The sour smell of sweat
lingers in the metal tube
where ants scurry to their seats,
governed by a muffled voice
that echoes down the throat
of a scaleless snake.
He slivers down a parallel path
adorned by fuzzy green
that clings to walls and telegraph poles.
Sunlight gleams off every leaf,
as if the trees bare gold
instead of seeds.
Wild grasses crowned
with floppy pink and purple hats,
wave in a gentle breeze
that cannot sway the riders
who travel in
the belly of the beast.
The huffing metal body emerged from the tunnel. Golden sunlight struck the carriages, momentarily blinding Stephanie and her companion.
Richard sat across from her, broad, belligerent man. He was stuffing a sandwich between yellow teeth, chunks of food trickling down from his plump lips and sweat stains spreading underneath his pale blue shirt. The overwhelming stench of his spicy food made her want to gag. He sniffed as he continued to cram the oozing wad of bread and curry into his face, spraying crumbs and debris into his own lap with every word that he obviously didn’t think could wait until he was finished with his lunch.
Stephanie watched him wipe his mouth, smearing grease onto the back of his hand and then rubbing it into the velvet seats. She cradled her stomach, wondering if she consumed as much food as Richard could, would it feel like before? Or would the reminder just make everything so much harder to bear? Stephanie thought back to when she was a teenager, that time when she took a swig from a bottle of vodka her parents had been keeping under the sink. She remembered the burning pain and spilling the vile liquid across the kitchen floor. She had filled the bottle up with water and put it back, hoping her parents wouldn’t notice. She could remember her father roaring at her. Not for the theft, but for ruining the rest of the bottle. She imagined that trying to fill this hole inside of her would be the same. What had happened, happened. She could only make things worse.
A baby’s mournful cry cut through the air, travelling from one carriage to the next. Stephanie’s head popped up, searching for the source of the sound, forgetting. Richard looked up too, watery eyes locking with hers. Something in his face changed. She could see a fragility in him that was usually hidden. The sounds of their fellow travellers faded away into nothing as they stared, seeing each other for the first time since it happened. A branch smacked against the window as the trees blurred past, jolting them both back to their senses.
He reached for his newspaper, building a barrier of rustling black and white lines against her inquisitive stare. She glared at it, wishing she could reach the other side with her anger. Just notice me. Just notice me. Talk to me, ask me how I really feel. The page flapped as he turned it. She hated the sounds of all his little distractions. For the past week, her life had been filled with rustling paper and the clattering of pots and pans. He kept hiding behind his papers and disappearing to the kitchen to cook comforting meals for her, as if somehow a Sheppard’s pie was going to fix everything; fix their marriage, fix the painful void inside of her. Stephanie wouldn’t eat a thing. Her ribs pushed against her skin and her cheeks were becoming concave. It wasn’t the same as before, no one was depending on her now. So, what was the point of filling herself up? She was damaged. Broken. She would only fall into pieces when someone tried to make use of her.
The baby was still wailing.
Stephanie could only see Richard’s hands, pale claws clutching at the edges of his paper as he tried to ignore the sound. A muffled voice spoke from above, echoing out of its little black box. We regret to inform you that we are running about ten minutes behind schedule. We’re sorry for any inconvenience this may cause. The words ran through her head. Sorry, so sorry, so sorry.
‘Sorry isn’t an explanation, it’s an excuse.’
She could remember Richard angrily shouting those words. She hadn’t been able to speak at first, but he had. Frantically roaring and demanding, before breaking down and crying. All she could remember was the Nurse’s confusion when Stephanie had finally found her voice.
‘Where did its life go?’
‘They removed him. The body has been moved downstairs.”
‘Yes’, she had said, ‘I know. But where did its life go?’ How could a heart beating in rhythm with hers stop so suddenly?
Everyone seemed so keen for her to get on and grieve, but all that remained was the confusion. Where did its life go? Why had everything become so quiet, so distant? When did the sound of excited chatter get replaced by papers and pots and pans?
The baby’s crying stopped.
