As I Fade (One Breath at a Time: Book 1) (3 page)

I felt a stab of pity for her.

My eyes darted down to her feet. My dad always said you could tell a lot about a person by looking at their shoes.

She donned a pair of black Prada designer heels. The gold logo shined brightly on the four-inch platforms that were a shocking contradiction of her age and station in life.
How did she walk around in those at her ripe age,
I wondered? Perhaps she was a washed-up fashion model from years gone by. She had unusual striking violet eyes and the longest, thick black lashes, which could’ve been fake judging by the rest of her. Underneath the marks of time on her face, I could see that had been beautiful at one time.

The old woman asked, “Would you like to share my paper? I saw you looking at it.” In New York her pushy politeness would have seemed rude and intrusive. Without hesitation, she shifted the page in my direction. When she did, I noticed the date, November 23
rd
1996. Her newspaper was almost seventeen years old. “There’s a lot going on these days. So many changes,” the little old woman said with a crooked smile. “Looks like the world is going to Hell in a hand basket, and there ain’t nothing we can do about it...not like we could in the olden days.” She smacked her lips together over surprisingly sound teeth.

Biting the inside of my cheek, contemplating, I studied her for a second longer than intended and said, “Ma’am, did you know your newspaper is...” I paused.

She shifted the paper further in my direction. “Here, let’s share it.”

“
Thank you, that’s so sweet of you,” I simply relented, swallowing back what I wanted to say.

“
Oh, I know it’s not today’s date. This ain’t real.” She shook the paper. It was as if she knew what I was going to say. It had probably been brought to her attention before that the paper wasn’t today’s date. “It’s a novelty that I found. And, did you know it’s one of a kind? Of course, you don’t.” She carried on without taking a breath. “It’s a perfect replica of an American newspaper from New York City and it’s mine,” she said proudly, hugging the paper.

Raising my brows, I nodded then flashed on the paper. “Wow, I see that. New York Daily Times...huh,” I said but not in the form of a question, only to affirm my observation.

“Yep, it’s one of my favorite finds. I treasure this paper. New York is magical. Never been there, though. This paper is the closest I’ll ever get to New York City.” Her frown contorted her face. “Well, Lassie, this is my stop coming up. Enjoy your ride.” She stood up in a flash.

“
Okay.” I waved. “Wait,” I called out as I dug out what cash I had in my purse.

“
Yes...?” she asked longed winded, turning to me, her rare-colored violet eyes tilted upward. A delightful smile spread across her lips as the thin skin on her face draped downward, lying in fine puckers upon her high cheekbones. Her ethereal pupils dilated with child-like curiosity.

“
Here.” I pushed into her hand a sizable amount of money.

She humbly declined. “Oh no. I don’t need that.”

“Please, take it.”

“
Bless you, my dear.” She clutched the money, appeared as if she were counting it; and then shoved it into her coat pocket. “That’s so generous of you.”

“
You’re welcome.”

She stood there hesitating—appraising me up and down. “I was thinking...can—can I have your phone number?” she asked. “Maybe we can get a coffee sometime. You seem like a nice girl. I wouldn’t mind becoming more acquainted with you—you know like BFFs. That’s what young women call they’re best friend these days, you know,” she said informatively, as if she were cluing me on the latest in-thing.

I bit my lower lip, nodding slightly to agree with her. She was right BFF is what they call it—if you’re a teenager, I supposed—or one of those desperate housewife types that viewers loathed, loved or wanted to be like. I fit somewhere in the middle.

The corners of my mouth lifted to a half-smile as I beamed up at her, hoping she’d forget about getting my number. “Yes, it’s a trendy acronym.”

“C’mon, please give me your number. Okay...maybe we won’t become BFF’s, but—” She pursed her lips into a circle, and pouted out her lower lip. Her eyes widened. What an expressive face she had. “We can pretend I’m someone like your grandma...or auntie. Or we can just text here and there. That would suit me just fine.”

She texted?
I nearly laughed out loud at the thought.

Poor little lady. At that point, I sort of felt sorry for her. Didn’t she have any friends her own age? Then again, they all may have passed on. She desperately wanted a friend and I knew what that was like.

I raised my head and smiled at the ancient-looking face staring back at me; she seemed harmless. “Well, sure. Why not.” She probably didn’t even own a phone. “Hold on a sec,” I said, retrieving my bag from where it had slid off my lap onto the floor.

“
Hurry, hurry I have to go,” the little lady said impatiently.

“
Okay—okay.” I giggled to myself at her tenacity and pulled out my wallet. “Here’s my number, call me anytime.”
Why did I say that?
Minding my manners, I supposed
.

“
Oh, you have pretty cards, just like you. I’ll put your number in.” She paused and studied my card. “Eden’s Best – B. S. Eden, huh? Is that you’re name?” She burst out laughing.

Damn it, I needed to get my official cards sent to me. My not-so-funny publishing agent made the cards up as a prank, and mailed them to me a week ago. He knew I never used my initials, which basically screamed
bullshit
. The “S” stood for my grandfather’s first name. My middle name was a mere initial. What were my parents thinking when they named me?

What was I thinking? In an absentminded moment, I’d given the wrong card to the elderly woman. What a mistake.

My eyes flicked on the other passengers, trying desperately to hide their amusement, laughing behind their palms. Some weren’t so discreet. I gasped at the scene the little old lady had created. Her laughter was infectious, drawing the attention of everyone in our cabin. The crowd continued to giggle under their breath. Even if some of the crowd couldn’t understand English they knew it was a comedic moment. Me, I wanted to melt into my seat.

“
B.S, that’s her name,” the old woman repeated my name—the fictitious name—deliberately embarrassing me. Her voice magnified in my ears. “What were your parents thinking?” She continued to laugh.

Trying to explain, I politely protested. My lips quivered as I spoke, “No, no, it’s a joke—my agent—” I felt an outbreak of hives spreading over my face.

Damn it, I’m going to kill Jack when I see him
! If he were a fly on the wall what a laugh he’d have. I’d be tempted to swat him under the circumstances.

She talked over me, “Awww...don’t worry, B. S...” Pausing briefly, her eyes contemplated. “
Can I call you...
So Eden
for short? Isn’t that better?” It was strange she had come up with that name of all names.

I narrowed my eyes. “Actually...that’s not—it’s fine, call me what ever you want...it’s close enough,” I relented, squaring my shoulders. All I wanted was for her to leave. Then, I almost fell off the seat. To my surprise, she pulled from her pocket the latest iPhone. I felt duped.
How could she afford an iPhone?
Gifts from kind strangers who were more fortunate, I was sure of that.

She had her phone covered in a designer pink hard-plastic case with colorful rhinestones glued on the back. They were arranged in the shape of a flower. It was pretty juvenile for a woman of her age, but I believed in the old adage, “to each her own.”

The old lady added, “I’ll just put your number right in here, my new celly...but later, because I gots to go now.”

I rubbed my forehead, massaging back the stupidity I felt for numerous reasons. I mustered up a simple, “Good-bye.”

As the little old woman hustled backwards down the aisle, she called out, “Don’t worry, sweetie, I’ll call you. Most people say they will call but never do—but I will—promise...” She drew an imaginary cross over her heart. “Answer when I call, dear,” she said in a penetrating tone, hinting as if I wouldn’t.

In utter shock of her bluntness, I closed my eyes for a faction of a second, shaking my head. When I opened them she was gone, but I caught a glimpse of her brown tattered coat disembarking the train. Damn, she sure moved fast for a woman of her age, in high-heels, to boot.
Did she think I was going to change my mind about the 50 something euros I’d given her?
I should have, after she had made me the laughingstock for the crowd’s entertainment. I supposed it wasn’t her fault, though. Jack would pay dearly next time I saw him.

I inched my face closer to the window, pressing my forehead against the cold glass. My eyelids fell until my view of the outside was just a thin line of distortion seen from beneath my lashes.

The tiled walls of the metro tunnel, with its poster advertisements zoomed by, fading into a smear of gray. On the platform, the crowd of people scurrying around turned into a big blur of watercolors, rendering them transparent. Just as the old woman had said, people often are, if you look closely enough. Remembering how I had blithely given her my phone number, I mentally kicked my own butt for a few moments more. Damn-it-all, the little lady certainly manipulated me nicely! She was as slick as black ice in the dead of winter.

The hiss of the world seethed on, unaffected by my worries. The longest day of my life was coming to an end, but still I was flooded with increasing anxiety the closer we drew to my stop. Nearly overwhelmed by the uncertainty of not knowing what was to come, I wondered what it was I’d actually sacrificed for someone, in essence, I barely knew. The anxiety of being alone ripped through me. What had I done!

The sensation of my pulse battered against the fragile walls of my neck, racing faster with every beat of my heart. I hated that sensation; it always made me fear that one day my heart might just suddenly stop. I had a small heart murmur, and I knew nothing would reset it, other than breathing techniques or a few minutes of rest.

Trying to achieve just that, I awkwardly tilted my head towards one side of my shoulder, I let my eyelids grow heavy. Within minutes of closing them, I felt myself ...
Fade
...

-2-

News Worthy

Stillness within me settled amongst the madness of life. A steady sound wave, like a fan on high speed, droned within the depths of my mind, drowning out any other thoughts. White noise was my friend; I could reproduce it like magic. Snap my fingers, and the rant of the random voices disappeared.

In my hypnagogic state, that strange place between half- asleep and half-awake, faint impressions of life invaded the silence in my head. It was rush hour; people were hurrying home: men, women, children, lovers all going somewhere with blinding thoughts racing around in their heads at high frequencies. Humans have become computers on legs. I could hear the sounds of phone keyboards tapping away and muffled conversations on Bluetooth earpieces filling the background of my sleep. Everyone seemed to have a plan, perhaps not a master plan, but a plan, or at least looked as if they did. Who knew where they were going? I knew where I’d just come from and where I was headed. That was all that mattered at the time.

Just when I was about to fall into a REM, a psychic hiccup woke me. Goosebumps chased over my body, jolting me fully awake from my desperately needed catnap. I was cold to the bone. I rubbed my hands together, rapidly. No good. I stuffed my pale icy fingers into the fur lining of my coat pockets and leaned my head against the window once more. My body demanded sleep.

I twisted frozen fingers together, trying to warm them. They were always freezing because I had inherited Raynaud’s disease from my grandmother. It wasn’t life threatening, more of a nuisance than anything. In temperatures lower than 72 degrees, or if I was under stress, my fingers turned red, sometimes gray and extremely cold. My nose did the same thing. It was more embarrassing than anything; especially, back in elementary school, when the kids would call me Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, which only exacerbated the condition. Kids were brutal at times. I was never cut out for childhood and those were days to which I wished never to return.

Comparatively, I’d had a fairly privileged childhood, but I’d always felt as if I was an adult stuck inside that little scrawny body. Thank God, a few slim curves and lean muscles replaced the bag of bones I used to be.

Years of Classical Ballet helped mold my body into more womanly shape. I loved dancing for fun and, at first, detested the dedication my favorite hobby required. I didn’t like the brutal pointé routines until I saw the remarkable transformations in my body. My calf development from dancing on my pointé shoes, for hours at a time, had gotten me a few whistles here and there. I smiled to myself just thinking about it. When I wore high-heels, my calf muscles really popped out dramatically. Men seemed to appreciate the little v-cut just under my calves.

The sound of metal on metal screeched in the depths of my eardrums, pulling me from my thoughts.
Almost home
. My heart dropped with the anxious dread of not knowing what was to come. Another rabbit’s hole awaited me, I supposed. I wanted to curl up into the corner of the train and ride it forever. There were no other options. If only it were all just a dream.