Just to Let You Know

A train station story.

“Wait, wait, wait,” I said for a brief second, asking time to take a break and give me that extra million years I need so desperately. You were already moving away and I wished I could make it five seconds ago when you weren’t moving. But I couldn’t. Between you and me, time really doesn’t like me that much. I wasted a lot of her back in the day, and now she’s getting even with me by giving me none. The way I see it, my debt’s paid by December 25^th.

She’s ironic, she is. Time likes a good laugh every once in a while. She’s been around for… well, forever, and she gets bored. She knows I need her now. She knows that that date is a deadline for me. What she doesn’t know is why it’s such a big deal for me. Hell if even I know, for that matter. It just is.

Anyway I told time to take a few minutes off, maybe get a cup of instant soup, step out of her ethereal office somewhere in the crab nebula, get some fresh air, and see if that guy in the room next to her wanted to finally ask her out for next Friday. She said none of that was any of my business, but she could work some magic and pause herself.

Which is why I kept going. Back on the ground, next to a train that was already moving away pretty fast (I knew this’d happen; waiting for the next train really is a small price to pay), in a station we know as Olivos, somewhere in Buenos Aires, Argentina, I brushed some of the hair off your face and behind your ear. At least I think I did. You know my memory isn’t the best around.

I brushed it behind your ear and held that side of your head with the palm of my hand. I doubted myself now. I doubt myself about three million times a second, but most of those doubts are just doubts about the doubts that just end up cancelling up. This one doubt had nothing against it though; nothing to keep it from falling on its own weight. Which is why my head fell behind, unsupported by any spine on my back.­­­

But then my spine must’ve decided to come back from its short break. My heart was, as always, easily fluctuating, and was probably going at 130 beats per minute. My lungs, well, I don’t know what they were doing, but since I didn’t get any talk from them, they were probably holding my breath for a while. My mind was just getting reacquainted with my spine, and the though just occurred to me that I could keep going.

My head dropped forward as my neck gave way to the 200N force between your lips and mine. Well, at least I felt them getting accelerated your way. And, well, Newton’s third law takes care of the rest, right? You must’ve been feeling an equal and opposite force. Right?

What happens next is always fuzzy to describe. I could say my lower lip is between your two lips. I could say that your upper lip is between my two lips. Or I could say that, for a second, I was there. My mind collapsed into my head like an inverted house of cards. And I had the pleasure of getting reacquainted with the inside of my skull. I started to bounce around in there. Elastic collisions. Nowhere to lose my kinetic energy to, see?

And that’s when I thought that time would pause if she had the least bit of empathy towards me.

And then I heard the little noise. The noise you always hear as the end of a kiss, the noise that you think is only in cartoons or people prone to exaggeration. Until it happens to you, that is. That noise is like opening a can of tennis balls. Air suddenly flows in. Clear. Click. Concise. It’s there. No doubting that.

Did the noise happen? Or was that just my imagination?

And that’s when I knew time screwed me over again. Because that’s when the kiss was over. It was over. Time has an interval such that it exists before t_Ki and past t_Kf.

But she wasn’t quite done. You said to me, in fast-forward:

“I’ll see you next Friday. Good luck during the week,” with that eye-closing smile of yours on your face. I can’t help smiling when I think of that. Why did time have to make herself go by so fast for those three seconds it took you to say that?

And that’s when time kicked me in the stomach. You turned around and all I could see was your back and your waterfall hair cascading on your shoulders. And I froze. I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t move. I just stood there, mouth open, while you walked away slower and slower. But you didn’t perceive the slowness. That was just me. Just time all around me growing slower and slower.

The air around me melted to glass and froze as soon as it remembered that the melting point of glass is above the winter-to-spring air temperature of Buenos Aires. I couldn’t believe it. What couldn’t I believe? I don’t know.

I just stood there. I was there for so long I forgot I was there, and when I realized where I was you were still in the same place. I wonder what your face looked like that whole time. Your mirrors are lucky.

And then you weren’t there.

Author's Note

Reviews/criticism always welcome :]

Reviews

[Violet Moon]

This was a very, very good piece. There was a lot of good imagery and diction that made it seem more like a movie that was playing in my head. The emotions were very deep and strong so they seemed very real. The plot was well developed and organized. I think you did a very good job. Well done! :)

I found this story, really interesting. You made very dinamic and used plenty of images and sensations that are difficult to explain and you have managed to make as real as posible. I really felt i was there.
simply amazing

[Zeek4]

I could tell you had a background in physics when reading this story. I really like it and thought it was very clever. You integrated the ideas of time and relativity into an intriguing mix with love and human emotion. Liked it!

[DreamingDingledodie]

very, very good and refreshingly different! you have a very diverse narrative and your diverse use of diction and detail really brings out a lot of the emotion that you're beautifully expressing

[Thomas Coll]

This is a wonderful piece. I really like how it flowed, it realed me into your world. That is what i always ask of a writer. I look forward to reading more of your work.