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I
took the train to see him again. It had become a Friday habit.
Around 2.30 pm., most Friday afternoons I found myself on the
platform counting down the last nine minutes to the train's
arrival. That consisted of glancing between my watch and the
clock in the station, ensuring I was still in possession of
my ticket, and trying to remember if there were anything I had
forgotten (usually yes). Originally, I took the train into Penn
Station and the subway downtown. That evolved to getting off
at Newark Penn Station and taking the PATH to 9th street. The
final stage had me take the PATH to the World Trade Center and
the subway uptown. The final destination always remained the
same since Brian never seemed to mind my being around so much.
In the city, I would visit the record and book shops before
meeting him. In the fall, I would usually find a record to buy,
but that had to end when I realized how much money I really
had left. At the bookshop I would read the British music weeklies.
They never made much sense to me, and I really could not care
less about the bands written about. I considered it like a soap
opera I had turned on half-way through--fascinating, yet completely
incomprehensible. By then the time would be about 5.30 pm so
I would turn up at his office door. As he finished work, I sat
and flipped through whatever magazine was around. The rest of
the evening was somewhat more open-ended, always back to his
apartment. Either early or late, we had to go back there since
there was the bed. Our Friday nights often had other details
to be filled in, but those were the essentials.
I took the 5.39 pm. train that last Friday afternoon. One last
cigarette, last ten dollars. I had fallen asleep that afternoon
after an exam and missed the usual train. Brian and I decided
to meet at his apartment. I found a seat by the window, somewhere
between excited teenagers and tired adults (myself falling somewhere
between the two categories). I tried to drown out the noise
and chatter with the volume on my discman, but the outside sound
bled through despite. I tried to sit alone in the seat, but
a smelly businessman (in the literal sense, not as a value judgment)
sat next to me. To arrive at Brian's apartment I dragged myself
and my duffel past the Jersey City City Hall, down the street
with the most cats in the windows, and past the park. He had
dinner cooking; I laid down on the bed. I sank into the bed
as the mattress was bad and various blankets piled on after
the cat had made a mess on the comforter. It was the Friday
habit to be together.
In the fall I would be commuting to college from home and not
be taking the Northeast Corridor line train those Friday afternoons.
A new Friday habit would evolve. It was just to be together,
and the details were filled in later.
| Matthew
Patrick, May 1999 |
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