The Loss of Dora

A Writer’s Cramp Story (24 hours/1,00 words or less)

NEW PROMPT: Write a short story or poem about two people meeting again after 10 years on a broken down subway train. Catch, this can't be a love story.

The Loss of Dora

A broken down subway. What else is new, I thought to myself. A brief visit to Earth, and this is what I get? Figures.

Then what could make a bad trip worse? I saw her. Oh, she was different all right. Her hair looked thinner, less healthy. Her waist seemed wider, her arms fatter. Her face held wrinkles. Once so perfect she could have modeled facial creams. Age, that’s what happened. She’d grown old.

My lips twisted. I waved. She looked away, then back, recognition flared red across her dried-out skin, in her eyes. Her limbs twitched, eager to get away, but no place to go. The subway’d broke in a tunnel under New York City.

Obvious, she wasn’t coming to me. I strode forward, a big smile on my face. Sure, last time she’d seen me cringe, whimper, die before her abuse. But today I could stand up straight, take it like a man.

“Hey, how you doin’?” I said.

A flash of misery surged over her. Shoulders slumped, lungs let out a sigh.

“Good. And you, Charles?”

“Wonderful. Just back for a visit, off my ship. I work the Earth Systems Liner, rarely take jaunts elsewhere. You?”

She shifted, looked about for a reason to escape.

“You don’t age, Charles?”

“Not the same way. For me it’s only been about ten years. When you travel out, you hit negative time. That makes me about . . . thirty-one . . .”

“And I’m fifty-eight.” She looked down. Her foot teased a wrapper, moved it from side to side, squished it.

“Life good for you?” I asked.

Her bottom lip spasmed. Was she going to cry?

She nodded. “I married Kenneth, you know. Got three beautiful kids – all grown. One grandchild.”

“Good. Then you’re happy.” Something in my gut twisted. I didn’t want her to be happy. Even though I didn’t want her to be sad either.

“Yeah, life’s been good.” She looked down, sniffed into a hankie. “Only things don’t go like we figure sometimes. Nothing ever does.”

The subway lurched. Moved half a meter. Quit.

Dora’s hand on the seat looked white with nervousness and something more. It trembled.

“Sit down, please.” I said. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Bitterness traveled down my legs, oozed out. I watched it slip away through the slow opening of the subway doors.

“Looks like they’re telling us to walk,” I said taking note of the dim flickering lights.

“Can’t. I’ll stay here. You go.”

I sat down beside her. “Like I said, what’s wrong, Dora?”

“Anyone get sick up there in space? Cancer?”

I took her hand, held it. “No. You know that, don’t you? Mankind takes to space like . . .” I wanted to say like a duck in water, but she was crying. I didn’t finish the thought, couldn’t think of anything else to say.

A moment of silence. Then, “Kenneth know?”

She shook her head. “He died four years ago. Cancer. It comes back for the spouse. Attacks like a pack of wolves, devours everything, everyone.”

How had I gotten myself into this? I’d wanted revenge on Dora for spurning me, sending me off into space. No revenge possible now. She’d aged. Her skin looked fragile, translucent, like the cancer had already eaten up her vital force. But I was there, had to be the one to give comfort.

“How can I help you?” I said. “What can I do?”

She smiled, a smile that reminded me of the sweetness we’d known together – the year before Kenneth, before the drink hit me bad. I’d sobered in space. It took a full Earth year before you could even tolerate a sip up there. Didn’t matter. When the year ended. I was finished with booze. But not with Dora. She lingered, or at least my anger had.

“What can you do?” She shook her head. “Nothing. No time. Too late. I’ll say goodbye to my children, my granddaughter. The little one’s only three, won’t remember me, I guess. But it’s been a good life, like I said. My time’s come. That's all.”

“No. Don’t say that. Fight it, Dora. Fight with everything you’ve got.”

She laughed. A soft laugh, one I remembered so well. A pain shot through me, cleared out the cobwebs I’d kept in my heart, opened me to something deeper.

The subway doors closed. Only a few stragglers remained on the train. I wondered where the others were, climbing the stairs upward into air, light . . . life.

The train jerked, edged forward – two meters, three. It jerked again, but didn’t stop, crept on, headed toward the next station.

“It’s good to see you. Did you marry?” Dora asked.

I shook my head, didn’t let go of her hand.

“Don’t,” she said, disconnected her hand from mine. “We’re like two subway trains, Charlie. Long ago we met at a crossing then went our separate ways. When we get to the next station, that’s what we’ll do again. You’ll go one way. Me another. We can’t go back.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that. We can be friends, can’t we?”

Dora smiled, shook her head again.

The doors opened. She pushed me up, away. “Leave now, Charlie. I’m going someplace else. Nice to see you. Goodbye.”

I made it through the doors before the train moved off, then stood and watched when it jerked and bucked its way forward.

That was the last time I ever saw Dora. Riding her train into the shadows of a flickering subway tunnel.

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924 words

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