You are gonna die young and nobody will notice.

The only times she could ever remember being happy were the times spent singing with Sean, their two souls laced into the only hope they could ever find in the dark days pressed upon them.

WHAT LIES AT THE CORE BY MEIRA BIENSTOCK 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 57

He sat dead in his wheelchair, keeled over, his hands folded in his lap. The one leg he had was bent at an off angle beneath the chair. It had no shoe but wore the gray thick padded sock belonging to the psychiatric ward. The blue bill of his hat stuck out through his bulky gray coat. Nobody could see his face except for the thick circular glasses fogged up.

How he had gotten himself on the 4 train in this snow storm with the elevator frozen and jammed shut from the bitter chill sweeping across New York City, no one could fathom. But Sean Hubert sat dead at the end of the cart, stinking up the whole thing, and no one dared go close.

Abe was riding the 4 train home from work. He noticed people kept on exiting the cart in front of him and were holding their nose in his cart. He saw Sean in the corner, lifeless. He bent down at Sean’s side.

“Sean! Sean! It’s Abe, wake up!” He said, his voice shrill.

Abe who was seven feet tall with frizzy black hair sticking out everywhere like he was permanently shocked. Abe who wore a gray piece of fabric and tied plastic around his bare feet. Abe was walking through the subway carts, belting out in his baritone voice holiday tunes. “Merrrrrry Merrrrrry Christmassssss!” he roared, as person after person threw dollars into his upturned maroon wool hat. Rumor had it (according to New Yorkers) Abe was a Broadway actor and was only doing this subway singing as a part-time gig. Abe met Sean Hubert 15 years ago back when they were teenagers in New York City.

Back then Nancy used to be part of the crew, Nancy with her long dreads and pack of tarot cards which she shuffled back and forth between her sticky hands. Nancy would read people’s fortunes on the train and some people believed her, most didn’t. She read their palms and told them of their strengths and weaknesses, and those looking for answers, they put money in her coin bag.

She turned to Sean one day, and in her raspy Brooklyn accent which drawled out vowels in a dark tone, she said, “You are gonna die young and nobody will notice.”