Leopoldine Core - When Watched - Stories

She actually saw copies of Henry’s younger self everywhere, always, glowing on street corners and in coffee shops. He must see me too, she thought. All young and pretty, blooming from the body of some graduate student, some waitress.

Henry rode up front with Luke, eyeing his driving while detailing the van’s various quirks. The conversation quickly veered, by Luke’s initiation, to the possibility of him crashing the car.

“I’m a really good driver,” Luke said, now looking even younger than he had ten minutes before. “I’m sure everything’ll go smoothly,” he pledged. “But say I hit some ice or something. Will I be held responsible for—”

“No, no, no ,” Susan chimed from the backseat, to Henry’s horror. But he said nothing.

“If something happened to the car it would be our loss,” Susan said.

“Well,” Henry interjected. “It would actually be my brother’s loss. It’s his car,” he said with a steely glance in her direction.

“Regardless,” Susan snapped. “We wouldn’t hold you responsible.”

“Well don’t worry,” Luke said, “I don’t think anything like that’s gonna happen.”

“Of course not. You’ll be absolutely fine ,” Susan cooed. “We would’ve been fine but we’re just so traumatized by what happened.”

“Totally.” Luke nodded. “I get it.” He touched his hair, blinking rapidly.

At the bus station Susan wrote him a check and he snatched it from her hand. It was stunning but somehow didn’t feel rude, more a side effect of the manic energy that he so clearly contained. Susan was now certain he had rocketed himself into the night with a drug of some sort. His facial movements were quick, his pupils like a couple of bouncy little balls whapping around in a dark closet.

She read over his directions. “This all looks good,” she said, patting his shoulder. “We’ll see you there.” They waved goodbye and Luke smiled like a demon in a school photo, then walked rapidly to the van.

• • •

The bus station was filthy and severe looking, with people of all ages huddled in groups, some sitting alone on their luggage.

“That guy was on something,” Henry growled.

“We’re better off, believe me,” Susan said. “He won’t fall asleep.”

Henry didn’t want to think about the hopped-up kid in his brother’s van. It was too awful. And too ridiculous . He felt a little numb, looking around. “Waiting for a bus is like being the poor,” he said.

“Come on. It’s interesting.”

“I can’t sit with these people.”

“You can and you will,” Susan said sharply.

They parked their bags and sat on them.

“It’s almost more depressing to see the ones with a little beauty,” Henry mused, looking around.

“What ones?”

“That girl.” He pointed. “The one in the purple coat.”

“You think she’s pretty?”

“I do.”

“She’s not that pretty.”

“She’s too pretty to be here . I wonder if she knows she has a choice.” Henry sighed, staring at the girl, who had her head on the shoulder of a boy. “She could go to Manhattan,” he said. “She could be a cocktail waitress.”

“What a dream come true.”

“Isn’t that what pretty girls do while they’re figuring things out?”

Susan laughed. “I suppose.” Just then a tall man with a black backpack and round wire-rimmed glasses caught her eye. He stood near the wall, clearly alone. She forced herself to look away.

It was this same man who sat behind them on the bus, in the very last row, and promptly began talking to himself. The bus pulled away from the station and Susan stared up at the dark sky. The moon was yellow and half-hidden by clouds, peeking out like a sore eye.

At first unintelligible, the man’s continued muttering soon grew loud and clear. “Don’t you ever wanna blast someone?” he said and Susan stiffened. Then he went quiet, presumably to take in the response of his imagined comrade. Then he laughed.

Susan held her breath, listening as the man’s speech slid back into muttered gibberish. She wondered how he had succeeded in so many things. Like acquiring clothes that fit him and prescription lenses. Or knowing the bus schedule and buying a ticket. These were the sorts of simple tasks that she herself sometimes struggled with. She knew that if she ever went crazy, she would function in no way. Her life would be over.

Henry seized her arm, startling her.

“Jesus!” she said.

“We have to move,” he whispered.

So they carried their bags to the first free pair of seats, which was more toward the middle of the bus.

“That was so scary,” Susan said in a low voice.

“I know.”

“I didn’t think it was bothering you till you grabbed me. You were so quiet.”

“I was listening to him. I wanted to hear exactly what he was saying.” Henry blinked reflectively. “He said something about a sword.”

“He did?”

“That’s when I grabbed you.”

“God. It must be like a radio station in your head.”

“Right.” Henry sniffed. “I immediately thought of that guy who murdered the kid on the bus.”

Susan stared into Henry’s face, dark with flashes of streetlight rushing over it. “What guy who murdered the kid on the bus?”

“It was like two years ago. The guy decapitated this kid on a Greyhound bus. You remember.”

“No. I do not remember.”

“Well I don’t want to scare you.”

“You’re already scaring me!”

“Forget it.”

They sat quietly a moment. Henry closed his eyes. Susan sat up and looked nervously behind her chair. But it was too dark to see if the man was walking toward them with a sword. “Al- right ,” she whispered as she sat back down, irked by the curiosity Henry had planted. “So how did he cut off the head?”

Henry roused with a sniff. “What?”

“How did he cut off the head ?” she repeated, a bit loudly.

“Oh. He had some sort of butcher knife I think. And he just attacked this very young kid out of nowhere. He said a voice in his head told him to.”

“God.”

“Everyone got off the bus and they locked the doors somehow with him in there.” Henry rubbed his eyes. “And he just ran up and down the aisle carrying the head.”

“Okay, enough .”

“You asked.”

Susan looked up at the yellow moon. She put her hand to her heart, feeling its speed.

• • •

At just past midnight they arrived in Milwaukee and took a cab to the airport. At a tiny table, Henry ate a dry turkey sandwich, sulkily examining it between bites. “I’m so starved for seasoning,” he said.

“We’re starved period ,” Susan said.

Henry stared at her. “Do you want some coffee?” he asked.

“No. More coffee might push me into another dimension.”

Henry laughed. He finished the sandwich with one last, dissatisfied bite. Then they walked to the gate and sat in a couple of gray chairs. Susan put her head in Henry’s lap. “I’m so weary,” she croaked.

“I think you already told me that.” Henry smiled.

“Oh shut up,” she said and quickly fell asleep.

Henry watched a pair of young girls a few feet away. One had a head of short platinum curls, the other a long goldish braid. They sat cross-legged on the gray carpet facing each other, slouched over two separate piles of candy. They were trading. Their parents sat nearby, mutely pawing their phones. Henry wondered what sort of people gave their kids candy before boarding an evening plane. He watched as one girl, the one with the long braid, handed a Tootsie Roll to the other. She was compensated with a fat-headed lollipop. Fascinated, he watched a few more trades pass in the same girl’s favor. Henry went from admiring her skills of manipulation to actually sort of feeling sorry for the one with the curls. Maybe she’s a little younger, he thought, deciding she was being taken advantage of.