Marinero

The train station was crowded; it was noisy and smelled like a bathroom.

A short story by Daniel Verastiqui

The train station was crowded; it was noisy and smelled like a bathroom. With my train not scheduled to leave for another 45 minutes, I bided my time by browsing the small shops along the side of the terminal. I adjusted the shoulder strap of my duffel bag and made my way through the crowd to a rack of postcards. As I tried to focus on the red roses and the bluebonnets on the cards, I felt as if the crowd behind me was silently plotting against me.

In my mind, the crowd was standing still, staring at my back, conspiring in a dissonant hum. I picked a card off the rack and ran my finger over the image of a sandy beach. The card was smooth; it didn't feel like sand at all. I threw a quick glance over my shoulder to see that the river was still flowing. The people dribbled in and out of every corner of the building. I could barely see over most of them, the water was very deep. I stood on my tiptoes, tilted my head back, and tried to take a breath.

"You gonna buy that, son?" An old man pulled me to shore momentarily. Without realizing it, I had let my hand fall by my side, making it seem as if I were going to pocket the card.