They broke up on the train.
Trains push his memories to the surface. All the trips into the country as a child. All the trees passing by, leaves changing to red and gold.
The city fades fast, faster then you can imagine. It is so small compared to the stretches of country to the Jersey Shore, to Upstate, to Boston and Maryland and DC.
Looking at Maggie, he could see her fighting her childhood memories. At least he wanted to think she was fighting them, hoping they were there to be fought. She had her nose in a notebook, making a list of things to do.
They were going to Maggie's parents' house because Maggie's father was sick. He had a heart attack, but it looked like he was going to be alright. She had a big Irish family and it was expected that a good daughter would come home in a time like this. So Maggie and her boyfriend Jack got on a train from New York to Virginia.
Maggie and Jack had been living together for three years. They had been dating for four and known each other since college six years ago. She was going for her BA in Fine Arts and he was going for his Masters in English back then.
She had their life planned out. She had a good steady job and he did freelance work. They had a nice apartment, which he loved, but she wanted to move out to the country soon. She wanted to get married, but he hadn't asked her yet. She had plans and he wasn't playing along. She didn't break up with him because she had already put too much time into him. He didn't break up with her because he was lazy and didn't like confrontation.
There was something about the trip that started pushing Jack's buttons from the start. They were taking the train out to her parents' house and there was this air of expectance. She expected him to go, to be excited, to ask her to marry him, to want kids, to want a better job... but none of that was going to happen and both of them were starting to realize it.
A third of the way there after arguing over signing another lease for the apartment she said "If you don't want to grow as a couple then maybe we should just break up."
It wasn't a threat, it was something that people said in the heat of the moment, but it just pushed Jack over the edge.
"Yeah. We should. This relationship is a joke. You don't love me; you just need someone to help you afford a mortgage."
And she cracked. She cried. There was no putting things back together.
For the next hour they agreed on things. Jack would be nice for the three day weekend with Maggie's parents. They would take care of the breakup when they got back. And then like a switch when they got to their stop Maggie fixed her makeup and was back to herself.
*
They entered the big old house just after 4pm. It was an old southern house with white pillars outside and a big porch and a huge white door.
They entered to find silence and emptiness. Walking up the staircase they came to a long hall. Pictures hung along the walls, old school pictures of Maggie and her sisters Molly and Megan. Three smiling girls with white skin and black hair and matching skirts and sweaters. Three princesses at Halloween. Three girls on horses.
Jack followed Maggie as she navigated pass a dozen doors and finally found her old room. Jack was a stranger in this place. He was not a Smith.
Maggie's room was white walled, filled with 2-foot boxes in one corner, an uncomfortable looking bed made up with yellow sheets and a pink and yellow quilt. One wall was all white bookshelves, but they were only a quarter filled. On one wall hung a large framed sketch of Maggie. He remembered her sitting in front of the mirror, sketching herself for her final project in still life, back in college.
In that frame was Maggie, the girl. Quiet in class, but boisterous when she was excited. Level headed, list making, but deep down an artist. Deep down filled with the same curiosity that Jack was filled with. Curiosity about books, history, art... and sex. The more he remembered their college years the more he realized that the Maggie he knew was gone.
When did she start longing for mediocre satisfaction? When did she stop needing to explore and started needing a bigger house, a better job, some mythical security she constantly talked about. When did she put her paints and her charcoal and her pads and canvas in her parents' basement to go untouched?
The same time she started thinking of sex as a duty and rolling her eyes at the mere mention of sexual adventure. Sex was just relieving them both of some energy or maybe a way for her to get him to leave her alone so she could get enough sleep to wake up at 5 in the morning to jog.
She sighed and put her bags down.
"Listen, you can stay here. I will go to the hospital. Then everyone will come back for dinner. I know you don't want to be here... but let's just do this and then we can get back and..." she just trailed off. A horn honked outside and she looked out the window.
"That's my aunt. Unpack, ok?"
Jack nodded. "I like your family. This weekend will be fine. Go check on your father, make sure he is alright."
She looked at him, unsure if a hug was still ok. Then she just turned around and left.
*
He unpacked, he looked around. He ended up on the bed, drifting off into a nap. The train ride, the fight, all of it melted away.
When he awoke in darkness. He could hear people downstairs and smell the warm homey smells of chicken and potatoes.
He saw movement, the door opened and closed.
"Hey. You ok? Sorry I fell asleep... the fight and everything..."
"I don't think your talking to the right Smith girl, mister."
The light came on and that's when he found out Maggie's little sister grew up.
She was Maggie, but different. Shorter, but only slightly. Bustier, a little more hip, a little more ass. Same nose, same ears, fuller lips. Her eyes were blue, while Maggie's where green.
"Molly."
"That's me."
The last time he saw her it was about four years ago, she had just turned fifteen. Sitting up fully he couldn't quiet comprehend that it was the same person. Molly the Mole, skinned knee tomboy who made gagging sounds if she saw him kissing her sister.
The first thing he noticed was a red and black nautical star tattoo between her neck and her breasts, half hidden by her white cotton tank top. Half perfect black and red ink on her white skin, half dark shadow under the thin cotton.
"Nice ink."
She squirmed under his eyes. "Thanks." Her arms came up and she folded them over her breasts. She was trying not to smile.
"So you two having a fight?"
"Um. No. Not really. Just an argument. Sort of." He knew he had to look away from her, but he couldn't. It was like looking at all the missing parts of Maggie, melted into a younger curvier tighter form. He walked over to the window and looked out at the greens and the grays.
She came into the room and walked to the bookshelf, looking at the remaining books, letting her finger drift over the spines.
"I was wondering what you would look like now," she said. He could hear the smile in her voice.
"Oh? Do I look different?"
He looked over to her and she nodded. "You look old, but basically the same. You look better with your hair short. Your hair looked pretty dumb long. Plus those glasses are better, the dark frames. You're still ugly, though." There was the smile, the wicked brat smile. In those eyes was pure curiosity.
