Passengers

[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.

*****

"What's so good about dating anyways?" the drunk Elvis impersonator slurred into my ear. This wasn't prime Elvis. This was dead on the toilet Elvis. But he was chill enough to share his bottle of rotgut and I wasn't planning on walking into my apartment sober. Not after that first date.

I nodded at him. "Right?"

He handed my his brown-bagged bottle. "All a man needs is himself. That's all. Say you meet the love of your life. Hell. Best thing that can happen is both of you die at the same time. Save one another the grief. That's the best case! And what about between now and then? Huh? Ain't always gonna be peaches and cream--hey don't bogart that bottle, slim."

"Sorry," I said, wiping my lips.

Drunk Elvis had a point. The girl I'd sat across from at the Japanese diner in Brooklyn just an hour ago had pretty much made the same point. She wasn't looking for anything serious. She was too busy with her costume design gig to ever settle down. Then why go on a date with me at all?

As if trying to run away from the memory of my date, I scanned around the subway car, looking for someone, anyone that I could imagine having a better time with.

Down in the far side, three dancers took turns with their showtime, spinning around the poles to bass-heavy hip-hop blasting on their bluetooth speaker. Past them, a gaggle of Hassidic teenagers laughed and clapped each other on the back, looking as drunk as Elvis. Probably had too much of the sacramental wine at Torah study. To my right, Fake Elvis railed on about the failures of modern dating while smelling like the floor of a dive bar.

I loved New York. The city didn't make any sense and yet somehow, it made all the sense.

I looked up.

Across from me was a girl in some ruffly, red dress like straight out of a Jane Austen novel. Her hair was done up in a bun, hands folded over her lap. And she was staring right at me.

I felt my cheeks warm. Maybe it was the cheap whiskey. Either way, she was deathly cute. Pale as bone. Dark, deep eyes. Eyes I could fall into. I must have been hammered if I was throwing poetry around in my mind.

I elbowed Fake Elvis gently and whispered out of the side of my mouth, "Hey, was she at the costume contest too?"

"Who?"

I pointed with my chin without looking her way. "The governess over there."

Fake Elvis chuckled. "The governor? He's up in Albany, slim. You high?" and after a beat, he added, "well don't hold out on me. Pass the jay."

I looked back at her. The subway stopped. The showtime dancers changed over to another car. The Hassidic teens stumbled out to the station. Passengers shuffled on and off, and the governess hadn't moved a hair. An uneasiness crawled up my back. There was something off about her.

"Fuck it," I said aloud. I stared right back at her.

After a few seconds, it clicked. She wasn't blinking, at all.

Fake Elvis passed me the bottle, but I waved it away. My heart started pounding against the inside of my chest. God, she was so cute. Probably a burlesque dancer on her way to a gig. But why wasn't she blinking?

"Hey, King," I said. There was no way around it. I waved at her. She smiled and waved back daintily. "You seeing this?"

"What I see," Elvis said, "is you waving to an empty seat."

I looked at him. His eyes were half-closed, wig drooping, but there was nothing kidding about his expression. "What?"

He pointed at the governess with his bottle. "Empty. I think you've had enough, slim."

I snapped back to look at her. She started saying something, but I couldn't make it out. The subway stopped again. The doors opened and a herd of passengers charged aboard. I shot up out of my seat, wedged around to see her. But she was gone.

"Gotta go," I shouted at Fake Elvis. "Hail the king!"

I ran off the subway. The station was empty. The train pulled away.

But the governess was gone.

Then I heard it. The faintest of whispers.

"Love."

I turned around. Standing on the tracks was the governess. She looked up at me. Reached a hand. "Hold on!" I shouted.

She whispered again but the words were lost in the din of the station. I flopped down on my belly and reached out my hand to her. "Grab my hand!"

She didn't move. She just stood there, whispering something about love over and over.

I looked up at a growing light. The subway horn blared. The next train was coming. I could see the conductor in the small side window waving frantically for me to get back. I couldn't. She was still there. I turned back to her. "Hurry! Take my hand!"

Then I heard her voice as clear as if she whispered in my ear. "Love is always worth the risk."

Something yanked me to my feet and I stumbled back, falling on something soft and polyester. It was Fake Elvis. He groaned, "Fuck, slim. You're a wild card."

I leapt to my feet, just in time for the subway to pull into the station. It didn't even slow down. As if the governess wasn't even there.

"What the hell," I whispered to myself. To the station. To her.

But she was gone.

*****

THE END.