EASTBOUND

I squeeze my phone against my shoulder and dig in my pocket. Our front desk receptionist whines in my ear. “The donuts and coffee are here for your meeting.”

The backpack of the person behind me smacks against my arm as I press my card on the panel. “Thanks, Carol. I’m on my way.” I take my place on the rain soaked platform with my eyes on my phone like the rest of the zombie like passengers.

A garbled voice sounds overhead, 'Expect delays up to 10 minutes due to operator shortages on all eastbound rails.' Great.

At least it gives me time to scroll through my notes. With my boss out of town, I’ll be leading the meeting. Monday morning meetings are the worst. Fresh off the weekend and no one cares. Too short and I’ll look flippant, sloppy even; too long and they’ll hate me. The Wednesday debrief is the one you want, with half the week out of the way and the weekend in sight. Everyone still has their mind on work and enough energy to get it done. Not Monday. No one cares about Mondays.

A loud screech announces the train’s arrival. Haphazard lines form at the two doors. The man in uniform repeats, “Watch your step.” and “Step over the gap” interchangeably as each passenger passes him. The same lines I’ve heard every morning since I started taking the regional railway into Philly.

A hundred people plus fill the car, leaving standing room only. The train starts with a jerk. Thankfully, at my height, I can reach the luggage rack above the seats to steady myself. I keep my cross body bag tight against my body.

A teenager in plaid uniform plucks one side of her headphones away from her ear and looks at me with disdain. “You’re dripping on me.”

“My apologies, lass.” I drop my arm to the top of the seat next to me, but her scowl never eases up. When I moved from Scotland to the Philadelphia suburbs almost a year ago, I thought by now I would understand the random surliness and the overall standoffish behavior of some people. Brotherly Love my arse.

More passengers board causing all of us to become painfully aware of each other. 'Next stop Narberth.', the recording whines above. Rain drums harder against the windows. The smell from the food of the man in front of me makes my stomach churn. Who eats spaghetti for breakfast? His companion squeezes into the bench a bit more to allow him room to sit. He cradles the bowl in his lap with one hand and twirls a forkful with the other. I angle myself in the other direction.

We travel a little further before another stop. 'Overbrook!' The crowd eases slightly. We shift to allow more room. And I see her. I’ve lived here for 10 months and 15 days. Finally, here she is at the other end of the car with a hundred people between us. I would know her profile anywhere. Her long dark hair tucked inside her collar and a light dusting of freckles-after all this time, she hasn’t changed.

“Sophie!” I shout. The passengers surrounding me startle. With her headphones in place, she can’t hear, but it doesn’t stop me from trying again. “Sophie!”

A man in a suit looks over his shoulder and hisses. I shrug. “Sorry. I’m trying to get someone’s attention.” I look again at the crowd between us. This is impossible. “Christ. Fuck me.”

The priest to my side grunts. I hold up my hand. “Forgive me, father.” He nods with a hint of a smile before returning to his book. I search my bag and pull out a scrap of paper. A receipt from my breakfast two days ago. “Does anyone have a pen?”

The man with the spaghetti hands me the pen his wife was using for her crossword puzzle. “Thank you!” I quickly write a note including my phone number and tap the curly blonde haired woman in front of me. “Can you pass this to the lass with the dark hair, blue headphones in gray wooly coat? Do you see her?”

“Lass?” She raises one eyebrow and flings her hair, revealing a name tag. It reads Irene. She asks, “Are you Scottish?”

“I am.” I give back the pen.

A muscular teenager nudges me and asks, “You’re a big dude. Do you have Viking blood? I’ve heard most Scottish people do.”

“Ah, maybe?” I look back to Irene. “The lass, Sophie, I met her years ago while she was visiting for the week with her friends. I live here now…”

“Did you move here for her?” The old man, with the now empty bowl, asks in a thick Italian accent.

“No. No. For work, but I hoped to find her someday. I’ve never forgotten her…”

A young woman with a silver hoop through her nose laughs. “That must have been one hot week.”

“Just one day. 24 hours.” I shake my head. “She was engaged to another man and nothing…scandalous happened. We toured my favorite parts of the city. We ate. We drank. And we talked…about life and our futures…” Everyone around me listens as if I’m telling a fairy tale, and maybe that’s all it is. I twist the slip of paper in my fingers.

“One day?” Another person questions.

“Yes, but I knew she was the one, even if I could never have her. It was love…for me, anyhow…”

“Pass the note!” someone yells. “Before she gets off!”

“Hurry! Pass it!” A listener demands.

As my note moves through the crowd along with my story, smiles grow on each person’s face. Finally, it reaches Sophie. She reads it and searches the car. “Sophie!” I call again.

She lights up and pulls her headphones away. “Liam!” I read my name on her lips but can’t hear her over the roar of the tracks. I wave my phone, but she shakes her head. The overhead lights dim as we enter the tunnel. The passengers fully engaged in our interaction inform me, “There’s no service!”

The train stops abruptly, and we jerk forward. 'Please remain in your seats, we will be moving shortly.' We wait in virtual darkness.

“Shit!” I mutter to myself. “Who am I kidding? I never stood a chance then, and I don’t now.”

Irene snaps, “What?”

I roll my head and exhale above me. “She’s most likely married with children.”

“You don’t know that? She was only engaged to what’s his name…”

“Andrew.” I offer.

“Right. Andrew could be long gone by now.”

The Italian man adds, “Maybe she fell in love with you too.”

The young woman says, “You can’t give up after all this time.”

“Is she wearing a ring? I can’t see…” I stretch my neck. A whisper travels through the car and builds. I hear laughter from the other end. Someone yells, “She’s not married! Sophie is single!”

The crowd cheers. My heart squeezes in my chest; I don’t know whether it’s because Sophie is single or the fact that I’m finally understanding the charm of this city. We fall back and begin moving again. I dig my fingers into the plastic of the seat next to me.

“What do I do?”

Irene smacks my arm. “Take her out. Now. Go out for coffee!”

I shake my head. “I can’t. I have a meeting.”

“On Monday morning? Ah forget about it!” The old Italian man waves with a flick of his wrist.

I explain, “I’m leading it and the donuts I ordered are already there.”

“Even better. Sweet treats and a canceled meeting. You’ll be the office hero.” The nose ring girl claps her hands.

More murmurs as we approach the next stop. A stranger calls me by name, “Liam! Get out now!”

“Now?” I ask.

The entire car answers, “Yes!”

'Suburban Station.', the nasally prerecorded announcement signals that it’s time. With so many people between me and the exit, I’ll never make it. Without asking, they part and allow me to pass while wishing me luck on my way. I land on the platform.

“Liam!” The voice I’ve struggled to imagine over the years calls for me.

“Sophie!” I spin around with my arms open wide.

She falls into my embrace. A celebration breaks out behind the windows of the car before the regional rail speeds on to its next stop. We fall apart laughing.

“God, I love this city.” I mutter to myself.

She adjusts her bag and smiles. “I’ve thought about you a lot since that day.”

“You have?” I ask and reach for her hand.

She takes it and squeezes. “Yeah, how could I forget you?”

“Do you want to get coffee?”

“I would love that, Liam.”

The End.