Slide by Garrett Leigh Page A

the first time we’d showered together. It was a Monday morning and we were both in a rush, but it turned out to be the perfect way to start the day.
    In my pocket, my cell phone vibrated and pulled me from my dirty daydreams. My heart skipped when I saw Pete’s name.
    Gonna be late. P.
    I put the phone away and grinned, but my smile quickly fell when I chanced a glance at the clock. It was only just midday and it would be hours before I saw him. Sighing, I pulled out my sketchpad. The clock was no longer my friend, and I’d lost any inclination I had to feign interest in my surroundings.
    The hours passed slowly. There was a brief lunch break, but after that it was back to the classroom for another three hours of tedious boredom. It was dark outside by the time the instructor let the class go. I got up and filed out into the corridor. My stomach growled. There were some vending machines at the far end, so I put my coat and bag on the bench beside them and dug in my wallet for a dollar. The candy bar had just dropped when I heard the clang of a metal bucket behind me. I spun around and found myself face to face with a haggard old woman and a spreading puddle of bubbly water. The noise I’d heard was the bucket she’d knocked over.
    The woman smiled apologetically and stooped, reaching for her mop. “I’m sorry, dear. My fingers aren’t as nimble as they used to be. I can never keep hold of this damn pole.”
    I was confused by her apology, but seeing she wasn’t actually capable of bending far enough to reach the mop, I stepped over the puddle and retrieved it for her. “It’s okay. There you go.”
    The woman thanked me and shuffled off. She left the puddle behind, and when I picked up my coat, I realized what she’d been apologizing for. I’d been careless when I’d thrown the jacket down and left it hanging off the bench, and into the old woman’s murky puddle. The collar was soaked with dirty mop water. I shoved the candy bar in my mouth and retrieved it with a heavy sigh. Wet or not, I needed to put it on; the college was too far from home to be outside without a coat on.
    I walked quickly to the L and boarded the train just seconds before the doors closed. It was jammed full of commuters making their way home, so I elbowed my way to the back of the car and leaned against the wall. I closed my eyes as the train lurched along. I was tired from a long day of doing nothing, but my mind was still buzzing with all things Pete. My lips twitched as a smirk began to form. I was a stick in the mud when it came to topping, but that didn’t mean I didn’t like to get down and dirty in other ways, and after the torturously long day I’d had, my imagination was enough to make the journey fly by.
    About halfway home, a jolt on the tracks abruptly roused me from my daydreams. I inhaled sharply as my back slammed into the carriage wall. I blinked a couple of times and tried to focus, but it didn’t work… something felt off. My vision stayed blurred and the car tilted around me. I clenched my hands and tried to breathe slowly, but the crushing sensation in my chest turned quickly to a sharp pain. It hurt, really hurt, and the train car suddenly seemed unbearably small.
    No one looked up as I lurched away from the wall and pushed past them to get to the exit. I reached the doors just as the train pulled into a station. It wasn’t my stop, but I didn’t care. I found myself running as my feet hit the platform, and I kept running until I hit the open air.
    Somehow, my legs took me away from the crowded station and to a bench outside a convenience store. I sank down onto it and put my head in my hands, then reached for my cigarettes. The scar on my hand caught the sunlight as I raised my arm. I fought the nausea as it rolled. Puking would only bring temporary relief, and there was nothing worse than dry heaving in the street. I let the box of cigarettes slip through my fingers and wrapped my arms around myself, but