Novel Excerpts

Chapter One

Kat

First, you need to know, I’m not a stander outer. If you walked past me on a city sidewalk, I would not draw your attention.

It’s by design, sort of.

What I mean is, I avoid anything that may get me noticed. I’m of average height and I keep my brown hair shoulder length. My glasses are taupe plastic frames with conversion shades. I sidestep any kind of makeup, bright color – or anything that will draw attention.

I prefer not to completely slink in the shadows but will do so if the occasion calls for it. The occasion being a parade or any kind of bruhaha. Or perhaps you or anyone else paying undue attention.

You could say I’m a blender inner. 

Blending in purposely because I don’t wish to be part of you all. Associated. It’s easier that way. I don’t have to explain myself and better yet, I can avoid any kind of painful small talk. 

The thing is.

The thing is.

You frighten me. 

Your confidence. Your uninhibited laughter. Your curiosity. 

Your over-the-top all-consuming ways. I don’t get that you want to be noticed. Need to be noticed. Your blue hair. Tight jeans. Nose ring. Loud voice. Flashy accessories. They are all terrifying. 

I don’t get strangers talking to strangers for anything other than need-to-know information. You don’t know me …

This world mixed with sidewalks covered in old gum and sounding horns bouncing off rows of buildings; blinking lights and people on street corners with signs trying to convince me to give money - or repent and be saved - It’s just too much.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

I should have been born in another time. Perhaps an era of soft music and waltzes and lanterns that were turned down to save oil.

But I wasn’t.

I was born in a time of rock ‘n roll to parents who were too young, too naïve, and too self-involved to see what was happening around them.

But things were happening.

Scurrying across the crosswalk, at the flashing don’t walk sign, I pretend I don’t hear my name. The city streets are noisy and my claim that I didn’t hear anything will be valid. It’s Eileen from work. She’ll want to accompany me for the last few minutes of my walk to Grand Central Terminal. The last thing I need is inquisitive Eileen asking me all manner of questions that people ask to try to engage. Or is it just that they are snoopy? I never know.

Him

I saw you walking down the sidewalk. Purposefully staying to the right to avoid any collision. People zoomed around you. In and out, dodging, passing. Driven, it seemed. On their way to work or appointments or delicatessens.

You stayed steady and kept to your path. I knew where you were going. You go five days a week. Grand Central Terminal, to work in the ticket station.

The same routine. The same coworkers and clocks and shiny floors dulling after so much foot traffic.

Today could be different though.

Today you could do more than assist travelers on their way to scheduled rendezvous. Today might be the day that’s not like all the other days. 

Kat

My cubicle is stuffy, even for a June morning. Usually, the summer heat waits until July to become this stifling. 

Reginald has a fan in his cubicle. It oscillates left to right and still his forehead is beaded with sweat.

“Good morning, Kat!”

“Mornin’”

I never include the ‘good.’ Best to avoid the oxymoronic term. 

He assists his line of customers. A bag of M&Ms hidden where no one can see it through his window. But I can see it. I always see his hidden snacks.

He’s smiling and greeting customers as if they are old friends. I should tell him they aren’t. Friends. Or anything else. They are simply people who need to get somewhere, and they need him for just one moment to purchase a ticket. Otherwise, he is nothing to them.

Him

I see you noticed your co-worker. His forehead. He makes an effort to be jovial as usual but looks – different today. 

You wish you had his fan. It is muggy for June. The Hudson River breezes down 42nd street peter out by the time they reach Park Avenue at Grand Central. Even the pigeons congregate in the moisture near tree trunks, watered first thing this morning.

Kat

Reginald's wavy strawberry blonde hair is matted to his forehead today. His usual joy-filled greeting to customers hangs in the stuffy air. I’ve worked alongside him for two years. He’s happy every morning.

Every morning.

When the rain is pouring. Happy.

When the snow comes and claims our sidewalks. Happy.

When the air is warm and his armpits are damp. Happy.

When grouchy customers blame him for a late train. Happy.

It’s enough to send me ‘round the bend. But that would make two of us. So, I remain stoic in the face of his happiness. 

***

“Two for Brooklyn.” The harried mom smiles while holding onto her young son, attempting to wriggle out of her grasp. I wonder why people even have kids. She looks tired, her hair slipping out of its barrettes, the sleeves of her shirt worn at the cuffs. Her boy, intent on escaping.

“One for Kearney Hospital.” A distinguished man in an overcoat too heavy for today’s weather. I hand him the ticket and he lingers, peering at me over designer sunglasses, something is on his mind.

“You.”

I maintain as much decorum as possible and avert my gaze.

“Next!”

A slight shake of his head as he walks away. I know where I’ve seen him before.

Him

Kat. KAT. You cannot hide forever. Averting your green eyes behind librarian glasses. Avoidance, a self-imposed curtain you’ve created just for you. Something’s going to happen, and you will be seen. People will know, you are more than a ticket handler. Much more.