A stranger who can make the world fit James Duran again.
Excerpt
The only difference between that Monday morning and every other
Monday morning was that James had already crossed the line in
the sand. The train wasn't taking him to Double Door Publishing,
where he had spent the past twenty-five years of his life setting
typeface and preparing items for the printing process. The train
wasn't taking him anywhere. But he was going to ride it one
final time before he jumped in front of it.
James positioned himself in the seat that the man always chose
when he entered the train car. As soon as he saw James, he stopped
short with eyes slightly widened.
"Oh, I'm sorry." James smiled. "I think I took
your seat."
"No, no. It's fine. My name isn't on it."
James turned in his seat, as if to check. "It might be.
What's your name?"
"Chad. Pennington."
"Nope, no Chad Pennington. But I'll move anyway."
"You don't have to do that," Chad protested.
"I don't mind." James slid to the empty seat to the
left. "I've seen you on here before."
"You mean, you've seen me every morning?" Chad asked
lightly as he sat down. The train lurched to life, the engines
making a familiar, high-pitched whine.
"That is what I meant. I wanted to introduce myself sooner,
but you've always seemed so busy."
"Busy?"
James nodded at the folded New York Times. "Reading."
"Actually, I only pretend to read this."
James arched his brow. "Why would you pretend to read
it? Are you trying to impress somebody?"
"I'm trying to hide the fact that I read this." Chad
lifted the flap of the newspaper, revealing a startlingly explicit
yet whimsical book cover. A dark-haired man held another man
in the clinch, while fires raged behind them. It looked like
a gay version of Gone With the Wind. White text on the front
informed James that the book was actually titled Gone to the
Movies.
"What is that? Gay porn?"
Chad laughed. "No, it's not."
"What is it?"
"Art."
"That's usually how people justify porn."
"True, but this is actual art. Well, parody. They're all
homoerotic parodies of movie posters."
"Homoerotic?"
"Mostly."
"I don't hear that word much in everyday conversation."
"People don't use it enough. But I could avoid using it
again, if you'd like."
James shook his head. "No, I don't mind it. You look at
homoerotic pictures every morning on the way to work?"
"Not every morning. Sometimes I'm looking at actual gay
porn."
James laughed. The sound startled him. It was rusty and unrecognizable,
and it hurt his throat a little bit. But he didn't mind. In
fact, he wouldn't mind another one.
"I take it you don't read gay porn on the morning train?"
Chad asked.
"No, but…" James checked his watch. Seven-thirty-one.
In less than twenty-four hours, this conversation wouldn't matter.
Connie's anger wouldn't matter. The endless psychological warfare
that had characterized every moment of every day wouldn't matter.
The fact that he had no marketable skills and no future didn't
matter. He already felt palpable relief, and he was still almost
twenty-four hours away from that release. "I don't really
need to read it. I have my own porn reel playing every morning."
"Nothing unusual about that. I mean, don't most guys have
porn reels playing in their minds?"
"That's what I've heard. I'd be interested in finding
out how many of those mental porn reels star you, though."
James
Duran no longer fits in the world. At forty-five years old, his
wife has left him, and his job as a pre-press technician was not
just downsized, it was completely eliminated. With no reason to
stay in the world, James makes plans to jump in front of the train
that took him to work every day for twenty-five years. But before
he does, he's finally going to introduce himself to the stranger
who takes the same train. The stranger who has gorgeous eyes and
a wonderful smile.