GETAWAY
The plan was in shambles.
Somehow running became our only fucking option. The cracked asphalt of the pavement was blurring beneath my feet. They were supposed to be resurfaced a long time ago. A promise made by our dearest mayor. I could feel the open wound in my heel scratching through my old pair of white Converse. Itching with every step I take. Shit. It’s been slowing me down. Fuck, the blood was gonna stain it, for sure. A reminder for me to forever remember our flee. They sure were not made for running, and I wasn’t also.
At maximum, there was an inch away from my right shoulder to smash into a stranger’s left one. Crowds and crowds of people were on Roosevelt Avenue. Busy as ever, the street pulsed with life, but now it felt suffocating, claustrophobic. No wonder some loud “dipshits!” and “scumbags!” were thrown at us, we were a frantic blur in a sea of motion. We deserved it. We were running too fast to fathom, swinging from left to right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Ran and ran, that’s all we did for a good five minutes. The cop chasing us followed suit. Dodging him, ain’t an easy task. You would think a fat pig like him would be out of breath by now. He wasn’t.
Carrying a shit ton of weight didn’t help either. This damn duffle bag, a heavy burden dragging me down. Far ahead of me, Ronnie was leading the way to God knows where. We knew these streets by heart, but now it looked all too different. Salvation Army had to be somewhere here, right? That street corner where Pete kissed me for the first time is probably miles away now… Did we already pass Mr. Kapoor’s store? Were those Liam and Feng chasing each other again, running opposite us? Everything just became like those Dali paintings I saw in the commercials for MOMA on the M train. Unrecognizable, distorted…
Holy shit… The subway!
I yelled “74th!”, hoping Ronnie would hear it.
My feet were about to fail me. The thought of the never-ending chase was creeping up on me. Any minute the loud wailing siren of the officers could come and tear down my fucking eardrums. Fuck I hate that noise, I hate that noise!
James was still a no-show. That dumbass…
“Do this and do that!” he reminded us just a few hours ago in the morning before he drove off with our getaway ticket.
Fuck his so-called advice. It really is our fault for trusting him anyway.
Ronnie went to the subway station across from that Kebab place. The smell of the tomato sauce was the last that filled my nostrils before going down the subway hole. I could only think of not falling over like a fucking bowling pin as I was skipping three steps at a time. Skipping steps, but my heart was skipping beats second by second. Down the tunnel, we went.
Wait, was it the rush hour? Where did Ronnie go? Was the cop still behind us? Shit, shit, shit…
Right there on the turnstile, I saw Ronnie looking everywhere frantically. We caught each other’s eyes. God, she looked just like mom. A sweaty, out-of-breath version sure, but her jet-black hair helped her appearance so much. I didn’t even want to see how red I had become. She jumped the turnstile with such ease. The biggest crime that both of us committed up until an hour ago. Hell, nobody gave a single fuck here anyway. It’s New York… Queens out of all places, but I can’t help but feel the eyes shifting towards us, every step we take on our way to the platforms. Still running, I was fixated on the tiny bag Ronnie was carrying. How that tiny death machine fit into our stepfather’s even tinier satchel. How Ronnie pointed it against that old man behind the counter. Right behind his neck at first. She looked so calm and collected. Like she was hopping the turnstile.
I caught glimpses of the expressions. The flowing faces of the subway halls. They knew what we were running from. They knew what we had done. It’s like they were seeing right through that satchel, my duffle, us, and right through me. The satchel, the duffle, Ronnie and me. The satchel. The duffle. Ronnie. Me.
We threw ourselves on the first train on the platform. I had no clue what line we took. Maybe the R train? It could be line 7 as well, Hell if I know… Passengers crammed into the car, the end-of-the-day looks of exhaustion and indifference. It was any other afternoon for them. A melting pot of the Big Apple.
Under the flickering fluorescent lights cast a dim glow over Ronnie’s ice-blue eyes. I got a good look on my big sister’s face. She was breathing heavily. Inhale and exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Focusing on her breath, I felt tears streaming down my face. Inhale. I had no idea what was going on. Exhale.
“Get your shit together Lily,” said Ronnie.
“We fucked up,” I responded.
As the subway car lurched forward, the wheels on the tracks created an alienating experience. Echoing the sounds of the loud brakes, the announcement murmur by the conductor was heard by many, but understood by none.
“We fucked up Ronnie, big time,” I muttered, the weight of our actions settling heavily on my shoulders. It also could be the duffle bag carrying the green Benjamins.
Standing in the middle of the car, holding on to life from the handles. I looked out from the open subway doors. There it was, the sign that said Queens Plaza. We were on the E train.
The doors closed again, making it even harder for me to breathe. It was as if I was diving into the deep ocean, taking in as much breath as I can.
“We’ll figure it out,” Ronnie said in a firm voice.
“Look at me,” she continued, while I was too busy looking down on my feet. I felt like those gigantic trees I would see every time we would visit Central Park. My roots seeped into the tracks, anchoring me to Queens. Letting me grow in peace, surrounding all the chaos that is the city.
“Look at me Lily,” her hand grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at her piercing eyes.
“We are gonna figure this out.”
“No, this was supposed to be us figuring out!” I whisper-screamed, words bursting out of my chest.
The loud noise of the doors opening made me shiver. I immediately felt the chills down my spine, prickled down my neck. 23rd Street, the sign read.
Would the cop figure out the way we were going? Any minute the station could be filled with waves of blue, coming to get us. Any minute now, any minute. I felt my lungs shrinking, grabbed by the hands of force and squished beneath their fingers.
“Grow a pair of balls, Lily.”
“I-I can’t breathe.”
My heart was racing with the train itself, who would make it to Lexington Avenue?
“Lily.”
I was battling my own. My own blood, my own breath.
“You’re okay, Lily. Just breathe, okay? In… and out. Would you rather be back in Josh’s place?”
The thought of our stepfather didn’t help. I struggled to follow Ronnie’s instructions. A loud wham. Flashing lights all around us through the tunnel. Relentless movement everywhere. Unclarity over what awaits in the next stop. The chaos that ensues on a random Thursday afternoon.
“I don’t… I don’t want this Ronnie.” my lips formed.
“Don’t want what? What the hell are you talking about?”
“What the fuck are we doing?”
“You know damn well.”
“We are screwed, Ronnie. We are way over our heads.”
“We are not!”
“Where do we go from here?”
“We’ll leave at Penn.”
“Will we make it there?”
“Why wouldn’t we make it there?”
“Ronnie.”
“Lily.”
The doors flung open again, our gaze switching to them. Only to see a police officer come through. She looked off-duty, checking in on her phone. 50th Street. Two stops to go.
Ronnie’s eyes flickered with determination, her jaw set as she was clenching her teeth.
“We keep moving forward,” she said, her voice ringing with conviction. “And I ain’t going back to Josh’s.”
“I never said we should.” my voice choked up.
“Your face says otherwise, hon.”
I felt her gaze soften, but my vision was blurred from the tears and the panic, so I could have imagined it all as well.
“Please Lily, let’s leave them behind. Together.”
The sound of the subway metal groaned as the car twisted and turned. The smell of sweat, I have gotten used to by now.
I saw the cop lady from the corner of my eye. Still on her phone.
Between the muffled chatter of the passengers in the car, I told Ronnie “I don’t want to run away forever.”
42nd Street.
Ronnie looked as if she had nothing left to say.
I had nothing to say either.
The seconds felt like it dragged on to minutes. Minutes that were spent silent, the weight of our unspoken fears hanging heavy in the stale air of the subway between. A stark contrast to what our life was. Our slow life. Comfort of the liquid sun, oozing its way into our apartment’s balcony. The hours we spent yapping about girls we have known since we were little. Boys that broke our hearts every few weeks. Smells from every corner of the world kitchen, downstairs neighbours’ Kenyan my favourite. Those Sunday mornings when Mrs Laurent gave her weekly violin lessons, somehow being able to cure any hangover Ronnie had from the prior night. Overviewing LaGuardia, a true privilege it was. To watch airplanes coming and going. Landing and taking off. Going up and going down.
I looked up to Ronnie, searching for some type of guidance on her pale face. A glimpse of what is in store for us. Were we meant to take off? Fuck, in this way even? The city was above us, waiting. Were we ready to land? Were we flying blindly? Were we making a mistake? Shit, we were making a mistake, weren’t we? What was the meaning of all this? Remember what we were fleeing from. Let every twist and turn of the subway be a reminder. Swinging left and right just like Josh. Just like him. Left and right. Like his hand. Left and right. Dickhead. That fucking idiot.
The doors slid open with a hiss like his, inviting us to step out. One last time.
Penn Station.
