Page 33 of Leaving the Station

As it turns out, the first thing I have to do isn’t for me. It’s an apology months in the making.

I check my phone without holding my breath, without fear that texts will stream in from everyone I’ve ever cared about, telling

me that I failed them.

Because I never failed them. I failed myself.

By some miracle, there’s one bar of service holding on for dear life here in Eastern Washington, which I have to hope is enough

for what I’m about to do.

I head downstairs to one of the communal bathrooms. I can’t have anyone overhearing this conversation.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to bring Virginia’s words to the front of my mind. I can’t live my life for other people, and

that includes not running away from hard conversations.

“Zoe?” Alden asks when he picks up. He sounds dazed.

“Were you asleep?”

“No.” He clears his throat, and there’s a second of dead air.

I check my phone to see if the call dropped, but he’s still there, his name illuminated on my screen.

“I couldn’t,” he mumbles finally. “Sleep, I mean.”

“Oh,” I say. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.”

He’s speaking in a tone of voice he never used when we were dating.

“Okay, well,” I begin, “did you see my letter?”

“The one you slid under my door in the middle of the night before you vanished?” he asks. “Yeah, Zoe. I saw your letter.”

“So did you... ?” I don’t know how to ask this without making him even more pissed at me, but that ship has sailed. “Did

you think that we were still together? All this time that I haven’t been answering?”

“What? No,” he says, sounding shocked. “I assumed we’d broken up when you wrote me a letter saying you were a lesbian and

then disappeared in the middle of the night and stopped answering my texts and calls.”

I’m the worst.

This is true for many reasons but mostly due to the fact that I’m deeply relieved. I was worried that because of the way I

tried to end things, he’d think there was still a chance for us. That he’d try to rationalize, to bargain with me, to say

that what we had was good and we shouldn’t give it up because of the small matter of me not being attracted to him the way

he was to me.

But obviously he knew our relationship was over. All of this could’ve been clarified if I’d spoken to him, but I was too cowardly to answer his texts.

At least this solves one of my problems: we’ve been broken up while things were going down with Oakley. It still wasn’t fair

of me to not tell her about him, especially when she opened up to me.

But it wasn’t anything worse than that.

“Are you done?” Alden asks. “I should try to sleep.”

“Well—” I start, but he interrupts me.

“Wait, you know what, I actually have something I need to say.” He takes a shuddering breath. “Did you know you were gay when we were first dating?”

I nod even though he can’t see it over the phone. “Yeah,” I tell him. “I did.”

“Then why the fuck did you date me?”

Because you spoke so eloquently about Charles Dickens. Because you smiled widely at everything I said . Because you made the world seem big.

But I begin with the simplest explanation: “Because I liked you.”

“Oh.”

The call is filled with static, with his ragged breaths on the other end.

“Seriously, I thought that I could be bi or pan for a little while,” I tell him. “Because of how much I liked you.”

He makes a hm sound, and I take it as a sign to keep talking.

“And I did care about you, Alden,” I add. “That part of the letter wasn’t a lie.”

“Okay,” he says, his voice unreadable. “Well, thanks.”

“Wait,” I say, willing him not to hang up. “I need you to know that I’m not coming back to school after break. So you don’t

have to worry about running into me.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” he says quietly.

I don’t say anything. I let the silence just be.

After a moment, he says, “Is it wild that I still want to see you?”

“No,” I tell him.

Because he was my best friend, and one day, maybe years from now, I want to spend hours on the phone with him. I want to take

him out to coffee and laugh at ourselves, at the people we were when we were young and naive and on the cusp of adulthood

but not quite there.

“I really did like you,” I say. “Just probably not the way I should’ve.”

“Then in what way?” he asks.

“I’m trying to work that out,” I take a deep breath, and the Amtrak bathroom smell fills my nose.

I know I need to tell him the truth. I owe him that much. “I’m figuring things out with my gender. And maybe... I don’t

know. You were a fairly nonthreatening man. It wasn’t that much of a leap to think that if I was a little more masculine-presenting

I could look like... you.”

He was an easy escape from the thoughts I was having about my gender, about the way I wanted the world to perceive me. But

I don’t want to hide from that anymore.

“I don’t know whether to be honored or scared.” He laughs a little, and this time it’s more sad and less cold. “At least you didn’t try to wear my skin like a suit.”

“That was the next step,” I joke, and he laughs genuinely, the way he did during our late-night talks.

We’re quiet for a moment. Maybe it’s because we both know that this will be the last conversation we have for a while.

“Thank you, Alden,” I say finally.

“For what?”

“For helping me figure things out.”

He sighs, and it comes out like a crackle over the phone. “I wish I could’ve been more to you. I really, really liked you,

Zoe.”

“I know,” I tell him, tears falling now.

He takes another breath. “I loved you,” he whispers.

“I know,” I say again, my voice breaking.

How can two people be dating but have two entirely different ideas of what it means? He thought we had a future, and I thought

I was looking into my future. Into the person I could be.

“I’m going to go,” he says. “Probably not to sleep after this, but I might stare at the ceiling.”

I smile a little at that. “Have fun,” I tell him. “And Alden, I’m so sorry. Like, I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry

I am.”

“I’m sorry too, Zoe.”

With that, he hangs up.

I head back to the observation car and wipe my eyes on the sleeve of my flannel, just as the conductor lets us know that we’re

leaving the station.

Thursday, 3 a.m., Eastern Washington

The first thing I do is grab my beat-up paperback. I wanted to read on this trip, so I do. Living my life for me and all that.

The book with the war-torn woman facing backward is not bad, and once I’ve read a few chapters, I check that off my mental

to-do list.

And then I’m restless again. Because as much as I want to follow through on living my life for me for the rest of the train

ride, the only way I can do that is if I fix things with pretty much everyone.

I get up and stretch, pacing back and forth along the aisle of the observation car until I stumble upon a body and promptly

turn around.

Apologizing to Alden was just the beginning. I have a million people I want to speak to, but it’s the middle of the night,

so I start with a text.

The first is to the Tees.

Zoe: I know this is long overdue, but I just wanted to say you were right when you said I was different around alden. You all

were so nice to me, and I only hung out with you when he wasn’t available.

I think part of why I hung out with him so much was because I was working through some gender stuff

I just wanted to let you know that

and that I appreciate all of you

I don’t expect it, but Shelly responds almost immediately.

Shelly: ok we love gender stuff

Then, Rex chimes in too. They were the one who judged me most for my relationship with Alden, or at least that’s how I felt.

But they also made sure I was included, and drove me to get greasy late-night food more times than I can count.

Rex: that’s a lot

agree w shelly about the gender stuff

and I’m sorry about what I said too

like, very sorry

Shelly: I’d love to hang out with you when we get back from break

Rex: same!

I react with a heart to all their messages. It’s a small thing, but I hope the two of them know how much their words mean.

Me: I don’t think I’m coming back

Shelly: bummer

Rex: we should keep in touch!

Zoe: we should

Shelly: and if you ever want to talk about gender stuff...

Rex: literally

pretty sure all three of us can help you in that department haha

Zoe: thanks friends

I text Autumn separately after that, because even if she’s not awake, she deserves her own message.

Zoe: thank you for meeting up with me when I was at a low point

I’m grateful for you

There’s so much more I could say, but I leave it at that and return to Tetris.

This is what it could’ve been like if I’d chosen to stay, or if I had chosen Autumn and the Tees over Alden.

No , I tell myself, and the force of it is enough to jolt me awake.

This is what it is like, right now. The relationships I have don’t have to remain stagnant. They can change, the same way that I hope I can.

I pick up my book again and read for a while. When I check my phone, it’s past three in the morning, which means it’s past

six on the East Coast.

Randall gave me his number so I could contact him while I was on-shift—“if you have any questions about the plants”—but I

never used it.

There’s still service, so I steady myself, then tap his contact. I don’t bother leaving the observation car for the call,

since there’s no one in here who’s anywhere close to being conscious, and I wouldn’t mind if they overheard this one anyway.

The phone rings and rings and rings. I almost hang up; I’m sure that he won’t answer.

Finally: “Hello?”

I can hear the greenhouse whirring in the background, its own contained ecosystem.

“Randall?” He has me on speaker, and there’s a stream of water that sounds dangerously close to the phone.

“Zoe?”

“Yeah,” I tell him. “Hi.”

“What’s going on?” he asks. “Are you all right?”

He’s the first person who’s asked me that in a long while, and it takes everything I have not to break down on the phone.

But I owe him so much more than that.

“How’s the greenhouse?”

Well, I have to ease into it first.

“Everything’s good,” he says. “But when you’re not here it’s obvious how much work you do.” A pipe hisses in the background

and he curses at it.

“Oh yeah?” I’m smiling now, my face reflected back at me in the dark train window.

“I wanted to talk to you,” I say. “If that’s all right.”

“Of course,” he says, though the background noises would suggest otherwise. “Let me get to my office.”

I can tell when he’s there because he sighs as he sits in his desk chair.

“All right, what did you want to tell me?”

I don’t know how to start this conversation. It was almost easier with Alden, since I know that that phase of my life is in

the past. But I don’t want the greenhouse to be in the past. I want to keep taking care of plants, to talk to them, to watch them grow like a proud parent.

“I’m not coming back,” I tell him finally. “After the break.”

“Hm.” He doesn’t speak for a moment. “I have to say that I’m surprised. Your work in the greenhouse has been impeccable.”

“I’m failing all my classes,” I tell him, and try hard to not imagine his face on the other end. “The only time I really left

my dorm was to go to the greenhouse.”

“So that’s why you were available for so many shifts,” he says, and I laugh a little.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “That’s why.”

“Do you want to know something?” he asks. “I think the Amorphophallus might bloom.”

And that’s what does it. That’s what pushes me over the edge from vague sadness to tears streaming down my face. I’ve been

crying more on this train trip than I have since... maybe ever.

Taking care of that plant was the only thing I did with my whole heart all semester, and now he’s telling me that it may very

well bloom while I’m on the other side of the country.

“That spike you were seeing?” Randall says. “That was the start of the flower. The spathe should appear early next year, and

then it’ll bloom shortly thereafter.”

“I can’t believe I’m not going to see it,” I say quietly. “I spent every day with that plant.”

“Well, exactly,” Randall says, like it’s obvious. “I don’t know if this would’ve happened if you hadn’t been there, giving

it special attention all semester.”

I frown, though I know he can’t see me. “What do you mean?”

“I’m a firm believer that you have to nurture plants. They’re living things, after all. They don’t just need water and light and soil; they need love .” He sighs. “I saw the way you were with all the plants,” he says, and I can tell there’s a smile in his voice. “Everything

you did was out of love. The Amorphophallus is the healthiest I’ve ever seen it, and I know that’s because of you.”

“It is?” I ask quietly.

“Absolutely,” he says. “I should’ve told you more while you were here, but you made quite the impact on our little greenhouse.”

“Oh.”

“I have to go, Zoe,” Randall says. “I left the hose running in one of the tanks, but let’s talk after the holidays, okay?

I don’t want you to give up on botany, even if you’re not working in my greenhouse anymore.”

“I won’t,” I tell him, a promise.

When he hangs up, I curl into a ball on my seat and sob.

This time, though, it’s happy tears.

Well, mostly.

I fled campus before I could see the result of all my hard work—the corpse plant’s bloom. Sure, the bloom is known for smelling

like rotting garbage, but it would be my rotting garbage.

And even though I’m not going to see it, Randall told me that I helped make it happen. I made an impact on a living organism.

I left a mark on the world, even if that mark is only going to bloom for a week and fade away.

Maybe that’s what’s been missing this whole time, that understanding.

I made myself miserable at school, telling myself that because I didn’t know exactly who I was, I couldn’t be anything.

I didn’t want to be a doctor anymore, so I didn’t go to class. I couldn’t be a girl anymore, so I hid from the world.

But instead of doing those things, I could’ve chosen new classes or experimented with how I presented myself.

There were so many solutions I didn’t see at the time. I could’ve just deconstructed the boxes all together, taken them out

to be recycled.

And it’s possible I’ve done the same thing with Oakley. We never promised each other forever. We never even promised each

other a relationship, just a few days on a train. And I ruined it because I didn’t know exactly what we were. I worried that

if it wasn’t perfect, it couldn’t be anything.

Now Oakley’s going to get off the train somewhere in the middle of the state near Ritzville, and she’s never going to know

how much these past few days have meant to me. But I need her to know. I was being so precious about the time we had that

I forgot that there was more of it.

We still have a few hours left.

But first, I need to sleep.

So I go back to my coach seat, wrap my jacket around my head to drown out the snoring, and do just that.