Rainy Train at Midnight

The repetitive thumping of the train on the tracks and the pitter patter of rain on the window made me think I was in a movie. Outside the window there wasn’t much to see, just the void with the occasional town of lights. The view was much better inside: the dark, hand-carved oak that adorned every wall, the white tablecloths that covered every table, the lamps that curved out of the wall and shone on every couple. Well, they would be shining on every couple if it wasn’t midnight and I hadn’t paid the train staff to have them stay open later for my wife and I, who was the most beautiful sight in the car.

We should’ve been in bed, her especially. But we didn’t care anymore. We wanted to have some fun and spend a romantic evening together.

Her green dress hung off her like a curtain from its rod. She didn’t seem to notice but I certainly did. I decided not to focus on it. “What kind of dessert do you think you’ll have?” I asked her because I was genuinely interested. There weren’t a lot of options but enough to make the choice hard for anyone, but more so for her.

She smiled with her scarlet lips, the smile that never changed, one corner just a little higher than the other. “I think…” she opened the menu again as if forgetting what she had chosen, “I want the chocolate mousse… no! The cheesecake! But what do you want? I’ll never be able to finish it so you’ll have to.”

“I was gonna get my own. I thought about getting the brownie sundae. But if I have to eat yours, too, then I suppose I’ll just get the strawberry shortcake. Much smaller and lighter on the stomach.” I smirked after I spoke and she looked at me with one eyebrow up.

“You’d eat the sundae and my cheesecake without breaking a sweat, and then you’d ask for a soda to wash it all down!”

“And I’d never gain a pound,” I chuckled as the words came out. She gave a light laugh and looked my face over, as if studying it for every detail.

“You know what I wish they had here?” she spoke, cutting the silence.

“What?”

“Those peanut butter cookies that our families always make at Christmas time.”

“Peanut butter blossoms? I wish every place had those!” we chuckled again.

“Yeah, those. Those were always my favorite.” She looked down at the table and her eyes seemed far away, as if remembering the first time she had one.

The waiter came over and said “are you all set? Do we know what we want?” His uniform was a bit out of sorts from being worked in all day, no doubt he was exhausted. I felt bad for him. Then I remembered the huge tip I was going to give him and felt a bit better. He looked at my wife first, “What can I bring for the lovely lady?”

“I’ll have the cheesecake, I don’t need anything drizzled on it, plain is fine.” 

He turned to me, “And for you?”

“I’ll have,” I looked at my wife and she squinted as the corner of her lip turned up again, telling me to indulge myself, “I’ll have the brownie sundae.”

“Very well, those will be out in just a couple minutes.” He turned and left the car, leaving us in a comfortable silence, the thumping of the train soothing and the rain’s tapping a familiar embrace to the ears.

“I could die here,” her voice cut the silence like a scalpel through my brain.

“I could, too.” I responded.

“You better not, I still need you.”

“I need you, too.” I shouldn’t have said it, but it was the truth. We both looked at the table until the food came.

The brownie sundae was perfect, the ice cream slightly runny with the brownie warm and savory. She nibbled at her cheesecake, taking the smallest scoops off the end with her fork and placing them on the tip of her tongue. “It’s so creamy! I love it! I hate when it’s that crumbly cheesecake. Is that New York cheesecake?”

I blew air out of my nose, amused by her. “We’ve been down this road before: yes, that’s New York style. What you have is Sicilian, it’s creamier and smoother.”

“Well, it’s good, no matter what it’s called.”

After I was finished with my dessert I downed hers as she had only had about half. Her hands were gripping the tablecloth, her knuckles white. Her eyebrows were knit up, concern filling her face like a wine glass. She adjusted her headwrap, exposing her hair, chopped close to the scalp. I was going to ask her what was wrong when she blurted out, “do you think I made the right choice?”

“About tomorrow? I think-”

“About dessert. Do I really want that to be the last thing I eat? Should I have gotten the mousse? Do you think we can still get some?”
She was barely done talking when I said to her, “It’s okay, I think whatever dessert you chose is the right one. But if you want some mousse we can get some mousse.” She shook her head so slightly I thought it might’ve been the train jostling.

“What if they stick that needle in me tomorrow and the last thing I think is why didn’t I have the mousse?”

“Then I think you’ll be luckier than a lot of other people. Some people regret not seeing family enough, or never making enough money, and your regret is about which dessert you chose.”

There were tears in her eyes but a smile on her lips. She used the tablecloth to dry the drops running down her face. “I just don’t like choosing,” she sobbed.

“I know, remember when we came home with a Pomeranian and a husky because you ‘couldn’t decide if you wanted a small dog or a big one’?” her smile widened, but tears still came down.

She laid her head on her hands, leaning so her face was close to the table. “I just don’t like endings! I don’t want to have to choose my ending! I wish I could’ve lived until I was old and died in my sleep! Or been hit by a bus when I was out jogging! At least then I wouldn’t have to worry if I’m dying right!” Her sobbing filled my ears and dining car alike.

I got up and stood behind her, my hand resting on her back. “So why did you choose to come all the way across the ocean to have a doctor kill you? Why didn’t you wait for the cancer to take you? We talked about this and you said you wanted it.”
“I know I did… I do! Because I can’t stand the thought of making you watch as I wither into nothing. And even if I did that I’d feel the cancer coming for me, everyday, and I’d know when my time was just about up and I’d question if I was making the right choices then, too! It doesn’t matter what I do because no matter what this is the end. Whether it’s tomorrow or next month, it’s happening. And I don’t want it to.”

I took her hand in mine and squeezed, “I know it’s happening. And it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with. But I do know one thing.”

She picked her head up to look at me. “What?”

“I know that if the roles were reversed I wouldn’t have any regrets, because you’d be by my side at the end, and that’s all I would want.”

“Speak for yourself!” Not the reaction I was hoping for.

I sat back down and took both her hands in mine before saying, “I know you’re scared. I am, too. Why wouldn’t you be? I want you to live. I-”

“I don’t want you to be all alone!” She yelled, probably loud enough for the people in the sleeper cars to hear.

“What?”

Tears welled on her face again. “I don’t want to know that I’m leaving you all alone but I do and it’s killing me!”

I resisted the urge to say I think it’s the cancer that’s killing you, actually. I couldn’t hide behind humor now. “Do you really think I’ll be all alone? Because I’ll still have my family, and your family, and my friends.”

“So now I’m replaceable?” I could see the smirk on her face, but I knew she wasn’t completely joking.

“No one could ever replace you. And no one ever will. But I need you to know that I will get through this because I know that you’re always going to be there for me in whatever form that is. You’ll be the woman who gives me the extra dollar at the convenience store when I’m short. You’ll be the man that holds the door open for me when I walk into a building. You’ll be the guy who compliments my shirt.” I could’ve kept going but I didn’t. I wanted to let her talk if she needed to.

“I don’t care about my life.” My heart felt like a cannonball that fell off a warship, sinking to the bottom where no light could reach it. “I just don’t want to miss yours…” I looked at her, my head cocked to the side, “I don’t want to die not knowing what you’d look like with grey hair. I don’t want to die without knowing what our kids and grandkids would look like. I’m just scared of what I won’t see.”

My jaw clenched and I knit my eyebrows, thinking about how I wanted all of that, too, but how I was happy that I was just getting to say goodbye. “I know the things we won’t see are disappointing and scary. But I want you to remember the things we did see, the things we did and said. I don’t want your mind to go anywhere tomorrow except to the amazing adventure we’ve had together.”

She shut her eyes harshly, trying to get the tears away, and nodded. I suggested we get her to the bed so she could rest and she agreed, admitting she was exhausted.

On the way, as I helped her walk with one arm around her, she said, “Please don’t hate me.”

I stopped in the middle of the hall between the windows and the row of doors. “What?”

She turned with all her strength to look me in the eyes, “I don’t want you to hate me for dying…”

I paused and took in her words, letting them float from my head to my chest. I continued our trek down to our bed and said “I could never hate you. And I would never hate anyone for dying.” She was quiet after that besides her labored breathing as she laid in her bed waiting for the next day.