\nOn the other side of the train station just west of the city, the love of her life was buying a bouquet of flowers. She had never seen him before, but she knew that he was the love of her life. She knew it like she knew the sun rose in the East.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe love of her life finished the transaction at the florist and began walking to a platform, bouquet in hand. It struck her then that they were not going to be on the same train: he was going away from the city, and she was going to it. She walked towards him, first, and then ran, touching him on the shoulder as she caught up to him. He turned. His eyes were the darkest brown she had ever seen.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou\u2019re the love of my life,\u201d she told him. His eyebrows raised, then lowered. She watched her statement click into place somewhere, and he smiled. It was the most beautiful thing in the world.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThen you must be mine,\u201d he said. He looked at the bouquet in his hands, and held it out towards her. \u201cI knew I bought these for a reason.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe took the flowers. They were pink roses.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI got a discount on them because I work there. Tuesdays and Thursdays.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIsn\u2019t it strange to have a flower shop in a train station?\u201d she said.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNot at all.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe looked at him. What a wonderful thing it was, she thought, to disagree, to love, to hold discount pink roses from the train station flower shop in her hands. In the distance, a train whistle sounded.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou\u2019re going away from the city,\u201d she said.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cGive me your number, so I can call you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nAnd he wrote down his number on a scrap of paper in a thin and tilting hand. The train pulled in as he handed the paper to her, and she folded it and put it in her pocket so it would not blow away.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cGoodbye,\u201d she called as he got on the train.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cGoodbye,\u201d he called to her from the window. As the train pulled away he leaned out so he could see her, the love of his life, and his tie whipped in the wind.\n<\/p>\n
\nShe went back to the city on a train of her own. She did not have to walk far after exiting the train\u2014 her apartment was right next to the stop. From her top-floor window she could see the whole city lit up beneath her, and the golden dome of the station with the dark bodies of trains rushing in and out. When she got home the first thing she did was fill a vase with water and arrange the roses in it. The second thing she did was call the number in her pocket from a yellow corded phone hung on the wall. She sat at her little card table near the phone and stared at the roses as the phone rang.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThe number you dialed does not exist,\u201d said a recording of voice after one aborted ring. She dialed again. Again: \u201cThe number you dialed does not exist.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe hung up and left the room, returning a moment later with a copy of the yellow pages. She cracked open the book, ran her fingers down a page, and dialed again.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHello,\u201d she said. \u201cIs this the florist’s shop in the train station outside the city?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIt is,\u201d a man said.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI was wondering if you had any information about an employee who works there Tuesdays and Thursdays. He has dark brown eyes and he bought roses from your shop just a few hours ago.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe listened. She reached for the notepad and pen she kept on the table and wrote down a number.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThank you,\u201d she said, and hung up. She dialed the number from the notepad.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHello,\u201d she said. \u201cIs this the train station outside the city?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYes!\u201d chirped a voice.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI was given your number from an employee at the florist’s shop inside the station. I was wondering if you had any information about a specific passenger who got on the train leaving the city this afternoon.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThe voice receded into itself. \u201cI don\u2019t think we\u2019re supposed to give out information on specific passengers.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe waited. The voice spoke again, even meeker this time.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIf you were from the police we maybe could give you a list of names of the passengers.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nA pause, a moment too long.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAre you? From the police?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNo,\u201d she said, realizing that even if she was, she had never asked his name and therefore the list would be of no use. \u201cBut he is the love of my life, if that counts for anything.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe could hear papers shuffling on the other end, the stutter of a keyboard.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThe love\u2014 well, if\u2014 let me see if I can\u2014 I\u2019m sorry, you said he worked at the flower shop? In the station?\u201d she said.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThe typing sounds paused. There was the tap tap tap tap tap of someone deleting something, and then the typing started up again. Another pause.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cDo you remember the name of the flower shop?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe told her. Another cycle of typing.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cUm. I think, um, we have no record of this flower shop in the station. Or any other flower shop in the station.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cBut he was buying flowers from it. Just earlier today. Are you sure it\u2019s not just closed?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe could practically hear the girl\u2019s hands wringing. \u201cYes. I am pretty sure. To be closed it would need to\u2014 it would need to exist.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe reached out and thumbed one of the rose petals. It was as cool and soft as skin.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWell. Thank you for your time.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe hung up without waiting for a response, and heaved the yellow pages to the U section. Dialed again. A man picked up on the other end before the first ring had finished.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThis is the railway union.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHello. I was wondering if you could tell me the name of the conductor on the train to the city that left this afternoon. I want to know if he\u2019s seen somebody.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cLeft from where?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe told him the name of the town.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNo station in that town,\u201d he said, like he was glad of it.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI was just there earlier this afternoon. I took a train into the city from it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhere\u2019d you get off?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe told him the name of the city.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cOnly lines that go there are the North and East lines.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThen where did I meet the love of my life?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNever liked riddles,\u201d he said, and hung up.\n<\/p>\n
\nShe leafed through the yellow pages. Then she picked up the phone and dialed. She stood and walked towards her window, leaning a shoulder against the frame as the phone rang. The golden dome of the train station was gone. In its place was a dark circle of empty space, like the hole where a tooth has fallen out. A long strip of land, clotted with dirt and wildflowers, had replaced the train tracks. She heard the phone pick up and spoke before the person on the other end had a chance.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIs this the governor of the city?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou have the governor\u2019s assistant,\u201d a young man\u2019s voice said. The pride he felt in his role\u2014 the governor\u2019s assistant!\u2014 was audible.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWell,\u201d she said, staring at the empty strip of earth feeding deep into the sparkling city, \u201cI was going to call to tell you that the railroad union missed a station. But that doesn\u2019t appear to be an issue anymore. Thank you for your time.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWait,\u201d the governor\u2019s assistant said. \u201cRailroad union? I thought we ended\u2014 I thought that one dissolved decades ago. Is this a new development? Is there anything else you can tell us about it?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI don\u2019t think so, I\u2019m afraid,\u201d she said absently. She looked out the window and wondered where the love of her life was at that very moment, whether he was making dinner or reading or even staring eastward out a window of his own, wondering the same thing as her. She realized that the governor\u2019s assistant was still speaking, something about reelection and campaign promises and the profound value of small donations from citizens like you. She hung up, returned to her yellow pages, and dialed again. The phone rang seven times before somebody picked up.\n<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThis is the Census Bureau.\u201d She heard the sound of gum being chewed.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHello. Do you think it would be possible for you to send me a copy of the most recent census for the city?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhich one?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe told her. The woman at the Census Bureau asked her to repeat the name and she did. There was the sound of papers shuffling.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou positively sure that\u2019s what it\u2019s called?\u201d the woman asked.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019m sure,\u201d she said.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIf you ask me I think you\u2019re barking up the wrong tree. I\u2019m not seeing records for anyplace anywhere with that name. How\u2019s that for a mystery?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThanks for your help.\u201d She heard a click\u2014 the woman at the Census Bureau had hung up. She left the phone on the table and turned again towards the window, where the glittering city below had vanished, replaced with glittering stars above. Where there once had been buildings, meadows stretched out as far as she could see. The tall grass, lit only by moonlight, seemed to breathe in the wind. She stood and watched it for a long time, then picked up the phone. It was easy to find the number she was looking for in the yellow pages. Most of the pages were blank.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe man from the federal government was disappointed to tell her that her state did not exist. The woman from the United Nations let her know that her country didn\u2019t, either, and asked her gently if she had been feeling well recently. When she called God, she did not hear anything but the dial tone.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cDidn\u2019t You make this world in seven days?\u201d she asked anyway.\n<\/p>\n
\nThrough the dial tone she heard: Yes, but not the world you are in.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhat world am I in?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThe dial tone droned on. It is not one that I know about.\n<\/p>\n
\nWhen she turned to the window nothing was there anymore. It wasn\u2019t that she was seeing something that looked like nothing, but rather she was seeing nothingness itself. It looked like, she thought, the space in between dreams. She opened her window and stuck her hand into the nothingness and it vanished as if behind a screen. It didn\u2019t feel like anything at all. She flipped through the yellow pages again, but every page was blank.\n<\/p>\n
\nFor the first time that evening she was not sure of what to do. She got up and made a cup of tea, then sat at the table and arranged the roses. Steam rose from her mug.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe phone rang and she picked it up.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHello,\u201d the love of her life said. His voice was just the same as it had been in the morning. She knew his eyes would be too.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou found me,\u201d she said.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYes. I\u2019m outside, waiting for you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe thought of the nothingness outside, her hand vanishing. \u201cI have your roses on my table,\u201d she said.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cCome join me,\u201d he said.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhere are you?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI told you,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019m outside the front of your apartment. I\u2019m looking up at your window. You\u2019ve got the light on. Yours is the only apartment with the light on.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe walked to the window, holding the phone. She looked down and saw nothing. The nothingness\u2014 it was less a visual experience and more a physical one.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cCome inside,\u201d she said. \u201cI can make tea. We can sit at the table together.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThat sounds wonderful,\u201d he said, but she did not hear him move. She looked down outside her window, into the space where he would be if there was something there and not nothing. She looked back at the roses, at her cooling cup of tea, and she began to cry.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019ve been trying to reach you all day,\u201d she said, though it felt like it had been much longer than a day. \u201cI\u2019ve talked to so many people who aren\u2019t you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI know,\u201d he said. They were silent for a long time. She could hear him breathing on the other end. Eventually she set the phone down on the windowsill. She put on her nicest shoes and her best coat and took a long empty elevator to the first floor of her apartment. When she opened the door of her building there was nothing there except the concrete steps in front of her. She took one step, then another. At the bottom of the stairs she turned and looked up to see her phone resting on her windowsill, bathed in the light from her apartment, and she imagined that she could still hear him breathing on the other end.\n<\/p>\n
\nShe looked forwards again, and stepped into the darkness.\n<\/p>\n
Shiloh Miller is a writer from North Carolina. Her work has been published in Peregrine Mag and The Science in Society Review, and is forthcoming in Sliced Bread and SPORES. She currently attends the University of Chicago.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
On the other side of the train station just west of the city, the love of her life was buying a bouquet of flowers. She had never seen him before, but she knew that he was the love of her life. She knew it like she knew the sun rose in the East. The love …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":107965,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,20138],"tags":[20139],"class_list":["post-140353","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-52-summer-2024","tag-the-colored-lens-52-summer-2024","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140353","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/107965"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=140353"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140353\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":140354,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140353\/revisions\/140354"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=140353"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=140353"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=140353"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}