The 4:30 AM Train

They didn’t talk often; though Zoé had woken up to dozens of voicemails from Liza since she left home 25 months prior. Zoé could never bring herself to answer the phone or listen to her dear cousin’s sweet voice… so the voicemails piled up.

Yesterday morning, she’d managed to listen to the first one. It was quick, 15 seconds, enough to make her miss Liza. Before she could click on the second one, her phone buzzed. Liza’s smiling face lit up the ceiling.

This time Zoé answered.

“Zoé? Are you there? I was going to leave you a voicemail, but if it’s you, please—“

Liza and Zoé had grown up together, born eleven months apart. They were close enough that Liza nursed a broken-heart for over a year after Zoé stormed out of the family home and onto the first train out of the city.

Still, this could not be the reason for the profound sadness in Liza’s voice. She sounded worlds away from the woman on the voicemail.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Didn’t you get my voicemails?”

“No!— I mean, yes I did. Only, I haven’t listened to them all. Just the first one—“

“You don’t know then?”

“Know what?“

“My dad is dead. We sat down for breakfast yesterday morning, only he never even made it out of bed.”

“Oh Liza, I’m sorry—”

“The wake is on Friday, the funeral is Saturday—“

“I don—“

“No, I have no one left. I need you here, please. Fuck them all! I can’t do this without you.”

They talked for a little while after. Logistics. When Liza began to apologize for everything, Zoé excused herself quickly. She hung up the phone and purchased a ticket back home.

4:20 AM

A man in a black overcoat with a briefcase in hand sits in the window seat across the aisle. He smiles at Zoé before pulling out his laptop. Zoé wonders what he could be working on, but quickly loses interest. She attempts to read the second paragraph of her book, but can’t make sense of the first couple of sentences. Zoé looks at her watch, but doesn’t register the time.

There’s a baby sleeping in a carrier in the seat next to Zoé. He stirs and mews; but doesn’t cry. The man with the briefcase compliments Zoé on the “handsome gentleman” and inquires his name. Nathaniel. Ahh and how old is he? Zoé responds,”Three months tomorrow.” She stifles a laugh, and the man gives her a confused look. She turns away from him, taking a moment to steel herself. The absurdity of a random stranger knowing her son’s name before her own parents know of his existence is a little too much for her.

She laughs until the breaths starts to stick to her throat and her nose goes numb. She coughs a sort of choking sound and furiously taps her tingling fingertips to their respective thumbs. Her mother’s proud, wide face flashes behind Zoé’s closed eyelids and she wonders what she’ll say. If her mother, Constanza, will fall to her knees and weep at her feet, pleading with Zoé to tell her where she failed as a mother. “What did I do wrong to make you… like this?” Zoé squeezes her eyes shut, an inadequate protection against the incoming onslaught of memories.

A voice from the speakers announces the closing of the train doors. The walls of the train begin to close in, and Zoe’s breath grows shallow.

Zoé knows her father, Heriberto, will look down at her with well-hidden disgust. He won’t bother saying a word. She focuses on the shadows her father’s furrowed eyebrows make over his deep, hazel eyes; remembers how his eyes used to gleam when he looked at her. How could she face him again?

Her father’s family, with their appraising gazes, wouldn’t even bother whispering. They’d point and shake their heads in disappointment. “Tsk.” Her grandmother would stare down her wide nose and scowl.

Should she grab Nathaniel and run out of the train and never look back? Liza would forgive her; she’d have to. Yet some part of her knows that isn’t true before she finishes the thought. Liza needs me, Zoé tells herself, repeating it like a mantra.

Time is running out.

Nathaniel stirs in his carrier— his back arches and he gives a sharp wail. Final call. Zoé reaches forward, pats him twice on the chest before releasing the buckle. Her phone rings as she lifts the wriggling infant out of the carrier. Zoé settles into her seat, wipes the sleep from his face, then rests him on her chest. She picks up the phone, sees it’s Liza calling.

“Hey, did you make it onto your train?”