They have been in the city for two weeks now. All have moved from beach-side towns along both the coasts of California and Florida. The city is a contrasting image from what they are all used to- fast, bustling, crowded, fast, concrete, oven-like-hot, fast.
Their train leaves at 9:27 AM. The lighter brunette, lenient as she is, is always late so they have told her that it leaves at 9:15... just to be on the safe side. The darker brunette, a stickler for timeliness, is already in line at Starbucks at Penn Station at 8:53, her ticket purchased and tucked safely into her heavy black leather wallet.
9:10 AM. The early one waits by the ticket booth as the blondes walk in together, coffees in hand and brightly colored towels poking out of their beach bags. They each split up to go to a ticket machine and purchase their $17.25 round trip off-peak ticket to Babylon, where they will get off at Jones Beach. They wait patiently for the last brunette.
9:23 AM. The three stand by the train furiously texting and typing in her cell phone number to call, “WHERE ARE YOU?!” “I’m almost there, I swear!” they hear, like they have a million times before. They roll their eyes at each other and their phones.
9:26:07 AM. “I’m buying my ticket!”, the voice of the light brunette yells to them at the platform. “Hurry! We’ll leave without you!” they shout back, but they all know that isn’t true. They have been each other’s source of comfort, a sense of home, in this city. The brunettes best friends from Florida, the blondes from California, they all are sharing their first real world experiences together, like buying train tickets, or rather hoping that you can buy the ticket and that your debit card won’t get declined at the train station for lack of funds after going to that East Side bar last night.
9:27:56 AM. They have found their seats and as the conductor begins to close the doors, the last brunette comes running down the center aisle of the car in her late, mixed up usual fashion. “Thanks for getting me a coffee”, she snarks. They all roll their eyes once again.
10:16 AM and they can hear muffled sounds of the waves and smell the sunscreen through the loud train rolling into Jones Beach station. As they step off and head onto the beach, they all breathe slower, deeper. It smelled like home and sometimes, even in “the real world”, everyone needs to feel at home.
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The story is written in simple prose with times realizing the structure. The times are necessary to anchor the audience in the portrayal of the conflict. Certain character traits are given with simple details: a lenient brunette, the darker brunette with a heavy black wallet; the characterization is natural to the story. For this blog, to read fiction was an interesting change from the diary-type entries or poetry which have been featured in most posts.
ReplyDeleteThe story is strengthened by its sense of nostalgia and reunion. The conclusion did not feel rushed, and “feeling like home” is a true ending to the theme of being away from home. In the middle, it would have been better to include more characterization of the two blondes with coffee. The other two were so quirky; it seemed all the girls should have had recognizable, endearing traits.
The inclusion of lighter brunette as character name seems to give a commentary on the reader more than the characters. The reader tries to find stereotypical elements that match – the blonde is dumber, or the brunette is more formulaic. It gives a message about friendship that goes beyond appearances, even beyond actions, as the other friends are so forgiving and expectant of the brunette’s lateness. The inclusion also gives the story a sense of an outsider watching. Possibly a fellow passenger on the train narrates the antics of these four girls as they go to the beach. The detachment of the narrator is juxtaposed by how omniscient the narrator is. The narrator knows their world experiences yet still calls them by their hair color. The overall purpose is to draw the reader into a personal portrayal of four strangers. It is a clever use of language to pull in and push away, at the same time. We know these girls and do not.