were. In the past years, I had perfected my technique of learning people�s true feelings. At first, I was quite bad at this. I had only been in the city for a year when I had decided to probe into people�s lives. In the mornings, I would deliver newspapers to stands, and bookstores. Going from stand to stand, I was able to mingle with a mass of people. After I would finish all my deliveries, I would spend the rest of the day, just watching. I had grown very found of the fountain in the middle of downtown. Many people visit it, even if it is just for a brief moment. Later in the evenings, I would return to the stands and the bookstores, and pick up the copies of unsold newspapers. Even though I strongly dislike mundane routine, it was a way to be a part of the people, without actually being a part of them. Though, sometimes just watching wasn�t enough. If I wasn�t able to get a clear idea right off the bat, I would talk to them, and find some way to make them uncomfortable. Sometimes I was lucky enough to have them come to me. When someone would ask me a question, I would think of an answer that would put him in a position in which he had to react candidly. And in those reactions is where I would learn about them.
I was sure that Erica didn�t want to talk. I was curious of what was going through her head at the moment. I wondered how long it had been since the last time she had talked to dad. I myself had not talked to him in over a month. When word came that he had passed away, I called Erica, and we arranged passage on a train back to Ashland, where father had died, to attend the funeral. She didn�t speak much about her feelings. I guessed that she was upset, as daughters are when their father�s pass away.
I remember when our mother died, many years ago. Erica took her death hard. But from what I could tell, father�s was much different. She had cried for many days after mother had passed away, and ate very little. But here, Erica wasn�t crying, and as far as I could tell, she didn�t appear to be fasting. Erica had a close relationship to mother, to make up for her detachment from father, like she did when mother died. They would always talk, mother and Erica. I don�t remember much about what they talked about, but as I remember, it was never anything of importance. It was just the fact that they talked. Erica and father rarely spoke, and when they did, it was very little, and cold. I could never quite place why she was so distant from father. He really wasn�t a bad guy; that is, until mother had passed away. When mom died, father became a sort of recluse. He didn�t call anymore, and rarely wrote to either of us. He became completely buried in his work, never leaving his study, or taking a break from his books. He claimed that his work for the university was very important, and that any distractions were unacceptable. He stopped shaving, and grew a coarse beard, his eyes darkened, and his past temper disappeared. He had also been quick to forget things. My 23rd birthday and Erica�s 21st went by unnoticed by him. It was as if he had become a friend from long ago that you rarely keep up with. At least for me. I could only guess as to the relationship he had with Erica. She had never discussed it with me. Perhaps I never asked.
Erica and I were close, though not as close as I would like. I would always get envious of my friends who had close relationships with their sisters. It was times like these where I wish I could just offer comfort. I wish that I could have her come over and sit next to me. A simple act like that would mean so much to me, but there was no way, especially in this case, that I was going to ask her to do something.
Also, there was no good way for me to talk to her about father, or anything for that matter. I was upset about his death, but not as upset as one should be. He was never mean to me. Nor was he a bad person. He worked hard, and was an honest man, but that�s all he really was to me. As a child, I looked up to him for guidance, but that quickly faded. I grew up very self reliant, and rarely looked to parents for help in anything. Father took advantage of this self imposed solitude, and began his research for the university. Over the years, we had just faded. It was entirely different that Erica and mother. Erica was very attached to mother. At times, I would get confused as to who was who; mother was a short woman. Their eyes matching, abnormal dark blue, and similar hair, made it hard at times to know who was who. I only needed to make them laugh; Erica had a very defining, soft laugh. But only around mother.
�Anything interesting out there,� I asked, referring to the passing scenery.
She looked over to me, her warm eyes looking into me. Eyes were always special to me, and in my mind, the most beautiful thing on the female body. They were windows into the mind. But her eyes weren�t yielding. I couldn�t tell what was going on in her mind. I couldn�t tell if she was thinking of father, or if she was wondering about something as trivial as what she would do next week, returning to her bookstore in Telentville.
�Just the usual, skies of blue, clouds of white.� I couldn�t help but smile.
�So, what�s on your mind?�
She gave me a sarcastic look. I wasn�t exactly sure how to take it, but I didn�t want to press the subject if she didn�t want to talk about it. She looped a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, and stretched out her legs. She was a very attractive woman. I caught myself staring.
I stood up, and stretched. Our cabin wasn�t very large, and I was getting a little stir crazy. I needed something to do, and talking to Erica didn�t really seem like an option. I went to the shelf, and opened my bag. I dug through my clothes, and pulled out my leather bound journal that I had kept for years. I sat back down, and opened it up. The last few pages were normal entries, nothing to do with father. In fact, the only entry that recently spoke of him was on the day that I had heard of his death.
�Wanna hear a joke?� I asked.
�Not really.�
�You know, you should lighten up a bit.�
�Lighten up?�
�Yeah, lighten up. Don�t take things so seriously now. It�ll just keep you in a bad mood. I mean... father is dead, but there�s nothing that we can do about that. It�s not going to help if we just continue a bad mood.� She was silent. �Look, I loved dad, don�t get me wrong, but I don�t think that being this way about it all the time is going to make things better. It�s not like he showed much emotion to us anyway.�
�How could you say something like that? How could I get him off my mind? He�s dad.� Her voice was scratchy, but her eyes maintained that softness they had always had. �I don�t see how you can just put this out of mind so easily.�
�I don�t just put it out of mind. It�s not like I am trying to forget him. He was a good guy. I was never really close to him. I never had a great relationship with him.�
�What are you talking about, you were always around him?�
�I had to be, or he would get pissed. Remember his temper before mother died? I never got just hang out with him.� That comment made me remember of the nights where father would demand attention. Those nights were particularly odd. Throughout the week, father would spend most of his time in the study. But once or twice a week, he would demand that I be around him, for hours at a time. The memory was annoying. I don�t know why I took such offense to what she was saying. I felt, for some reason, that I had to defend my past history with him. My fists tightened at my side, but she couldn�t see them. �We never had weekend fishing trips. We never had a �work on the car� day. I mean, come on, in comparison to you and mom, I had a shitty relationship with dad.�
�Shitty?!� she said, almost yelling.
I just shook my head. I guess it was my father�s temper coming out in me. I didn�t feel like talking about it anymore, but I really wanted to. Even though we were yelling at one another, at least we were bonding in a sort of way. We were sharing feelings, and that�s what I really wanted.
�What happened to being so light hearted?� she said, almost snapping. She got up and stretched, her forearms reaching high into the air. A familiar feeling of excitement charged through my heart. I couldn�t help but admire her beauty. I let Erica�s comment by me. I closed my journal and put it back into the bag. At that moment, Erica let out a small cry. She had broken a nail while digging through her bag.
�What happened?� I asked, even though I could see her examining her hand.
�I broke a nail.�
�It hurt?�
�Of course it hurts.� She was frustrated. Something was on her mind, and she didn�t want to talk about it. Maybe she would be in the mood to tell me later tonight. Or maybe tomorrow. Hopefully sometime. My excitement disappeared. It didn�t seem like we would ever be close. I couldn�t think of anything I could do that would prove I would listen to her. I had never told her of my past relationships and how close I had gotten to my girlfriends; I never confided in her like I did with Sara. But I wanted to have that same thing with her. I wanted to just give her a hug, and have it mean more than just a hug from a brother. But how do you get close to someone that doesn�t want to open up to you.
I zipped up my bag, and headed to the door. �Want anything? I�m going to get a coffee.�
�Sure, anything will be fine.� She sat back down, her journal in her hand. I smiled at the fact that she too had a journal. At least we had something in common. I opened the door, and headed out. I walked through the cars, making my way to the dining car.
I ordered a single coffee, and took a seat in the front, looking back into the dining car. There were a lot of people having lunch, or drinking coffee. I needed some time alone, and I was sure that Erica could use some time as well. As I took a seat, the door at the back of the car opened, and a couple walked in. They were holding hands, and walking in unison. I sipped my coffee, and studied them as they ordered, and sat down. Lucky for me, they took a seat right in front of me.
The woman was in her early twenties, and so was the man that was with her. They must have been married recently. I knew because I had seen in many times before, never experiencing it for myself. They had that charm, and excitement that freshly married couples had. It was the sort of thing that I hoped would last throughout my own marriage. Though, I had always thought that something like that would wear off quickly. The woman was facing me, staring into her husband�s eyes, making it easier for me to look into hers. It also made it easy to hide behind her husband�s head if she were to catch me looking at her. There would be that moment of awkwardness, but it would pass.
As I watched the two talk, I felt jealousy creep into me. Even with their simple conversation over coffee, it still hit me. I watched, intimately, the movements that the woman made: her hands moving as she spoke, her lips, her smile, and her hair. She reminded me of a past girlfriend that I once had. She looked amazingly like her. Sara was her name; she had been really close to me. Her past boyfriend had been abusive to her, and she had no one to talk to. I was lucky that I could get close to her, and let her get those painful memories out of her system. I was not in it for the physical closeness that many people believe. No, I was in it for the relationship itself. We spent hours sitting, talking, or even in silence.
The first time that Sara came up to me, and told me of the origin of her injuries, I was flooded with emotion. More so than I had ever been in my life. At first, I was honored that she had chosen me to tell. But it quickly became more. I remember, the night in the park where she first told me. I held her close, but very tenderly. We sat together, rarely saying anything. She wanted to just feel close to someone that would never hurt her. She wanted to feel safe with all her secrets, all her actions, and all her emotions. She placed my hand on her leg, over one of the bruises. I�m sure it hurt like hell, but it didn�t matter to her; she wanted someone to heal her.
It was a bond that was amazing. Something that I feared I would never find again. It was this type of bond that I wished I could have with my sister. Someone close; someone I could always rely on when I would need to talk.
It was a few moments later that I realized that I was looking down at my coffee, blocking out the world. My fists were tight. I wanted what the others had, with my sister, with some random girl. It didn�t matter; I just wanted it. I didn�t want to sit there anymore, watching those two taunt me unknowingly. I didn�t want to force myself to watch them be happy.
I got up, leaving my cup at the table, and ordered another coffee for Erica. As I was waiting for her coffee, the woman got up and came to the bar. She ordered a soft drink. As she reached out, she brushed up against my arm, and almost knocked my hand into the cup of coffee the server had just placed in front of me. She reached out and grasped my arm. �I�m sorry,� she said, smiling. My heart raced as she turned and headed back to her table. I took a sip of Erica�s coffee, then headed back to the cabin.
I opened the door, and stepped inside. Erica was writing in her journal, but when she saw me come in, she set it down. I handed her the coffee, and a cookie that I had picked up on my way out of the dining car. I stuck the other cookie in my mouth, and sat down.
As I sat down, I took notice to the fact that Erica�s face was damp from tears. I wanted to ask, but the nausea of being unsure filled me. My hands became clammy. �Are you ok?�
�I�m fine,� she answered, as she chewed the cookie. I was angry that she wouldn�t open up to me. I knew that something was wrong. Why not just tell me! I sat on the hard seat, cold against my back.
Minutes passed without anything being said. She sat there, drinking her coffee, and nibbling on her cookie. Then, there was a knock on the door.
An attendant entered, and looked from me to Erica, then back to me. �I need to ask you sir; this man,� pointing to a man standing in the corridor, �was wondering if he could switch rooms, or join perhaps join you.�
�Sure,� I said, without thinking about Erica, �he is welcome to join us.� I was upset that she was blocking me, so I didn�t really care if she wanted to share or not.
The old man took a seat, setting his old suitcase down on the ground near his feet. He made sure not to take up a lot of room. He seemed polite to me, even before he had spoken a word. He was an older man, late seventies I would guess, with small hands, and dark tanned skin. He wore glasses, and an older hat which was dusty, and beaten up. He spoke in a short, but stern voice.
�Thanks to you two young people for letting me join you. It was too loud in my previous cabin, and too hot.�
�No problem,� I replied. �Where you headed?�
�Lexington,� he said. It was the last stop outside of Ashland. �I am visiting my granddaughter. It�s her birthday.� I looked over to Erica, but she was deep in her journal, not writing, but reading from years past.
�And where are you two...�
�Brother and sister,� I said, knowing right off the bat what he was wondering.
�Yes... where are you two headed, if I may ask.�
�To Ashland. Our father has just passed away, and we are going to attend his funeral.� I loved to be blunt with people, especially right off the bat. It forced people to react. I thought that he would feel uncomfortable hearing of death so bluntly. But he surprised me. He didn�t show any signs; he didn�t shift in his chair, or lean back. There was, however, a moment of silence. I wondered what the old man was thinking.
�Was he a good man,� he asked. As I was thinking, the old man asked again. He must have thought that I didn�t understand the question. On the contrary, I was thinking of what I wanted to say. Since I knew that Erica wasn�t going to say anything, and this man had not shown any type of shock, I decided that I was going to lie, and say terrible things of my father. There was no harm in it. The old man wouldn�t know the better, and in time, Erica would forget what I had said. I wasn�t able to read the old man�s eyes, so I had to find out another way. And this would be my test.
�I mean, did he live a good life and all,� repeated the old man.
My heart began to pound as thoughts of where I was going to take this raced through my mind. �No, sir. Actually he was a horrible man. I give him the respect that he deserves for being my father, but I don�t give him any more. He was a lazy man, who hardly worked. He would borrow money from people, and then leave without repaying his debt. After my sister and I were born, he became distant, and pushed my mother away. After she died, he became even more of a hermit then he already was. He would,� I paused, trying to add to the effect. �He would come home, late...drunk...and depending on his mood, he would either pass out on the floor, or break things that were in the house. Luckily, I was gone for most of these events.� I kept my eyes on Erica. She was the one that I was more concerned about. I wanted to know how she would react to all of this. She had closed her journal, and was now looking out the window. I couldn�t see her face, and it made me wonder. I continued. �There were a few nights, mostly late in the week when he was tired of the part time jobs that he had, where he would come home in a rage, and find me. He would throw open the door, no words were spoken. He would just walk to me, and swing his fist, hitting me. He wouldn�t stop until I cried out. It was his way to insure his power, I guess.�
My heart was racing. My hands shook. I was nervous; a feeling that I had not had in a long time. Time to take things to the next level, I thought. �He would make me do things. Things that, that kids shouldn�t do. Sexual things. He would molest me, and threaten that if I told anyone, he would beat me until I could no longer move. Things that I will never forget, regardless of how I try.�
The old man was looking from me to the ground, words escaping him. �I don�t know what to say.� He got up. �I�m sorry,� he picked up his bags, �I will leave you two alone. I�m sure it�s quiet enough in the dining car for me.� He opened the door and stepped out. �I hope things will...� He looked me in the eye, sorrow and remorse, and shut the door.
I leaned back, and grabbed the last cookie that I had brought in. But before I stuck it in my mouth, I paused, hearing crying from Erica. She got up, and sat next to me. She put her arms around me, and buried her face in my chest. I wasn�t sure how to react. I put my hand on her back as her tears soaked my shirt. She raised her head to the side of mine.
�I thought it was only to me,� she whispered. Shock and numbness filled my body. My fingers tingled, and my head felt as if it weighed a ton. �I thought he did that only to me. That horrible man.� Her voice got quiet. �That horrible man.� I dropped the cookie and held her tight. Tighter than I have ever held anyone. Tighter than I had held Sara, tighter than I had my mother. I didn�t know what to do.