Next Stop

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: May 21, 2016

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Submitted: May 21, 2016

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Next Stop?

An uptown “A” train on a Wednesday night in April, most of the passengers have come in, returning home, after the rush hour.  The: frustrated, tired, relieved, angry, agitated, slumbering, hard-working, studious, social deviate, and the displaced; Sam Wilhelm is amongst the latter.  Sam is a little brown man far from his home in Curacao.  A little job lay off, lost money, and missed rent payment put him on an endless ride home.

The uptown “A” train is near empty as Sam sits trying to formulate the same continuous problem, how can he get home from where he is, Far Rockaway, New York, to Willemstad, Curacao? The skill set required to reach his goal is hard for Same to see in himself, he being an out of work porter for a Manhattan office building.  A man who he wonders about and doubts he has learned anything in his forty years of living.  And while wondering, a fellow Sam used to work with passes by him, carrying a small gym bag, Alfred Mora.

“You should go to a shelter,” Mora states.

Sam looks up from his intense thought, recognizing Mora, but choosing not to respond to him.  Mora stops and looks at Sam with contempt.

“Are you on some kind of drugs? If you are you can get help for that?” Mora.

Sam again offers no reply.

“Do you drink?” Mora asks with a smirk on his face.

“Yeah, filtered water when I can get it.” Sam.

“You need money?” Mora asks as he reaches in his pocket, takes out some change and tosses it at him.

The coins, a quarter, nickel, and four pennies land on the train car’s floor next to Sam’s feet.  Sam looks at Mora with anger, but maintains his composure as he states, “It’s nice to see such a concerned citizen as yourself.  I appreciate your kindness.  Tell Mister Wilson I’ll waive on the four percent cost of living increase this year if he’ll take me back, Alfred.”

A disturbed look crosses Alfred’s face.

 

***

 

Lita Mora is home, cooking, and greatly in need of a peaceful thought to calm her anxiety in regards to the whereabouts of Alfred Mora, her husband.  Lita works from 6am to 12noon at a breakfast counter on Beach Channel Drive in Edgemere, Monday through Friday. 

Lita takes a moment to call Alfred’s cell phone and leaves a voicemail, her comment is as follows: “Alfred, I know age is setting in because I, having given my complete effort, cannot remember what it is or was I saw in you five years ago, that made me stupid enough to marry you.  You are late again.  Don’t come too late and be cracked over the head after being mistaken for a prowler.”

End of voicemail.

 

***

 

To be continued. . .

 


© Copyright 2017 Allen Henriquez. All rights reserved.