3. l'orange

 [ la lune resta calme pendant un moment. dit-elle, mais seulement à voix basse, " tu dois savoir que je ne suis qu'une lune. Tu es le soleil. Je ne t'attacherai jamais à moi. "]

the metro station was always quiet at night. there were stray dogs curled up against each other for warmth, just like the beggars against the wall. a bearded man staggered near the staircase, with a flask in his hand. near the rail, a dead rat lay in the open, half consumed by whatever carnivore lurked. an ugly medical sort of light lit up the place, and the stench of urine and stale bread loitered.

all the benches were occupied save one. it was an old bench at the far end with paint chipped off on the backrest. 

yet the most interesting thing about the bench was the object it held. a lone half-peeled orange sat unbothered, at the center of the seat. a few scattered fruitflies hung around the orange.

the metro station, all in all wasn't a very hygienic place.

but necessity can make hygiene look bleak.

the last metro train was supposed to reach at 10:45. unfortunately, there was an inconvenient hold-up at the last stop. 

this fact, seemed to be alien to our first protagonist.

the woman appeared to be in her late-twenties. she had a pair of metal rimmed glasses hanging at the tip of her nose. she was evidently, in a hurry.

"fuck. fuck. fuck. please don't tell me i missed it. please pleas-"

her shoes were in her hands, and she raced down the stairs in a very unladylike fashion.

a repeated message was being announced by the irritable robot woman voice. 
"apologies to all waiting, the metro from stockwell to warren st has been delayed ! apologies-"

she stood for a while, hopelessly upset. either at herself, or at the stupid dumb fucking universe that was out to plot against her.

i assume it to be the latter.

she let out a long groan, and looked around for a place to gather herself. the restrooms did not seem very appealing and the benches were all full.

she, like us, too noticed the orange-bench at the far end of the station. the lady walked up to it only to find someone else sitting on it. 

on one side of the orange.

she wasn't very happy with the interaction, but it would do. "could i have a seat ?" she asked, in the nicest tone she could pull up at that moment. 

-

"i am going to be forever debted to you for doing this for me," 

the man on the bike shook his head in disapproval. "for the love of god, make a run for it if you want to catch the train tonight." 

the woman did make a run for it, her hair burning after her.

it was an ironic analogy, because her hair looked much like the remnants of something burnt.

she too, had no prior knowledge of the delay.

and was evidently frustrated when she reached.

her eye fell upon an empty seat at the far end of the station. she let out an exasperated sigh, and made her way towards it.

-

the situation could not have gotten worse for our two tired travellers, 

but fate has a way of making things unimaginable inconvenient for us

for example, it was for my ill-fate that the last banana at home was bug infested. 

i remained hungry.

hangry.

-

voices are interesting things. studies have shown that arousing and emotionally engaging experiences are more likely to be recorded and consolidated in memory, and this advantage holds for voices.

this however,

was a disadvantage for both.

the girl with the burnt hair turned back at the request and responded with an ill timed groan. the girl making the request on the other hand was heard muttering a variety of profanities.

"i can find another seat." she said, looking around helplessly.

the one seated fished out any iota of empathy she bore and with much unease said, " i don't see any vacancies. you might as well sit down."

the air was heavy with the many elephants in the room. or, the metro station to be precise.

the burnt haired girl was never comfortable with silence, but unexpectedly it was our girl-with-the-glasses-at-the-end-of-her-nose who spoke up.

"i don't know what to say."

her words were mingled with apology and her conscience ravaged the moment.

"don't. you'll make it ugly." her metro station companion said with a passive aggressive undertone.

'apologies to all waiting ! the metro from stockwell to warren st has been delayed and is speculated to arrive at 11:15 pm (GMT)'

-

the phone would have been a sweet release from the situation if it was not close to dying. 

the tube lights in the station flickered at whim, and the robotic announcement was always preceded by a pleasant chime that echoed throughout.

"do you want some water ?" asked the burnt-headed girl to the latter.

"oh, thank you but no." 

thirst croaked in her voice.

"ha, you really haven't changed, have you ? it won't kill you to have the water, isis."

isis took the water bottle, with skepticism hurling at the other.

the water felt like nectar.

it had been a long day.

returning the bottle, she said, "you seem so.. collected." immediately following that up with, "i realise that sounds douchey now that i heard myself saying it."

the girl on the other side of the bench laughed.

"collected ? just because i don't let my emotions spill, doesn't mean i'm collected."

a brown bag slouched next to her. a green notebook peeked out from it, the inital 'M' on it.

isis scoffed at the comment. "i have never let my emotions spill. don't ostracize me from my emotional isolation, marisol."

"you're as hypocritical as i remember."

"the fact that you're saying that, makes me laugh."

"oh does it ? you do a fantastic job of making yourself the prey in every goddamn situ-"

"you never let me be the prey of any situation marisol. everything always happened to you. everything was about you."

" you just never want to admit that you're wrong. that it was your perception of things?"

" how can you be so shitty after everything we went through ?

"nobody asked you to go through any of that. nobody asked you to stay and do me charity, but then again ha-

"don't go there."

"don't go where, isis ? don't remind you of the fact that you left ?"

the station was silent.

this was a horrible idea.

the light above them flickered and marisol's face lit up. her eyes were tired and darkened. a few strands of stray hair lingered on her forehead.

the wind blew the anger off of her face.

isis looked sad. guilty. furious.

"don't do that to me again, marisol."

"oh i'm sorry does your idea of being the saint in every situation get tainted ?"

tears began welling up behind the metal rimmed glasses. 

"you're being mean."

"grow the fuck up, isis. you act like you're above all this shit and then you go back to it. grow up for once."

marisol's face scrunched up.

isis looked away. she whispered, "you forget how you went back to her. and you forget how you left me alone at home for a week before returning and telling me you didn't know where you had gone. you forget how you told me she didn't mean anything to you. 

you have a tendency of forgetting things.

and still not seeing when i hand it to you."

the fire in the other girl's hair seemed to fizzle out.

"you knew about my problem, isis."

"oh i knew. but that doesn't give you a free pass to be shitty to me. to anybody for that matter. that isn't fucking fair. i had issues too, mari."

the station felt colder. 

isis looked at her and smiled. "i'm sorry. for everything. if that was what you wanted to hear. i'm sorry for not breathing through all your storms. i'm sorry for not bandaging you up for things you did to yourself. time and again.

and i'm sorry for that morning."

a lone tear trickled down the angry girl's cheek.

" what you did was unforgivable."

isis looked into the distance with a sort of sad in her eyes that hadn't been there in a long long time. 

" i love you." she whispered into the december wind.

the wind kissed her cheek before dying out. 

"i always will."

marisol looked away with a resentment that had begun to melt.

this close was excruciating.

what was this love that did not let leave.

"you know the shittiest part? i loved you when you left that morning and all of you disappeared from the apartment. i loved you when i read the letter you left me on the bedside table. i loved you when i couldn't find a trace of you in the entirety of london. i loved you when i realised everyone around me looked a little like you. i loved you when i finally got out your tee-shirt that had forever been stuck under the bed. i loved you when i sat for breakfast and i had your favorite cereal to finish the boxes. i loved you when napoleon passed away. i loved you when i wrote letters to you to every address you had ever been in , not knowing where in the world you were. i loved you when i kept our pictures close. i loved you when i slept with the pillow, wishing it would be you when i woke up. wishing you'd come back one night with a carton of your dumb honey mustard sandwiches.

i loved you when you got married, isis.

and i love you now.

for the record, i don't think i'd ever loved someone else.

not the millions of hers and hims in the befores and afters of you.

only you."

the orange lay quiet between them. the fruitflies had left it alone.

isis smiled at marisol, in a way she hadn't before. she carefully removed the fruit with a tissue paper and placed it on the ground.

she moved closer to marisol, and lay her head on her shoulder.

"you were the greatest love of my life." she spoke quietly, placing a hand on her belly. 
marisol sobbed softly. gently. isis did too.

"it should've been us."

"it's a girl," said isis. "her name's marisol alvarez."

-

the rails roared as the train stopped at the station.

fate has always been ill timed.

" the train from stockwell to warren st has arrived at victoria st. the train from-"

the travellers looked at each other with eyes which held a kind of love for the other that  nobody would ever take.

their hands rested against the other for a minute,

and then they parted ways

like all travellers do.

and they wondered, how i could've written them a happier story.

the orange rolls off and plops onto the track.

-

le soleil regardait la lune avec amour. elle parla lentement, " oh ma chérie, tu ne m'attaches pas à toi. l'univers nous a donné naissance pour être l'un pour l'autre. je n'aurais pas pu être plus chanceux."

-

in another world, this is isadora, the daughter of a certain burnt-haired woman and her wife who paints. in another universe, perhaps.

i love you, i'm sorry.