“Nothing.”
“I always wish I could have lived in New York at the turn of the century,” he says.
“I’m glad I was able to live here at all.”
“Yeah. I don’t think I’d ever be able to leave New York,” he adds, his words causing another jolt of despair.
All morning we’ve been saying the wrong things to each other, when we’ve managed to say anything at all.
I’ve been studiously trying to bring up the future, while Capote keeps studiously avoiding it.
Hence the history lesson about Penn Station.
“Listen,” I begin.
“Look at the time,” he says quickly, nodding at the clock. “You don’t want to miss your train.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was trying to get rid of me.
“That was fun, wasn’t it?” I venture, shuffling in line to buy my ticket.
“Yeah. It was great.” For a moment he yields, and I see the little boy in him.
“You could come and visit me in Providence—”
“Sure,” he says. I can tell by the way his eyes dart to the side that it’s never going to happen, though. He’ll have found another girl by then. But if I weren’t leaving, maybe I could have been The One.
He has to find her someday, right?
I purchase my ticket. Capote picks up my suitcase as I buy copies of The New York Times and the Post. I won’t be doing that for a while, I think sourly. We find the escalator to my gate. As we descend, I’m filled with a blinding emptiness. This is it, I think. The End.
“All aboard,” the conductor shouts.
I place one foot on the step and pause. If only Capote would rush forward, grab my arm, and pull me back to him. If only there was a sudden blackout. If only something would happen—anything—to prevent me from getting on that train.
I look back over my shoulder and find Capote in the crowd.
He waves.
The trip to Hartford is three hours. For the first hour, I’m a puddle of misery. I can’t believe I’ve left New York. I can’t believe I’ve left Capote. What if I never see him again?
It isn’t right. It’s not the way it’s supposed to be. Capote should have declared his undying love.
“Should,” I suddenly recall myself saying to Samantha and Miranda, “is the worst word in the English language. People always think things ‘should’ be a certain way, and when they’re not, they’re disappointed.”
“What happened to you?” Samantha asked. “You had sex and now you know everything?”
“I not only had sex, I had an orgasm,” I said proudly.
“Oh, honey, welcome to the club,” Samantha exclaimed. And then she turned to Miranda. “Don’t worry. Someday you’ll have one too.”
“How do you know I haven’t?” Miranda shrieked.
I close my eyes and lean my head back against the seat. Maybe it’s okay about Capote. Just because something doesn’t last forever, it doesn’t mean it wasn’t meaningful while it did last. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t important.
And what’s more important than your first guy? Hey, I could have done a lot worse.
And suddenly, I feel free.