Read Online Subway Love by Nora Raleigh Baskin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nora Raleigh Baskin
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little girl, if they went out someplace, she used to pretend to fall asleep in the backseat of their station wagon on the ride home. Mitchell got to sit up front, right in between their parents, looking out onto the road unfolding in front of them. There was a clear order: daddies drive, mommies sit next to them, oldest kid in front. If Daddy was at work and Mommy was driving, two kids could sit in front. It was a simple age rotation. So as long as Mitchell was alive and living at home, Laura was relegated to the backseat, but if she timed it right, she could look out the side window most of the ride, then settle down, stretch out across the seat, and close her eyes. By the time they got home, everyone thought she was fast asleep, and instead of waking her, her mom would instruct her dad to carry her up to bed.
“Careful, Hank,” her mother would say. “Don’t wake her up.”
And Laura would feel her daddy’s strong arms lifting her right out of the car and cradling her, just like when she was a baby. And even if she couldn’t actually remember what it felt like to be a baby, this felt good, so good. So safe, and weightless. Her daddy was the protector of the whole world.
But now he looked so helpless and alone, laughing at Archie Bunker picking on his son-in-law. Laura could feel her heart breaking in two — two parts — one for her and one for him. He couldn’t protect her anymore. She was leaving in less than twelve hours. Sunday morning she’d be back on the bus to Kingston, and her mom would be waiting for her, maybe her mom and Bruce.
After her father went to bed, Laura snuck out into the living room and called the operator.
She cupped her hand over her mouth and the receiver. “I just wanted to check if this phone is working properly,” Laura whispered.
“Why, yes it is, miss. Are you having trouble with your line?”
“No, I mean, I just wanted to make sure it was working.”
“It seems to be,” the voice said. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”
“Yeah, I am.”
The city noises, sirens and horns, were comforting. Lights moved across the ceiling as cars went by in the street.
“How old are you?”
“Fourteen,” Laura answered.
“Are you home alone?”
“No, my dad’s sleeping.” Then Laura had an impulse to tell this nice woman everything.
I met this boy on the subway and I have no idea who he is but I gave him my number and he hasn’t called. I know that sounds stupid but I think he really wants to call me. I don’t know why he hasn’t. Now I’m leaving and I’m going back to my mom’s house where we live with her asshole boyfriend who sometimes hits me and while I’m mentioning it, my brother’s an asshole, too.
But I really like this boy. He said his name is Jonas.
But of course she didn’t say any of that.
“Are you sure you’re all right, then? Your phone seems to be working just like it’s supposed to.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Laura hung up.
SPIKE has a real name, of course. It’s Max Lowenbein, but he sure wouldn’t tell anyone that. When he first started doing throw-ups, at ten, he used the tag Slug138. Then he was SuperKool for a while, but that was two years ago. It took him all winter to rack up enough spray paint for his piece, his masterpiece, a burner that would set the city on fire. Every writer, everyone who was anyone, would be talking about it, a full end-to-end train.
He had been planning it for months, benching for hours to memorize the schedules, the routes, every train, every layup, even frequenting art museums and galleries, sketching it all in his notebook. No one had done a whole train before, at least not with style. Spike had been working to perfect his style, and replacing the spray-paint cap with the fatter nozzle from Niagara Spray Starch gave him just what he needed, wider surface coverage and less drippage. He knew in his heart that he was nearly ready. The secret to life is good timing. Timing is everything.
Can’t wait too
“Careful, Hank,” her mother would say. “Don’t wake her up.”
And Laura would feel her daddy’s strong arms lifting her right out of the car and cradling her, just like when she was a baby. And even if she couldn’t actually remember what it felt like to be a baby, this felt good, so good. So safe, and weightless. Her daddy was the protector of the whole world.
But now he looked so helpless and alone, laughing at Archie Bunker picking on his son-in-law. Laura could feel her heart breaking in two — two parts — one for her and one for him. He couldn’t protect her anymore. She was leaving in less than twelve hours. Sunday morning she’d be back on the bus to Kingston, and her mom would be waiting for her, maybe her mom and Bruce.
After her father went to bed, Laura snuck out into the living room and called the operator.
She cupped her hand over her mouth and the receiver. “I just wanted to check if this phone is working properly,” Laura whispered.
“Why, yes it is, miss. Are you having trouble with your line?”
“No, I mean, I just wanted to make sure it was working.”
“It seems to be,” the voice said. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”
“Yeah, I am.”
The city noises, sirens and horns, were comforting. Lights moved across the ceiling as cars went by in the street.
“How old are you?”
“Fourteen,” Laura answered.
“Are you home alone?”
“No, my dad’s sleeping.” Then Laura had an impulse to tell this nice woman everything.
I met this boy on the subway and I have no idea who he is but I gave him my number and he hasn’t called. I know that sounds stupid but I think he really wants to call me. I don’t know why he hasn’t. Now I’m leaving and I’m going back to my mom’s house where we live with her asshole boyfriend who sometimes hits me and while I’m mentioning it, my brother’s an asshole, too.
But I really like this boy. He said his name is Jonas.
But of course she didn’t say any of that.
“Are you sure you’re all right, then? Your phone seems to be working just like it’s supposed to.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Laura hung up.
SPIKE has a real name, of course. It’s Max Lowenbein, but he sure wouldn’t tell anyone that. When he first started doing throw-ups, at ten, he used the tag Slug138. Then he was SuperKool for a while, but that was two years ago. It took him all winter to rack up enough spray paint for his piece, his masterpiece, a burner that would set the city on fire. Every writer, everyone who was anyone, would be talking about it, a full end-to-end train.
He had been planning it for months, benching for hours to memorize the schedules, the routes, every train, every layup, even frequenting art museums and galleries, sketching it all in his notebook. No one had done a whole train before, at least not with style. Spike had been working to perfect his style, and replacing the spray-paint cap with the fatter nozzle from Niagara Spray Starch gave him just what he needed, wider surface coverage and less drippage. He knew in his heart that he was nearly ready. The secret to life is good timing. Timing is everything.
Can’t wait too
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