Love Under Glasse

by Kristina Meister

  “Hey, Snowy.”

  Her veins ached with the sudden change in blood pressure. “Oscar. Oh my god, I am so . . . Fucked up right now.”

  His voice was sleepy, as if he’d set an alarm to check in with her and was trying not to doze off. “You’re safe, though, right?”

  “I think so.”

  “Are you almost there?”

  “Yes.” The conductor smiled her way as he passed. Instinctively, El furtively tucked the phone to her ear. “I am so bad at this.”

  “Go get a drink. Remember, you’re a grown-up?”

  “Are you saying adults are drunks?”

  “No, I’m saying adults don’t feel anxious about showing their ID. If you’re going to pretend to be one, you gotta get used to it.”

  It occurred to El then that she was breathing in tiny gasps, coiled up so tightly that her head was beginning to throb. She was so caught up in the flight, her skeleton almost refused to budge as she unfolded. The languorous stretch was at a sloth’s pace. Fully wrung of adrenaline, she sucked back a yawn.

  “You are gonna keel over if you don’t get some rest.”

  “I’ve been too keyed up.”

  Oscar’s amusement had a sardonic ring to it. “Don’t worry. You’ll get good at sleeping when you can.”

  A voice came over the PA and announced their arrival into DC Union Station. El looked out the window on an already sweltering day. Her reflection was sunken and pale, her frizzy, singed hair hanging in damp strings despite the air-conditioning. She’d have to touch up the makeup before switching trains.

  Oscar’s voice was muzzy. “Text me from the next leg.”

  “Go back to sleep.”

  He was already on his way and mumbled a farewell.

  El’s pack felt unreasonably heavy as she shoved her arms into the straps and hefted it. She was definitely going to have to sleep at some point, before she collapsed in sheer exhaustion, but that meant she needed to do something to combat this nervous energy. If she kept flinching at every sound, she’d draw attention to herself, and if she kept behaving as if she was ready to bolt, someone would give her a reason.

  There had to be a way to seem confident, even if she wasn’t. Perhaps she just needed to pretend she had a legitimate reason to be where she was. If she could convince herself that she was not doing something wrong . . .

  She came to a halt on the platform. Her jangling nerves suddenly went still, and the weight of the pack no longer mattered.

  More magic. El had bought into their version of reality. She had a legitimate reason to be where she was! She had a right to leave the care of someone who had done what her mother had. She had feared for her safety! If society couldn’t help her, then why should she care what it said was permissible? She was shrinking, terrified—withdrawing into her own head and her fear—all because the world refused to support her. The world had no right to ask her to obey.

  With her eyes closed, El could see Riley’s defiant grin clearly, and it gave her strength.

  The terminal opened up around her in turn-of-the-century opulence. The arched ceiling of warm carved stone, the statuary in the galleries, the shuffle of men and women in fine suits all rendered her speechless. Columns and marble floors, potted palms of bright green and polished ornate wood—the single room was huge and decadent with such lofty heights that the sound was dampened.

  El ducked into the restroom and stood at a sink. She looked like a bedraggled wretch, distinctly out of place. Brushing her hair furiously, she put it back up into a neater bun. Her face got a fresh dusting. She removed the flannel shirt and tucked it into the pack, pulling free a cardigan sweater she’d decided to bring at the last minute. Her clutch wallet was an expensive brand and the backpack was brand new and still clean. Like this, she could pass for an adult on vacation, she was fairly certain. She just had to keep her justification firmly in the front of her mind.

  Cutting across the foot traffic with her head held high, she proceeded to the nearest ticketing counter and purchased her next ticket with cash. The agent didn’t even look at her ID.

  As her tickets were being printed, El thought back on Oscar’s advice. Adults did adult things without fear of disapproval, but it was more than that. They had an entire culture built up around their age and all the difficulties included in it. It was a shared understanding. There wasn’t a line she had to cross to be an adult. There was only a sense of sameness she had to relax into.

  Every adult she’d ever met had been so quick to tell her why being an adult was terrible, but El couldn’t decide if that was because they hated being grown, or wanted to keep her a child. Either way, she’d already dealt with more stress than most of the adults she knew. Living with Mama was like every tale of a controlling boss, every story of a bad relationship, and every joke about a social interaction rolled into one. She may still technically be a child, but it seemed to her that her life absolutely entitled her to adult culture.

  “May I ask, sir . . . I know it’s early, but is there a . . . a bar serving drinks at the moment?”

  To her tremendous relief, the agent’s face split into a wry smile. “It’s not that early. Besides, it’s five o’clock somewhere, right?”

  El tugged her lip from between her teeth and stood up straight. In one breath, she was Riley at the counter of the sporting goods store, chatting amiably about things kids shouldn’t know. “In my time zone it sure as heck is.”

  He laughed. “Oh-drink-thirty, am I right? Liquor Standard Time? Check out the Sugar Factory over there.” He nudged his chin and handed her the travel documents. “It’s a bit pricey, but they make a bunch of sweet cocktails. A decent Cosmo.”

  She wasn’t quite sure what a “Cosmo” was, but that was something she was just going to have to figure out as she went, the same way adults did. Halfway there, her nerves manifested one more concern. If her stolen ID wasn’t honored, she had no idea what the consequences would be. Could underage people be arrested for trying to get alcohol?

  Hovering at the door, she reasoned her way through it, finally refusing to buckle beneath the angst. If the rules were that strict, then there’d be a more sophisticated way of checking identifications—some sort of scanner or a police officer at the door. There wouldn’t be a gussied-up bartender who looked like she’d been there all night. If they didn’t like her ID, they’d probably ask her to leave. If she was really and truly the adult on the card, she’d be upset about it within measure, but she’d go.

  That was that. If it wasn’t . . . well, she’d have to figure that out when the time came.

  “No excuses, El,” she whispered to herself as she took a seat at the bar. “I’d like a drink.”

  “Here’s the menu.”

  That simple. El couldn’t help a quiet snort of disbelief.

  The entire place had the 1950’s aesthetic of a candy shop or a soda fountain, as if there should be children running through with sticky fingers. It was a unique kind of irony, that as a child playing an adult, she was sneaking her first alcoholic drink in a place designed to give adults a nostalgic fix.

  Reading the brightly colored cocktail menu, her breath caught in her throat. Fourteen dollars? For a glass of juice and rum? Adults couldn’t really be that desperate to dull their minds, could they? But her memory had a tally of the wine bottles in her recycling bins, and as she stared over the drinks listed, she knew that in her parents’ pantry were enough bottles to reproduce many of the cocktails.

  With a somber sigh, she closed the list. This experiment, while it served a purpose, would have to be something she repeated very seldom. It was something she knew about herself, though she’d only just come to that realization.

  “What would you like me to get started for you?”

  El cleared her throat and leaned her elbows on the polished green marble. “I don’t drink very often, but I’m exhausted, and the ticketing agent said you have an excellent Cosmo.”

  The bartender gave her a cheerful nod. “That w
e do! Cotton Candy Cosmo!”

  Cotton candy. El was fairly certain she’d never heard of that being used in a drink before. Most alcohol smelled terrible and burned the nose going in. “Sounds good, thank you.”

  “And may I see your ID?”

  El’s knees clamped on the stool as she opened her wallet. All at once, her mind was back to one of her few outings with Rose, when she’d bought wine at the grocery store.

  “Well, aren’t you sweet? I haven’t been carded all spring!”

  The card was held up and a facial comparison made, while the bartender smiled absently. “That bad a spring, huh?”

  It took El a moment to respond to the joke, she was so happy to be included in it. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

  “This is DC. I doubt that very much.” Her card was handed back with a friendly nod. “I’ll get that Cosmo going.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  And with that, the hurdle was overcome. El relaxed on the swiveling stool, allowing herself to finally feel the excitement of her situation.

  She had escaped. She had gotten loose from Mama’s stranglehold. Even if tomorrow she made a mistake and was caught, she was free for now. Every time she had a success like this one, when she accomplished something adult in spite of her lack of experience, she needed to celebrate. No one did anything perfectly, including adults, but these triumphs might be just enough to get her through failures to come.

  When the drink arrived, she knew she hated it at once, but smiled approvingly at the woman for all the showmanship that went into it. The liquor was strong, neon pink, with an altogether obnoxious sweetness and a garnish of fluffy cotton that melted into the glass. El forced it down, wondering why for fourteen dollars they couldn’t make it taste more like a dream of youth instead of a nightmare of regrets. Soon, however, the warmth in her throat began to spread, and her toes stopped cramping.

  For the first time in days, she wanted to write. She reached for the notebook, but caught herself. No more spy games. No more encryption. She could link the new phone directly to wi-fi and blog all she wanted, and there wasn’t one goddamned thing her mother could do about it.

  The ecstasy of that went right to her head. With a tiny giggle, she flagged the waitress and asked after wi-fi, and then she was on her own site, thumbs well lubricated by the spirits. A blog entry came into shape, outlining her feelings toward her mother, pouring all her sorrows into the page. Her adoration of Riley, so pivotal to her self-discovery, was a crime, and El made her ferocious disgust as evident as she could. The monologue stretched with each moment, transforming into an argument against bigotry, sexism, and all the other things she had silently endured. It ended abruptly in a single assurance that she had finally run and that her readers would hear from her when it was safe.

  Scheduling the entry to publish in a few days’ time, when she was already off the east coast, El swiped away her tears and looked at the time.

  With a gasp, she shot out of the stool. Her train should already be boarding!

  Taking some bills from her wallet, she tossed them onto the bar and tipped the last half of the glass upward. The sickly sweet stuff slid down her throat without trouble, but burned all the way down. She threw an offhand wave to the bartender and beat a hasty retreat. Huffing and with moments to spare, El jumped aboard her train. As it left the station, she was caught in a tangle of other passengers all moving through the aisles with their luggage in tow. When at last she found her seat in one of the first cars, El was ready to drop. Dragging the heavy pack, her limbs partially numb and sluggish with the alcohol, El shoved the bag into a narrow space and found her way back to her seat.

  In twenty-four hours, she’d be in Chicago and the next leg of the trip would begin. She sent Oscar a quick text using the train’s wi-fi, and then dozed off to the clacking of the rails.

  El woke abruptly, sitting bolt upright. It took a few moments of gasping to remember she was aboard the train, that it was stopped at a different station, and that she was miles away from home. But even as she reassured herself of this, she became gradually aware that something was not right.

  The other passengers were clustered on one side of the car, some wearing looks of concern. A few of them let out little noises of wonder, having hushed conversations about something unfolding outside the window.

  El’s limbs tingled and every hair rose. Stumbling up, still groggy and recovering from her fishbowl-sized brush with adulthood, she squeezed in at a rosy window and peered out. The station house was a quaint mustard-colored building adorned with white filigree, the platform around it so small that there weren’t even overhangs to shield from the summer sun. Spread out around the tiny building were a group of men all clad in dark suits. They wore earpieces like the ones El had seen at her father’s campaign events, and two of them weren’t shy about the leather slings beneath their coats.

  El’s soul crystallized in cold fear. It was all she could do to count them, to survey their faces for familiarity, to clear her throat. “What’s happening?”

  A woman seated station-side peeled her nose off the window. “I think they’re FBI. Maybe they want to search the train. Probably terrorists or something.”

  El didn’t wait to hear any more speculation. Moving silently down the aisle, she stood beside the luggage rack and craned her neck into the vestibule. The external door to the car was open, but the conductor was blocking it. Slipping along the control panel, El pressed herself into the protected space and listened.

  It was definitely an argument. The furious tones of voice were enough to convince her that these men in suits were not the FBI, and they were meeting with unexpected but justified opposition from the Amtrak staff.

  “All you have to do is take a look at the fucking picture and search the train for yourself. We’re talking about a young girl, traveling alone. She could be—”

  “So why don’t you have the State Troopers meet us at the next station? Why didn’t they meet us here? She could have gotten on or off any—”

  “Look at the picture! She got on in DC. Blonde.”

  “Show me some ID.”

  A third person lifted their voice above the other two, bargaining for one man to pay to board the train and search while it got underway, but El was already moving. Tugging her bag onto her shoulders, she sped along the gallery. Opening doors with a booted foot to the kickplate, El cut a path through the sleeping cars.

  At the last car, she met a dead end and finally had to stop and think. She had spent hundreds on this train ride. If she disembarked now, she’d have no way to afford an additional ticket. But if those men spotted her, she’d be dragged off it anyway.

  The one way to keep her freedom was to get off this train. It had to be done without any witnesses. Instinctively, El tugged on the exterior door handle. The panel didn’t budge. She tried pushing buttons or searching the perimeter for a lever, but found no way to release the lock. The door apparently required a conductor with a key to open it.

  Trapped, blinking back desperate tears, El staggered into the aisle and pressed herself against a wall.

  She’d gotten so far, but it didn’t matter. Her parents would always track her down, employing professionals who knew how to think while she kept making naive mistakes. Running had been her greatest transgression. If captured, she’d be a prisoner until the end of time. They’d lock her in a room, force her to see doctors, or worse, have her prosecuted for the theft of her sister’s identity. She’d be cut off from everyone and everything but the Bible and prayer. Mama would force her to marry some terrible man, and then he’d keep her in a tower with the blessing of the church.

  The backpack slipped to the ground, and El collapsed beside it. A sob escaped her, but even as her emotions began to spiral out of control, something steadied her.

  “They don’t have power unless you give it to them.”

  Something Riley might say, but this time, in her own shaky voice.

  El opened her eyes. T
he vestibule was dim, one whole wall of the car devoted to sleeping compartments and the other curtained against the late summer sun. She clambered up and looked out a window. The men were still arguing with a growing cluster of train company personnel, and for the first time, El could see why the conductor hadn’t ended the discussion and gotten back underway. A large SUV was parked in front of the train, directly across the tracks.

  What was Mama paying for that kind of service? She also knew then that they weren’t law enforcement of any kind. What would such men do to her if they got ahold of her?

  El had to get off the train, and even if the door wouldn’t open, the windows were equipped with emergency locks.

  Her fingers found the red handles and gripped them for dear life. For a moment, she considered what might happen if she opened it. Maybe the train would suddenly erupt in alarms and flashing lights. Maybe they’d come storming after her and she’d be arrested.

  El tugged anyway.

  With a sickening static sound, the entire segment of glass flipped in at her. It was thick and heavy, but she braced a foot against the wall and pulled it free. It rested on the ankle of her boot and then tipped to the side, clattering heavily against the wall. With a single glance around to see if anyone was going to attempt to apprehend her, El hefted her bag through the hole. Only as it hit the ground with a thud did she consider that there was something of a drop to the gravel below.

  It was too late to worry about such things.

  Swinging her legs into the opening, she scooted off the sharp sill and landed with a crunch beside the bag. She was off the train and safe. Now all she had to do was make sure she could outrun her pursuers. They were good enough to track her onto this particular train, but apparently stupid enough to provide her with the perfect distraction to make a getaway.

  Hugging the train, El ducked below all the windows, moving at top speed for the SUV parked in front of the engine. She barely noticed the smattering of stately homes on either side of the tracks, or the grand river that ran beside the road. All she could see was the nose of the vehicle sticking out from in front of the train and its empty driver’s side seat.