You’re not going back, are you.
I hadn’t meant to say it. Not yet anyway. I had meant to save it for later in the trip, after we reminisced about our shared childhood and dozed off to the rocking of the train. I had meant to ruin the peace at the end of our trip, not the beginning of it.
KNEES TOGETHER BY HANNAH LACKOFF 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 16
When I got on the train that night, I knew it was over. I knew this was the last time I would be riding with him, and I knew that this time we wouldn’t chicken out from the cold and the uncomfortable plastic seats, but we would stay buried beneath the city all night long, only emerging from our metal beds in time to see the last sunrise.
Asher got there first, because he is perfect.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey yourself.” He handed me a token. “I bought you a token.” I rolled its smooth metal edges between my fingers.
Because it was our last time, I did not say, “I can afford it myself, thanks”, I did not say, “I don’t need your charity”, I did not say, “Let me pay you back”.