Part 3

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crisscrossing between fate

The car is parked in a quaint, quiet neighborhood. Mostly row homes and sad little apartment complexes. The bitter cold beating down against them and highway lights streaming off in the choked dark nearby. Christmas decorations still adorn the doorposts and windows of the small houses here. Giselle leaves the car with one of the cousins and goes inside. I say my humble goodbye to her and wait for Giselle to return with Adrian. Inside the car, Adrian and I ponder the graffiti markings on the garage door in front of us. “It’s probably a gang sign. Look, it’s over there too. And I saw another one before we got here.” I humor him with his little quips and comments of gangs. I flip through the radio trying to find something. I get raucous Latino sambas, annoying pop, aggressive rap, and unhappy rock. I leave it on a station blaring advertisements and endless talk. It tapers off into overall silence. Giselle returns about five minutes later with another prima. A little toddler, wrapped in a pink winter-coat, barely capable of moving. Poor little nina, such a cute sight watching her waddle to the car.

Of course, it is Giselle’s responsibility to feed Adrian before we get home so we set off again in search of the holy corporate arches of gold and red. We turn through more streets, ever the contrast. A great circle of manors with Christmas lights, old schoolhouses with century old brick sleeping in the darkness, modern business buildings towering over tiny storefronts, and streetlights flickering on and off as cars swerve and shift through this little town. The talk between Giselle and I is mostly short and quiet. This night has thus far gone downhill, and any chance of being intimate with her seems slightly impossible with the little ninos sitting in back. I keep my mouth shut, put on my glasses, and pretend not to be a complete awkward geek as we pull up to a McDonald’s. Big shiny lights and all of Amboy seems to stare at us here in the middle of New Jersey.

“You got any money?” she asks. “I got a 20.” fumbling through my wallet. “Don’t you have anything else?” She knows a twenty dollar bill is an expensive piece of paper when purchasing fast food but so be it, I hand her the money and we both accept the fact that I’ll be getting a decent amount of change back. Giselle is tired though. Her eyes are stressed and the glow of the lights emanating from the drive-thru illuminate her beauty here in this dark part of town. She is radiant yet exhausted and I feel a bit sad. I wish I could escape back to Florida with her and live amongst the old palms, rickety bridges over lazy rivers, and letting the old Atlantic sun cast its rays across us on some sandy beach. Adrian’s food arrives and Giselle hands it back to him. He ravages through it, wolfing it down in his hungry little frenzy, and off we go back into the Amboy town darkness.

As we drive back to the train station, the radio hums a Spanish tune. “Ah, this is funny.” says Giselle. Despite my extensive study in Spanish during high school, I still can’t understand any of it. “What’s it about?” She laughs. “It’s about a guy who drank too much and lost his girl. Now he has a sad heart.” A sad heart, and the guitar sounds keep strumming on the radio and the singer laments the tale of a man who took up the bottle in favor of his lover and like all of us stupid hombres, men, boys, and chicos, we lament and regret for our lost girls and chicas. We pass through a Hispanic district and Giselle points out the Spanish street names and I admire the little shops and how everything is so sound and sleepy here. Amboy dreams. The stars peak out behind distant clouds.

The unhappy train station again, it hasn’t gotten any friendlier but looks more gloomy and miserable than before. We park and stare out into the shops and streets in front of us and it’s subtle yet dark. Giselle sits in the driver’s seat, eyes wide and awake but looking upwards. Upwards to the old heavens above and the stars peer back down. My eyes follow hers but I stare at the rearview mirror. Adrian is sleeping alongside the baby nina. Little hermoso children, dreaming of big city folks, movie stars, and video games. I have to leave this little family, this beautiful little group of Dominicans with ancestry that could trace back to bayside villages and leafy hamlets nestled in Santa Domingo jungles. And I can imagine Giselle there, sitting on a wild beach. Legs outstretched, her tanned skin a healthy brown and the wind swept sea breeze flowing through her hair. Her small but beautiful body calm and relaxed, and her eyes, nose, mouth, ears and all, all so aware of the beauty of this world. El mundo perfecto con Gisela. Caribbean waves gently touching the tips of her toes and a gleeful smile of love. Love of all little things. Such crazy imagination and thoughts. The ninos drift into sleep and we wait for my train to rush in from the South.

Giselle and I talk, mainly of her current boyfriend. She seems somewhat distraught with the situation. “I don’t know what to do. I’m not sure I want a relationship but how could I say no to him? He just asked me out, I didn’t want to be rude.” Jealously fills my mind, and my heart sinks. My little angel here is always in the hands of some other suitor, some other boy, some other soul admiring her in all her beauty and charm. During the one year in high school that I knew her, I never could drum up the courage to say, “Hey, want to go see a movie?” or some other dim witted offer to go out on a date. I figured beauty like that belongs to other beautiful people, and kids like me have to watch from the sidelines of life and wait to succeed elsewhere. She was an adorable little freshman, and I was a bumbling senior caught up in the performing arts and squandering my academic time on trying to get with other girls and skipping class. The last time I ever saw her within the halls of old Notre Dame was within the sweaty and creaky gym. She thumbed happily through my yearbook and we joked about how she was the only cool freshman there.

Perth Amboy night rushes through my synapses again, my memories fade, and the winter chill bites at my backbone. I hide my jealousy and try to offer some comforting words. “Well, maybe it will work with him.” I’m not that convincing but I listen. I agree and I feel just as tired and disillusioned as her. The urge to kiss her is growing too but I don’t want to intrude. I remember her saying before that she doesn’t randomly kiss just anybody but what have I really got to lose here? We make improvised plans to meet tomorrow but I know they will probably fall through. The little ones nap in their own siesta worlds while Giselle and I sit side by side in this car, if only I could hold her hand and tell her how much I do love her. I know it’s just stupid schoolboy love, puppy love, and it’s all just fleeting romance trickling away second by second. Yet, I think it’s something more and if only I could truly demonstrate it and show her that despite all this bundled up lovesickness and want for affection, that there is a heartfelt desire to be with her. The want to tell her she means something more than just the average girlfriend, a social network comment, a pretty face, and a string of text messages. She is the heartbeat of ancient peoples, the smile of baby ninos, and the eyes of all girls, tired and restless across America. And perhaps, it’s not even anything romantic here but just us, a simple boy and simple girl. We are imperfect, we are flawed, but we have each other. Friends, individuals, and teenagers. That is what we are, both lost out in the great divide of American Nowhere. We’re together in the dark, streetlamp lit train station and that’s all that matters. I love her and I know she loves me, and despite how naïve and childish it sounds, I’d give the world for her happiness.

Before I can contemplate a kiss, the dreadful clang and ring of the train approaches. No, why must this little slice of eternity and heaven be stripped away again. I dash out of the car and Giselle chases after. I dare not turn back, I don’t want to regret this, the chance to give her a kiss and feel our lips together for some split second in the endless line of seconds that make up every living thing’s life. No it’s too late, I need to get on that damned train. Giselle and her little self galloping down the cement and brick stairs to the train platform as I sprint up the stairs and into the nearest passenger car. The train is going to leave. I cringe and cry in my soul, this isn’t happening. Quick, think of something to say! “I’ll see you tomorrow!” I yell to her, thinking that perhaps we will meet again within twenty four hours. I know that isn’t going to be true. There she is, her hair whipped up and her little body in that red jacket and sad eyes peering back out to me onboard the train. I love her and it pains me to leave like this, so rushed and no time to say goodbye. No adios, no hasta luegos, no nothing. I go back to Jersey commuter suburbs, and she to Florida golf course suburbs.

“Get yourself some love tonight kid?” says the train conductor, noticing my call back to Giselle and obviously Giselle’s loveliness, visible even from a distance. “Yeah, sure. This is the train to Rahway?” “Oh no, it’s not.” He replies in a half-smirk. “What? No, it has to be!” My heart sank more. “Sorry kid, I don’t know who just jumps on trains like that but you.” “But… alright. Where’s the next station?” I was defeated but this jerk really wanted to just play on my already frazzled nerves. He laughs, “It’s the right train. We’re going to Rahway.”

I sit down and wait till Rahway which arrives quite shortly. Unknown to me, I’ve missed my other transfer train back to Hamilton. Winter laughs at me and the bleak Rahway station casts it’s frozen winds at my neck. The blood vessels in my nose and face burn, the cold eats away at me. To the New York north, a smokestack with plumes of smoke from a distant factory churns out the streams of chalky air, the great lines and clouds flow gracefully. Luna Moon hangs over me and weeps, the bright white bulb in the sky. Below the platforms and across the street a Christmas tree and lights read ‘Season’s Greetings’. They taunt me and the new year. All I can do is think of Giselle as I wait in the awful cold here. My phone is nearly dead so I cannot even text her nor are my fingers capable of doing it with the blood rushing to them, swelled up and painful to touch anything. I’m sick of it, I head inside a nearby taxi depot and wait. Baseball sounds crackle from the overhead TV and two guys make idle chit-chat and my face burns. The air still snapping at my veins. I collect my wits and head back out. A few more stragglers like myself await the next train. Hispanics chatter in ancient Espanol, two Asian men wrapped in clothing stand waiting their train. A youthful kid my age is out there too, goofily parading the platform grounds. He’s not well dressed either for this burning cold and he paces up and down the long platform. I shiver, my body feels frigid and all I do is shake. The kid, who’s name I never learn comes up to the locked waiting room area, and complains into his cell phone, “Oh this is so lame. They shut it up to keep out the bums.” We greet each other and talk about the moroseness of this situation. We make light of it and laugh though and I praise Buddha and Dios for him there. He says he’s from Woodbury or somewhere. He’s got his girlfriend on the phone and says she won’t stop talking. He gives me the phone and I say “Hey, I’m Blayze, how ya doing?” and hand the phone back to him. We laugh and joke and somehow manage to survive in this awful New Jersey cold. He asks why I’m here and I say “I went to see a friend.” “Oh yeah, is she hot?” “Yeah, she is.” I say. My train arrives and I say goodbye. I wish I learned his name.

World keeps on turning and we keep on passing by.

I collapse into an empty seat, a sullen family sits adjacent to me. I drift in and out of sleep, thinking and glaring out the windows. Night chokes the sky and somewhere, Giselle is in bed, fingers patting away on her cell phone or computer keyboard in a warm little Amboy house. I shift in my seat, and think. Rutgers flashes by in the night, the great university halls and parking garage towers hidden in the dark, little lights showering the patches of brickwork on the old buildings. The great rivers snaking through the cities and small town children in bed dreaming of tomorrow. Playgrounds draped in the glow of the singular streetlight. It’s all passing by in my train window.

I dream of Giselle that night. I miss her.

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