Stephen Dixon: Friends: More Will and Magna Stories

She gets on a train. A man makes a pass at her. “Hiya doing, darling?” She gets off the train. She waits on the platform. Another man comes over and says “Pardon me, young lady, but which way is uptown?”

“This the downtown side, that what you mean?”

“This is the downtown? That’s the one I want. This the local side of the platform?”

“That’s the local side there. This is the express.”

“That’s the one I want. The express. I have to get downtown in a hurry. Terrific business deal — you can’t believe it. You’re too young to understand that though.”

“I suppose so.”

She looks away from him, stands there, holds a book bag. She knows the man’s a character. It happens so often. Men want to touch her on the subway, talk to her. They follow her on the street sometimes, and certainly give her looks wherever she goes. One took her hand the other week, held it gently enough, and said “Why don’t you come home with me. It’s a nice home. A really big apartment — anything you want in it could be yours. Antiques: they’re yours. Not all, of course, but some, and the more valuable the better, far as I’m concerned. Lamps, chairs, dishes — anything of these is yours. Which one of those would you like?” “Do you mind?” she said, taking her hand from his. “No, really, I’m telling the truth. Whatever you want you can have. Lamps and chairs. Dishes too. All of them. Curtains. Brocaded curtains. Lazy Susans. Silent butlers. Know what those are? I got two, both sterling silver, engraved, but you can’t tell what the initials are they’re engraved so fancily. Whatever you want. You’re that beautiful. Beautiful as a princess. You are a princess. What country you a princess of, beautiful young lady?” She had to walk across the street to get rid of him.

This one stands beside her. She knows he doesn’t have to go uptown or down. He just wants to be with her. If not her, then another attractive girl. She knows he wants to be on the same train with her. She has an idea he’s going to sit beside her on the train, talk to her and then get off with her at her stop and follow her on the street or walk beside her. She has this problem. Not a problem really, but because of her looks she attracts strange men like this, old and young, and they cause her problems. She happens to be very pretty. That’s not being egotistical to admit it. People have told her it, and some have said, when she’s said she’s not that pretty, “Come on. You’re gorgeous, don’t deny it.” But she’s so young. Not even fourteen. Developed like a girl of eighteen maybe, and maybe older. Anyway, developed. And tall for her age. She might have already reached her full height. And men like her for her build and face. Young face, with very smooth clear skin, and her long blonde hair. They like her hair. They often tell her about her hair, just as they comment to one another or tell her about her breasts, behind and legs. Here comes the train.

“Our train,” the man says.

“Maybe just yours. I just realized I should take the local. It’s a local stop I’m going to.” She goes to the other side of the platform. The express comes. He doesn’t get on it. All the people who got off it go up the stairs or wait on her side of the platform for the local. He comes over to her.

“The local, that’s right,” he says. “I have to take the local — I forgot. What stop you taking it to?”

“Excuse me,” and she walks to the end of the platform. If there’s a policeman around she’ll stand by him. If the man comes over to her then, she’ll report the man. If the local comes and he doesn’t get on it, she’ll get on. If he gets on, she won’t.

But there’s no policeman. The man’s coming toward her. That’s it, she’s had enough. Who should she report him to? Nobody really looks that safe or nice to talk to. She’ll report him to that elderly man there, but when she gets closer to him she thinks he might be a derelict. That woman over there then.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but I’m having some trouble with that man there. He’s been bothering me.”

“What can I do for you, honey? Go upstairs. Tell the change clerk.”

“If I can just stand with you I don’t think he’ll bother me anymore.”

“Then I’m the one he might bother. Listen, honey, do what I say. Go upstairs, speak to the clerk in the booth. You want me to do it for you? I think I can in the time the next train comes.”

“I don’t want to be left down here with him. Can we go up together?”

“Better that you do it alone, honey. Maybe he won’t follow. If he does I’ll say something, but I don’t want to miss my train.”

She starts upstairs. The man starts up the stairs after her. She turns to him. The woman has her back to them, is looking down the tracks for the train. “Will you leave me alone, you crazy?”

He sticks his hand into his fly and pulls out his penis. He waves it at her. “Big, huh, and it’s not even hard. Take a lick, kid. All you want. Free on the house and nobody here will mind. Go on, take a lick of it. It tastes real good.”

She runs upstairs. He goes downstairs.

“That’s awful,” she hears the woman say, “just awful. What are you doing that for to that poor girl?”

Maybe he says or does something. By this time she’s upstairs and she runs out of the station.

She comes home from her art lesson. Her mother says “Hello, sweetheart, have a nice day?” and kisses her cheek. She says she had a rotten day, maybe her worst except for when she was very sick. Her mother says “Here, let’s sit down and talk.”

“I don’t have to sit down. I can’t. I’m jumpy again just thinking about it. The art class wasn’t bad — that’s not it. Or not that bad. We had a live female model for once. Me, the big-shot, had been asking for one since they had the male model—”

“I didn’t know you had male models. In the nude?”

“Sure, except for a strap down there, but when we finally got a female I almost died when I saw her body — a woman for the first time like that. It honestly scared me.”

“Was she wearing drawers or something?”

“No — only he did, the male, though his behind cheeks showed. And when he bent over to make the towel under him right, one testicle showed too, someone said — though I wasn’t looking at the time because I had a feeling it’d happen. But the women don’t. And when she undressed in the booth she didn’t even pull the curtain, nor when she got dressed again. I think she should have. There were lots of boys my age too.”

“I think she should have also. Complain to the teacher. You don’t want to, I will, but I think you’re old enough to complain when you think something’s wrong. You do enough home. But tell me, sweetheart, what was it that scared you about her so?”

“I didn’t know women could get so big down there and different from me too.”

“You know what you look like?”

“I’ve held a mirror to it. A teacher — in Hygiene — suggested us to.”

“The model probably had babies. Don’t let it scare you. You have plenty of time yet, and maybe she was also a little messy.”

“And, well, I know what you’re going to say, but I almost got molested on the subway going to Art. A man showed his penis.”

“He exposed himself? Maybe you shouldn’t take those classes anymore.”

“No, I got away okay, I swear it, and since it was the first time ever, I don’t think it’ll happen again.”

“I don’t like it. Let me talk it over with Papa. But it was quite a day for genitalia for you. If you were old enough I’d advise your having a real drink. What about some cocoa or milk? I’ll warm some for you.”