Free Last Stop by Peter Lerangis Page B

platform let out a welcoming cheer. The man blinked. Eyes adjusting, he stepped through the door. His cheeks were streaked with tears.
    The crowd swallowed him up, patting him on the back, hugging him, kissing him. He almost lost his cap. His business card floated to the ground.
    Then the door closed. Again, blackness inside.
    The train lurched forward, then stopped. The overhead lights flickered on, harsh and greenish-white.
    “We are experiencing difficulty…” blared the conductor’s voice over the speakers.
    The train began to move. The overhead lights winked, then went off again.
    I kept my eyes on the station. The jubilant crowd was now leading the man up a flight of stairs. Except for one person. One man standing alone, peering at our train.
    A scream caught in my throat. I grabbed at the rubber pads between the door and tried to yank them open, even though the car was moving.
    That was when my father saw me. And he waved, until the train rolled out of sight.

Sometimes it just has to happen.
    And that makes you ready.

2
    D AD.
    The word exploded in my brain.
    It couldn’t be.
    But it was. It was Dad. He’d seen me.
    My dad was alive.
    SMMMACK! SMMMACK! SMMMACK!
    I was banging on the door with my fists now.
    “WAIT!”
    My own voice, piercing and raw.
    People were staring at me now. The guy with the garlic breath edged away. His face looked curdled. His eyes were darting nervously from me to the window.
    The station was out of sight. Grimy subrail walls sped by, illuminated by the dull glow of an occasional lightbulb.
    “Next stop, Deerfield!” the conductor’s voice blared over the speakers.
    A dream.
    Is it possible to have dreams when you’re wide-awake?
    Of course.
    Stress. That’s what it was.
    Stress was making me see things. Like the guy in the blue shirt.
    Maybe I was going crazy.
    My friends definitely thought so. I could see that in their stunned expressions.
    The train was slowing again as we approached the Deerfield Street station. One stop short of my own.
    I felt humiliated. I had to get out. I was close enough to walk the rest of the way home, no pain.
    When the doors opened, I slipped out. I sped through the station at a dead run, took the stairs three at a time, and dashed outside into daylight. Bright, clear daylight.
    I was running across Deerfield at the corner of Orpheus when I heard a familiar voice cry out, “David!”
    Heather. What was she doing here?
    Honnnnnnk!
    A car swerved by me, its brakes squealing.
    I jumped back, colliding with a streetlight.
    Heather raced up to me. “Are you okay?”
    No. I couldn’t tell her. It was crazy. I needed to be alone.
    “Fine,” I grunted, turning away. “See you.”
    “David, what is wrong with you?” Heather asked.
    “Nothing!” I snapped. “Why are you following me around?”
    “Uh, I live in your building, remember? I have to walk in this direction.”
    “You didn’t have to get off a stop early.”
    “Excuse me for being concerned? I just saw the quietest guy I know—you—banging on a subrail door and screaming like a maniac. So, being your friend, I ran after you, just in time to save your life from a speeding motorist, and this is the thanks I get?”
    What luck. Just when I need privacy, a little bonding time with my sanity, I am tailed by the motormouth of Franklin City Middle School.
    “It was a joke,” I said.
    “Yelling ‘wait’ to the empty subrail track?”
    “To shake up the commuters. Make them think I’m a total filbert, so they’ll move away and give me room.”
    “Liar.”
    I turned in the direction of Wiggins Street, toward home.
    “Face it, David,” came Heather’s voice behind me. “You need to talk. You’re having a tough time…I mean, psychologically, with your dad and all—”
    I stopped in my tracks. “What does my dad have to do with it?”
    “Nothing…I’m just saying…you haven’t been yourself since…you know…”
    “So isn’t that my business? Isn’t it my business if