“That’ll be thirty-five fifty,” the taxi driver said. “Cash or credit?”
To his annoyance his passenger did not answer, just kept staring blankly out of the window.
“Look, I know you’ve probably got jet lag and all but the meter is still running. If you don’t get out soon, it’s gonna to cost you extra.”
“Sorry. Long trip.” Speech did not come easily to Benjamin now. The words tangled up one with another- unruly, confined, and compressed between the lump in his throat and the weight of unbearable sadness.
He was growing more exhausted by the second, unable to shut off the overwhelming sights and sounds of the journey that had landed him here.
Those events played out in repetition, a sickening loop inside his head as insistent as the notes of a song so hated it becomes impossible to forget.
Taxis. Airports. Airplanes. Airports. Taxis.
It was a process that could have been so different; so joyfully intoxicating if he’d only come here for any other reason.
The reason truly struck home now, leaving him breathless and aching as it forced its way past thoughts of happier times.
Ever since he’d heard the news time seemed to turn on itself and on him, altering into something far too perverse to be called merely unnatural.
Each tick of his wristwatch unnerved him. Every sweep of its second hand stripped him down, slicing his heart into battered, bloody fragments with merciless speed and intensity.
He suddenly felt so much older than his years.
“Thirty-six fifty.” The driver prodded, indicating the meter again. His cell phone made a chirping sound and he glanced down to read a text message. “And I’ve got another fare waiting.”
Benjamin nodded and reached into the pocket of his coat, hoping he’d exchanged enough currency at the airport. He really hadn’t been paying attention at the time. How could he, considering where he was going and what he’d have to face when he got there?
He pulled two twenty-dollar bills out of his wallet and handed them over. “Here you are.”
“Thanks,” the driver said with sarcasm Benjamin was too distraught to notice. He’d hoped for a better tip, given how well his passenger was dressed.
“Thank you. Now, if you’d be so kind as to open the boot?”
“The what?”
“The boot.” Benjamin gestured toward the back of the car. “So I can get my bag, please?”
With dramatically laborious effort the driver felt his way along under the dash for the trunk release.
Benjamin thanked him once more as he heard the compartment pop open. The driver was already revving the engine, another apparent warning to hurry as Benjamin got out and retrieved his well-worn suitcase.
He scarcely had time to close the lid before the cab tore away from the curb and screeched out into the crowded city street.
Welcome to the United States of America, Benjamin thought.
He stood still and silent on the uneven sidewalk, until he started shivering.
His teeth at first clenched against the cold and then rattled sharply together. He internally debated between the two likeliest causes: the winter wind or the wrenching fear he could no longer suppress. He supposed at last that it really didn’t matter, regardless he was unable to stop them from doing it.
It was beginning to snow and not the light, pretty snow depicted in the films, either. This was the wet and dingy sort of slush that could only happen in real life and would have to happen on the very worst of all days he'd ever known.
This was not in any way the trip he had so many times imagined.
His hand vibrated as his fingers choked the handle of his suitcase. Though the January sun was mostly obscured, as he looked skyward it still burned his eyes.
He staggered a step backward the moment his brain validated the image he was seeing. His knees weakened and wobbled, threatening desertion. The towering hospital before him was his perfect depiction of Hell, if Hell were a building and made of bricks and mortar.
He startled, his heartbeat momentarily disrupted by a pounding, unfamiliar sound. It originated above him not far off in the distance and was rapidly increasing in volume.
Squinting his eyes as he directed them higher, he attempted to peer beyond the mournful curtain of solid steel that constituted the afternoon sky.
It wasn’t until the belly of the helicopter cleared the clouds that he could clearly make out what it was.
They brought her here in one just like that, he thought. Maybe even the same one.
At the thought he began to tremble with even more ferocity. While the trans-Atlantic flight may have seemed intolerably long, he was nothing if not absolutely certain the most difficult distance to travel was the one that lay directly ahead: the relatively small one that remained between this sidewalk and her bedside.
“Can I help?” The woman’s voice was soft and kind as she addressed him. “Look out,” she added before he could respond. She tugged him gently away from the curb to keep him from getting splashed with slop as cars went zipping by.
As she pulled him beneath a large overhang, his eyes gradually refocused to the dimmer level of light. He noticed that her uniform vest had the word valet emblazoned across it.
“Thank you. I, I think I’m lost.” Benjamin’s unsteady voice belied his placid expression, revealing that the description applied in so many more ways than the simple absence of proper bearing or direction. “I’m not quite sure what I’m supposed to do now. I only know she’s here.”
~February Grace
