Getting Off The Train
I wrote this story almost 6 months ago. It's most likely going to be part of this novel I'm working on. I know it needs some work. Tell me what you think!


Getting Off the Train

This story is based on an in-class exercise. The exercise was to write down something that I fundamentally believed in, then to write a story disproving my belief. My fundamental belief is that no matter how bad things get, there is always some hope; there is always light at the end of the tunnel.


****

You lean your head onto the window by your seat. Your eyelids sting. They feel as if they are being pulled downward by some unexplainable force, as if by strings. But you keep your eyes open. There is someone sitting on the opposite side of the train as you and he’s staring at you and slightly smiling. He looks about the same age as you. His hair is dyed blue and he’s got a green Lacoste polo on. He’s probably another trick. You hold your bag close to you and you look out the window.
All the apartments along side the train tracks wiz by you. Some have their lights on against the dark sky, some don’t. Your face feels cold pressed up against the plexiglass window.
“You’re Joey, right?” The guy asks as he walks towards you. You inch closer to the window.
“Why?” You ask.
“You just look like this guy, Joey that I used to know. We were on the same soccer team a few years ago.”
“Yeah, I’m Joey,” you respond.
“I knew it, I fucking knew it,” he said as he sat down in the empty seat next to you.
“And you’re Danny,” you say.
“Yeah, man. I’m surprised you remembered,” he says. “So what are you doing out here? I thought you lived up on the north side?”
“I got kicked out of a john’s house. I’ve been staying there for a while.”
“Really? Me too. You remember Mr. Routenburg?” He asks.
“Yeah, that fucking old ass science teacher?
He lets out a choppy and horse like laugh. “Yeah, him.”
“You were getting poked by him?” You yell.
“Hey, he may not have the highest paying job and he may be a nasty old man, but he really dishes it out for his young boys.”
“So why’d he kick you out?” You ask.
“He was into some really sick shit.” He says as he lights a cigarette.
“Like what?” You ask.
“I don’t want to say.” He looks down at the floor, staring at the ash spilled from his cigarette.
“Come on, you can tell me. I’m sure it’s nothing I’ve never heard or done before.” You say. Funny, you thought you were finished comforting people.
“Well,” he said as he let out a smooth smoky exhale. “He wanted to tie me up and ball gag me and shit while these other guys fucked me and he’d be jerking off and shit. I told him I wouldn’t do it. So, he kicked me out. But I’m okay with it. You know how you have those certain things you just won’t do?”
You stare straight ahead and thought for a moment. If you did have anything like that, none were coming to mind.
“No, you answer back.
Danny giggled again. “Oh yeah, that’s right. I forgot about you, Joey. You’ve always been real intense about that shit. So why did your john kick you out?”
You look away from Danny and think again.
****
You stood outside his door. You were shivering, you teeth were chattering. You rang the doorbell with a shaky finger. It was dark and cloudy. The moon and the stars were hidden in the hazy night sky.
You heard the door open and you turned around. It was not Coach Niccodoro standing in the doorway. It was a blond boy slanting on the door frame in nothing but a pair of bright green boxers. He couldn’t have been taller than 4’10’’. He was sucking on a bright red Popsicle that was glistening in the porch light.
“Yes?” He asked in a snide tone of voice
“Um, who are you?” You asked him.
“I’m Alex. Who the hell are you?” He said back.
“I’m Joey. Where’s Coach?” You asked.
“Coach?” He snapped back.
“Um, Coach Niccodoro. Where is he?”
“Oh, you mean Nicci?” He said and let out a smooth, yet staccato giggle. “He’s upstairs recuperating.”
You furrowed your eyebrows and moved in a bit closer. Alex didn’t budge. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Joey?” He said as he tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. He put the Popsicle back into his mouth. His lips turned a bit redder.
“Yes, there is something is else. I’d like to speak to Coach Niccodoro.”
Alex let out a frustrated sigh and slammed the door. “NICCI!” He yells with a cracked voice. “JOEY’S AT THE DOOR. I TRIED TO GET HIM TO LEAVE!”
One foot stepped away from the door. You hear someone run down the stairs. You rub the bruise on your cheek. Funny, after Coach popped you that last time, you told yourself you’d never be back.
The door opened at it was Coach in a pair of his silk boxers. His body was smoother and more chiseled than you ever remember. His hair looked shiner and his eyes looked bluer. You wanted to just walk into his mansion and stare at the beautiful crystal chandelier in the middle of the hallway. You wanted to be able to walk up to your old room and fall asleep on the king size bed and cover yourself in the blue silk comforter.
“What the fuck do you want?” He said as he took the cigarette out of his mouth.
“I, uh, I…I wanted to come by and say that I shouldn’t have left.”
“No shit,” He replied. All you could do was stare at him, smoking his cigarette. You saw Alex coming back down the stairs with his Popsicle. Coach put his arm around him. “So what do you want from me, Joey?”
“Can….can I stay here again?” You asked.
Both Coach and Alex started to laugh in unison.
“You…want to live back here?” Coach said through his malicious spats of laughter. “What the fuck makes you think that I would let you back in? I mean, really? Let’s look at this. First, you tell my wife that I’m fucking you, so she leaves and I constantly have to worry that she’s going to tell someone. Then, you run away, so not only do I have my wife to worry about, but then I worry that you’re going to tell someone. And now, you come back and expect me to let you in. Oh that’s good.”
You look down at your shoes.
“And the best part is,” Coach continued. “You’re not even that good. See this kid, Alex, right here? He’s about three years younger than you and he knows what he’s doing more than you ever will.
Alex raised his eyebrows and inserted his Popsicle back into his mouth.
“So, got anymore jokes for us, Joey? Because you are on a fucking roll tonight.” Coach said. You just looked back down again. You didn’t move. You just stared at the ground.
“Hey, you want another bruise on that pretty little face of yours?”
You shake your head.
“Then get the fuck off of my property.”
The door started to shut again. “Have fun on the streets, asshole.” Alex said as the door shut. You stared at the door and watched the automatic porch light go off. You heard them laughing inside and then heard both of them run up the stairs. You turned around and looked up at the sky, trying to find the North Star. It wasn’t there.
****
“He, um, he found someone else,” you tell Danny.
“That sucks, but I’m sure you’ll find someone else,” Danny says to you.
“Yeah, but for now, I’m on the streets. No one out here will pay nearly as much as this last one paid.”
“Who was this last one?” He asks.
“Niccodoro,” you reply after a long pause.
“Holy shit!” He exclaims. “So, you were one of the lucky who got to fuck the Coach? God, I have always wanted to get plowed by a filthy fucking rich bastard like him! God, I remember he propositioned me back at the beginning of the season…”
“He did?” You ask as you turn to him.
“Yep,” he takes a long drag off of his cigarette. “I was doing odd jobs and stuff like that around his house. One day, after practice he drove me home asked me to kiss him. So we made out, he slipped me his tongue. I was so nervous; I just kind of sat there and shit. I guess I never expected him to go with me, you know? Well, so one night, he told me to meet him at the end of my block. So I snuck out of my room and met him. We pulled into this abandon parking lot on the bad side of town. I never expected us to go there, you know? I thought he’d take me to some fancy hotel or some shit. Anyway, when we got there, I thought I’d be sexy, so I told him that I liked it rough.” He took another long drag off of his cigarette.
“So what happened after that?” You ask with a raised voice. Your heart is pounding in your ears. You bit your lower lip. You hope he is not going to say what you think he’s going to say.
“He turned to me and asked me what I said. I repeated myself and he…he got mad at me. He threw my pants at me and called me a fag.” He took another long drag off of his cigarette. “Then he hit me. He slapped me across the face and told me to get out of his car. I guess he only did virgins or some shit. I probably should have told him that I had been turning tricks six months before I joined that stupid soccer team. He probably started going with you right after me.”
“Yeah,” you murmur. Your eyes start to sting, but not in the same way that they did before. Your eyes start to feel wet and your breaths press up against your throat as they make their way upward. You swiftly wipe your eyes and put your head down further.
“By the way,” Danny asks as he puts out his cigarette. “When did you get that bruise?”
“What?” You ask as you look back up at him
“That bruise. When did you get it?”
“About four days ago, “you reply as you cover it with your hand. It hurts a lot more now than it did at the time. You suppose that’s just the way bruises are.
“Who gave it to you?”
You turn away from Danny.
“Did Niccodoro give it to you?”
****
“Where’s my wife?” He asked, pressing you up against the wall of the guest bedroom, the bedroom that you have begun to call your own.
“I don’t know!” You said.
“Where the fuck is she?”
“I don’t know!” You started to cry.
“Stop crying!” He yells. He threw you against the wall and walked over to the bed. He sits down on the silken blue comforter. He saw your diary lying on the bed. He opened it and started to read it.
You slid down against the wall and put your head into your hands. Your heart and lungs were cramping up. In your diary, you have written about all of your times with Coach, how you fucked in his car, how you fucked in your bed; how you fucked in the bed he shared with his wife.
It was out on the bed when you came home from school. It was shut. That’s all you knew.
“Did she find this?”
You didn’t say anything.
“ANSWER ME!” he yelled.
“I don’t know,” you whispered.
He picked you up off the ground and pressed you up against the wall again. “I don’t fucking believe you he yelled. That’s when he hit you, right on the side of the face. He left you on the ground. It didn’t hurt then, because the shock of it all took over from there. Your body became prickly and weighted down. All you could do was stay still and silent in the fetal position on the floor. You eventually fell asleep. When you woke up, he was gone.
That was the night you ran away.
****
“No,” you reply. “Coach didn’t give it to me.” It’s funny; you’ve trusted this person for the whole train ride. You even let go of your bag. But not with this. You really have no reason not to trust him, but for some reason, you just couldn’t say, “Yes, he hit me.” The words were there, down in the depths of your stomach, brewing, churning, and percolating. It would be nice if you could just vomit all of them up right there and then on not so unsuspecting Danny. But you just can’t.
“That’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to tell me. So, you wanna smoke some pot?”
“Sure,” you say. It might be nice to have a little buzz going.
“This is laced with some shit, so it’ll give you a real nice high,” Danny says as he stuffs the bright green buds into his pipe. He hands it to you and gives you his lighter.
“Don’t you want me to pay you? You ask.
“It’s my treat.”
“Oh, no I couldn’t…”
“Come on, don’t you have a birthday coming up?” He asks.
“Yeah, how’d you remember that?” You ask. No one ever remembered your birthday.
“I just have a good memory for these things. The big one-five is an important one. Just think of it as an early birthday gift.”
“Thank you,” you say as you hold the pipe up to your mouth. He lights it for you and you inhale. You hold it in for a few solid seconds and let it out with a slight cough.
“Lightweight,” Danny mutters as he takes a hit. Both of you pass the pipe back and forth for a while.
You don’t feel anything. You just sit back and wait. What if nothing happens, you think to yourself. It would be the story of your life. All you do it sit there and wait. You have been waiting for enough money ever since you started turning tricks. Three years and five thousand dollars later, it’s still not enough.
The weed starts to hit you. Danny was right, it was laced with something. You can tell already. This wasn’t a normal high.
The train car turns darker. Not darker in a bad way, but everything just looks redder. Your rib cage feels warm, as if it’s melting, dripping some warm, and thick liquid. Your skin feels smooth and relaxed, and this feeling seems to be penetrating slowly past your skin, though your muscles and down to your bones.
Danny roots through his back pack and pulls out a fifth of Smirnoff and hands it to you. You grab it from him and put the tip of the bottle into your mouth. Your lips surround the neck of the bottle. You cannot feel the vodka go down your throat, but you feel it hit the bottom of your stomach.
“Don’t take it all!” Danny says with a sighing laugh. You hand it back to him. “I can tell by the way you suck that bottle that you give good head,” he says after he takes a big gulp.
“Coach said I bit too much,” you slur.
“You wanna learn how to give better head?” He asks.
You spurt out a bit of a chuckle. “Not really.”
“Come on, let me show you,” Danny says as he tries to unzip your pants.
“No, we’re in a public place.”
“Oh, like anyone will give a shit,” he says as he successfully unzips your pants.
“Is this another birthday present?” You ask.
“Has anyone ever done this to you?”
After a long pause, you tell him no.
“Then yeah. Happy birthday, big boy.”
You can feel what he’s doing to you, but at the same time you can’t. You feel tingly, but you feel that all over. His cold hands rub you. You lean your head back and you let out a soft sigh. You close your eyes. You leave them closed. Your eyes start to feel light again. Everything inside of you is finally relaxed. Your world fades into nothingness. You grin.
****
Your eyes start to open slowly. You realize that you are on the train and your eyes open quickly. You look down and your pants are unzipped. You zip them up as you look over to the side; and old lady shakes her head at you and then pulls a newspaper over her face.
Danny is gone. Where did he go? you wonder. Why did he leave? Did you say something to him you shouldn’t have? You look down; your bag isn’t there. You check under the seat next to you; it isn’t there either. You get up and look under the seats behind you; maybe it slid while the train was moving. But you can’t find it. Your heart and lungs constrict. You had five thousand dollars in there. You pant; you can’t get enough air into your body.
“Has anyone seen my bag?” You shout. The old lady just lifts her newspaper higher. There is a man sitting up ahead, but he has headphones on. You go up to him and tap him on the shoulder sharply. He moves an earphone and looks up at you. “Have you seen my bag? It’s black, Coach?” He shakes his head and put on his headphones again. You run over to the next car, and have no luck there. You check every single car on that train and ask every single person, but your bag is nowhere to be found.
The train stops and you walk off. Your eyes start to sting. You start huffing. You cannot cry. You cannot cry. You must not cry.
You walk off the platform and down onto the street. You don’t even know what street you are on, or for that matter, what side of town you are in.
Your face feels hot against the cold winter wind. Your teeth are clenched and your insides are hardened. Your stomach muscles cramp and cling onto your skin. You want to find Danny and beat the fuck out of him. He went through all that, made you feel somewhat connected to the human race, and put your dick in his mouth, just to steal your back. You almost sympathize with him. This kind of desperation was not foreign to you. If you were smart enough, you know you would have done the same thing. Still, the five thousand is gone. You have to start all over again. This time, you don’t have anyone to help you. All you have are the streets.
The sun is slowly coming up along where the sky and land meet. It is a dull yellow. Danny didn’t steal your watch, so at least you know what time it is; its 6:08am.
A 1992 brown Bonneville pulls up next to you. The pudgy, balding driver cranks down his window. “Where you going?”
“Um…where do you want me to go?”
He lets out a gruff laugh. You can smell the beer from the curb. “I want you to go with me in this car. How much?”
“How much you got?” You ask.
“Thirty.”
Thirty’s quite a pay cut, you think. But you’ve got nothing. Something is better than nothing. You have nothing to gain if you walk away. This is the last guy you want to fuck you. He’s old, fat, ugly and most of all, poor. All he can give is thirty fucking dollars. Your legs seem to be saying, “Run! Run now! Get on a train and go home!” You know you can’t do that. Your mother disowned you for bringing your johns to the house six months ago; she moved a lot with her new husband, too. She’s probably not living in the same place. You don’t know where your father is; last you heard he was going from motel to motel shooting himself up until he died. Maybe he succeeded. Coach kicked you out and laughed when you wanted to go back. And you can’t go back to another shelter. It’s too low, and the last time you went to one of those places, you were laughed at, mocked, scolded by all of the abuse victims and alcoholics for doing what you do. You were called a whore, a faggot, a pervert. You cannot go back there. There were no fucking bridges left to burn. Even if you thought you could call someone, you couldn’t. Your cell phone was in your bag; your phone numbers were stored in your cell phone. You had nothing and no one.
You open the car door. You step inside and sit down. You drive away.