3/9/2020 (originally) 10/24/2020 (revised and expanded)
You find yourself once again among people but distant from them. It’s crowded. Like really crowded. You couldn’t slide a piece of paper between you and the person next to you. This is less of a party and more of a fire code violation. So you slip out. Just leave. You don’t say any good-byes or see-ya-laters. You don’t tell anyone you’re leaving. You just go. “An Irish exit” you’ve heard it called, even though you aren’t Irish and don’t get the joke.
The air is cold. Well, not cold exactly. It’s crisp. Like it doesn’t necessitate a coat, but you wish you had more than a hoodie. Your breath is just barely visible. The wind picks up as you turn the corner and the buildings are no longer blocking the gusts that come off the lake.
A homeless man asks for change. You shrug and smile awkwardly. You say you haven’t got any and he blesses you for your lie. It takes about a block for the guilt to catch up. You play with the quarter in your pocket and consider going back but at this point, you’ve gone another two blocks. So you just carry on.
You reach the subway, scan your Ventra card and shuffle through the floor to ceiling turnstile and trudge up the stairs to the train platform. Texts are already coming through. “where you at?” “Still here?” “Where did you go?” “Meet me out back” “You left? you always do this! >:(“
The texts are brief enough to fit in the preview so you don’t open them. Otherwise, people would see that you saw them and you want plausible deniability when you tell them you didn’t get their texts. You curse in your head. These people and their drama. You’re over it. The things they talk about. The things they enjoy. The things they hate. You’re done. Done. Who cares?
Now someone is calling. You don’t even check to see who it is. You let it tickle your leg through your pants pocket until it goes to voicemail. Assuming they leave one. But they won’t. They never do. Hell, does anybody?
You look up at the screen above the platform. Fifteen minutes until the train. They run much less frequently this time of night. A quick glance up and down the platform reveals that you’re the only one here. You are awash in mixed feelings. After all, that’s what you wanted right? But being alone on a Red Line platform at this time of night isn’t exactly the kind of alone that anybody wants. You hear feet coming up the platform and a young man is standing there. The sleeves cut off his hoodie revealing pale arms covered in crude stick-n-poke tattoos. You realize it’s the guy who’d asked you for change earlier. At least you think it is. You didn’t really look before. He looks toward you and you look away. But it’s too late, he’s seen you see him. He moves towards you.
He says, “Hey, man” and you reach for that quarter you’d had after all, but instead of stretching out a turned-up palm he throws out a clenched fist. His hood is still up and a bandana is over his face but his eyes are uncovered and full of wild desperation. You catch glances as you try, in vain, to deflect his blows. Trying to make eye contact to make him stop. No. Bad idea. Look away. Look away or he’ll kill you.
You fill up with hate. Not at him as much as yourself. For having turned you back on this kind of desperation. This is your fault, you think. You deserve this. As he reaches for your phone and for your wallet you cry “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Then a flurry of white and black. He is tackled to the ground. After that you just see red and black plaid pants that you immediately recognize as Stephen’s join the black jeans and white t-shirt. A third person is helping you up. She is touching your face, looking for wounds. You flinch.
“It’s okay,” she says, “You’re okay. It’s us. It’s us.”
It’s them. Your friends.
“We got him,” says Jeff. The blood on his white t-shirt isn’t his. He and Stephen have pinned your attacker. His eyes now are a different kind of desperate than before. Now they’re the same kind of desperate as yours. You reach for your phone to call 9-1-1 and see the other texts that you’d missed.
“if u get this wait up”
“See you in a minute. <3”
“We’re right behind you…”
Samantha takes your phone and calls for you. You can’t see the numbers.
You’re crying.