There’s a sign that reads Riding or moving between cars is prohibited with a black silhouette between two train cars being shamed for doing so within a red stop symbol. But the bottom reads unless there is an emergency, or as directed by police or train crew and I’m going to declare my End Day an emergency.
I take Orion’s hand, half stepping onto the bridge and holding on to the rubber strap with the tightest grip. The wheels screeching are ten times louder out here, and the winds are blowing back my hair like we’re on the top of a building. It’s exhilarating without being as dangerous as skydiving. This is a first, but neither of us are stupid enough to try to document this with a picture. The fact that we’re doing this at all is already plenty stupid. But I’m not going to die here like some self-fulfilling prophecy from when I was panicking earlier about all the different ways I can die.
The train slows down slightly as it turns, breaking out of the dark tunnel. The secret station is illuminated by the sun casting through the skylight. I’m blown away by how different this station is from the one I was in this morning. This feels more like Grand Central, which I’ve only experienced through movies where characters arrive in New York for the first time and do that classic spin that screams, “I’ve made it!” If I weren’t so scared of falling onto the tracks, I’d probably spin right now too. It’s magical experiencing this hidden corner of New York and I’m shocked more people aren’t risking their lives and breaking the law to stand out on this crossway to see this for themselves. The sign on the bricked wall reads CITY HALL, and there are green and white tiles running along the vaulted ceiling. The most surprising piece would have to be the literal chandeliers that are switched off or don’t work, but to think they once lit up a train station like it was a ballroom? Showstopping.
As we’re returning into the darkness, Orion howls in euphoria, and I do the same, our voices echoing through the tunnel.
I’m aching to stay out here, but he wisely nudges me back inside.
“So?” Orion asks, flipping his thumbs up and down.
I don’t even know what to say. This is one of those passages that you can only stumble on if you don’t get out of the train when you’re supposed to, and I got to live something that most New Yorkers won’t in their entire lives.
I answer Orion’s question with a hug. “Thank you for being the most thoughtful person ever.”
Orion squeezes. “You kidding? You won that award when you offered me your heart.”
The train pulls into the station, and I don’t want to let go. I don’t care if thousands of people pour into the car. That’ll only push us closer together. I want to hold on to Orion because he’s under this ridiculous impression that someone won’t love him in what I have faith will be a long, long life after the transplant. But I have to let go because Orion says, “This is our stop.” I get out and follow him up the stairs and outside the station with a new mission before I die.
Make sure Orion knows he deserves the world.
Gloria Dario
12:15 p.m.
Gloria tries breathing.
In, out. In, out.
Why does it feel like she’s a breath away from an asthma attack?
The restaurant is a little stuffy. She removes her light jacket and tucks it into the corner of the booth where she’s sat across from Pazito. Her son is telling her all about one of his assigned books for summer reading, but Gloria is struggling to focus, to keep her eyes away from the door where Rolando is expected to walk in any moment now. She wonders if he’ll be carrying a bouquet of sunflowers like he did their first—and last—time here at Desiderata’s, the day where Rolando told Gloria he was deeply in love with her.
The day where Gloria regrets not saying it back.
The truth is, Gloria knew she loved Rolando, but she wasn’t as certain that she was in love with him. Those lines can be blurry, especially when you’re young and haven’t known love yet—or known what it’s like to be in a relationship where things aren’t as they should be.