Hello! This is the first installment of the twenty-one chapter debut novel In the Pines by Wells Thompson (that’s me). I’ll be publishing one chapter a week on Substack until it’s all up. I hope you enjoy the ride!
Kayla’s legs finally fell still as the vibrations from the tracks dissipated, the ringing in her ears long since silenced and the wind stiffening around her. It took her a moment, maybe more, before she realized that she’d been holding her breath the entire time she watched the train pass through the station. When her lungs caught the air, it jarred her awake and even the drab colors of the concrete seemed bright as her eyes widened and her fingers tightened around the arm of the bench. That was the third train she’d watched come and go. She didn’t know why. She knew she needed to be on it, needed to get out of here, now, but when the doors opened she sat and stared until they closed. She felt stone dead, like a statue on a hill, waiting for something to happen but unable to react when it did.
Maybe it was the absurdity of it. Why did Little Rock have a train station anyway? This wasn’t a large city, few people come and, sadly, even fewer go. She figured they’d want to keep as many people trapped here as they could. She didn’t know who they were, but they were behind everything, she expected. They ran the trains and they spoke on the TV and they kept Kayla’s ass glued to the bench when all she wanted to do was walk onto the train and let it carry her wherever it would. When she thought about they, she pictured a crusty white man at the head of a long table making decisions no one dared to contradict, even when they knew he was wrong. He wore a hat to hide his bald spot, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. He knew he would die here, so he decided that everyone else had to suffer with him, trapped in this dead town with its barren freeways and half empty shopping centers, day by day until the end.
She was being dramatic, she already knew—even by her own standards, the conspiracy barely made sense. There didn’t need to be a committee to make people stay put. Families do a good enough job of that already, and this place isn’t so horrible that it becomes intolerable. In a way, that made it dangerous. You could accidentally spend your whole life here, silently rotting, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow chipping away at your ambitions until you couldn’t imagine leaving because it’s all you’ve ever known. Kayla was only sixteen, but she already knew that moving was akin to amputation.
There were other reasons she hadn’t gotten on the train, there must have been. She imagined it smelled like homeless people and burning orange peels, that there were those who somehow made their living by begging and shouting and generally bothering others. Of course, here there wouldn’t be nearly enough people to panhandle. She examined those around her, all waiting patiently for the next train to come. 4:28, the sign promised, that’s when the next one would arrive. She saw a man leaning hard against a pillar, with a big beard and sunglasses and a hat that gave him a look she had only seen in detective movies, on men that thought they were unique but only ever blended into the background. She couldn’t help but think of a reason he might be here; any normal person would have flown—it’s faster and not even that much more expensive. But it’s easy to track a flight and no one gives a damn about the train. He must be cheating on his wife. She read that in a story once. Well, she pretended to read it and her English teacher lectured her about the meaning of it all.
She glanced around at the other people sitting in various seats around the station, no one making eye contact, but occasionally taking in the surroundings and the people they’d likely share the car with. Then Kayla looked down at herself, wondering what they thought when they looked at her; a teenager with frayed hair falling on her dingy cardigan, longer than her shorts. The frozen November air breathed across her legs and she deeply regretted not doing laundry sooner. This and a swimsuit were all she had left after putting off doing a pretty basic list of chores for weeks. They were possibly the least practical thing Kayla owned for the season, but she didn’t have time to consider the weather before she left. It had to be then, not a moment later. Still, it was cold.
She instinctively tried scratching her right arm and felt the coarse, wooly mold of the cast wrapped around it. The itch wasn’t leaving as she picked, feeling the threading come loose under her short nails. Each time one came loose, it released the slightest odor of alcohol and lemon scented cleaner and sharpie. The number the nurse had written down was almost unintelligible already.
The people in the station and the silence that befell them had come to an uneasy peace, it seemed. The throat clearing and uncomfortable shifting about had ceased and, in that moment, Kayla almost felt like she could fall asleep. Then it was agitated by the heavy, clopping footsteps of a girl with a frame too small to make them. Kayla saw the human noisemaker out of the corner of her eye and understood two things: One, had she met this girl at school, she would have bullied her mercilessly. Not because she was loud, but because she was pretty and uncertain, her head bowed low and shoulders slumped looking like a scared mouse being cornered by a fat house cat. Putting her in her place would have made Kayla feel larger than life, but there was no crowd of caddy freshmen to play to, so doing so now would have been pointless. There’s no joy in putting on a show without an audience, after all. Two, being about the same age and looking hopelessly lost herself, this girl would approach Kayla directly believing they had something, anything in common. Kayla avoided eye contact and shrunk into the seat, hoping the mousy girl would pass by quietly. She focused on one of the many dots in the concrete and hoped it would blink her out of existence or perception or both. It didn’t work, and the girl sat down on the left side of the bench, next to Kayla. Without asking.
“Did I miss it?” She asked.
Kayla pressed her mouth into itself in frustration and pointed at the clock, which had rolled back to 4:38, ten minutes delayed. She thought that maybe by doing as little as possible, it would preserve the comfortable silence, but it was already shattered. She couldn’t quite feel it yet, but she knew there was a weight building on her spine. God dammit. The girl shifted and adjusted something on her face, but Kayla forced herself not to acknowledge it.
“I’m Sarah,” the girl said, her eyes borrowing into the side of Kayla’s head.
Kayla didn’t move her head but glanced out the side of her frame of vision, one eye peering directly into her nose, the other at Sarah. It was hard not to see the purple bruise on her cheek, the swelling causing one of Sarah’s blue eyes to squint. The next thing she saw was her nose, short and cute, with just a small hole in the nostril where she might have been pierced. Kayla knew it was petty to pick apart her features, but she lived on petty and didn’t mind. Kayla’s own nose was crooked; she’d broken it riding some boy’s skateboard when she was thirteen and it pointed out so far it was hard to ignore in her own peripheral vision. She didn’t hate Sarah right then for having pretty blue eyes or a small nose though—she hated her for wearing jeans. Nice, thick jeans that protected against the freezing air. “Okay,” she finally said, “you’re Sarah.”
Sarah looked forward, away from Kayla and made her mouth as flat as she could. They both listened for the train and could hear nothing but the occasional rustle of clothing as people adjusted themselves as quietly as they could. Kayla noticed that Sarah was looking at her again. At her legs. Long and pale and covered in razor bumps and fucking freezing. They were indoors, why was the AC running? Why did she even own this pair of shorts? Did her mother buy them? Did she steal them from one of her friends? Did she even have any friends? Why didn’t she do laundry sooner?
Sarah took a breath. “I, um, I think it’s cool that you can pull that off. In this weather, I mean. It’s like, you’re pulling off the whole, ‘I don’t care,’ thing and I wish I could do that. Kind of.”
Kayla looked over at Sarah, who was switching frantically between looking at Kayla’s legs and her face. “The whole, ‘I don’t care’ thing?” she finally asked.
“I mean, your shorts. it’s cool that you wear them out like it’s no big deal.”
“Do you talk to humans often? Or are you really just trying your best?” Kayla sneered.
Sarah’s face went red even beyond where it was swollen and she looked like she was about to fold into herself. “You just…you look like you know what you’re doing. Like you’ve got it all together, you know? I mean, I don’t even know what I must look like.”
“You look like a lost puppy.” Kayla almost felt sorry for her, but she wasn’t about to be mistaken for someone to lean on. She was having enough trouble on her own, she didn’t need Sarah’s problems too.
Sarah rubbed her arm and swallowed. “Where is the train headed, do you know?”
“No.”
“Do you think it’s far away from here?”
“One can only hope.”
“I always wanted to travel. I told my mom I’d see the world, I just thought I’d get my license before I—”
“Can you please!” Kayla interrupted. Sarah looked hurt, then faced forward and didn’t say anything. Kayla couldn’t deny the relief of being left alone, but she still felt uneasy. As good as she’d become at it, she didn’t strictly like having to be a bitch. She tried to think of something else to say, but the damage was already done. “I’m just not in a good place and I’d like to be left alone, okay?” Sarah’s mouth collapsed as she shrunk and subtly nodded her head. The room was close to neutral in Kayla’s ears and, in a small, piercing call, she could hear the train coming in from so far away. Then she felt a shiver up her spine and something hit her brain that unsettled her and seemed to unravel through her arms and scalp. She’d let the weight build up for too long and now it was too late to stop it.
Kayla’s arm started itching, sharp and insistent. Again, she reached down to scratch it, but the harder she scratched at the cast, the more her fingers hurt and the more irritated the skin beneath it became. The red name smeared to nothing beneath Kayla’s fingernails but it did no good. She could feel something burrowing deep into her skin, unstoppable no matter how hard she tried to get at it until, frustrated, she grit her teeth, and slammed her arm softly against the bench. She didn’t know what she expected to happen, but she was counting on it to work somehow. When it didn’t, Kayla’s neck stiffened and nose scrunched up and she began hitting the bench harder. Her face started to itch, then her leg, then so many spots on her body that she couldn’t keep up and all the while her arm felt like it was prying itself away.
“Are you okay?” Sarah asked, a slight panic in her voice as she watched Kayla try and fail to handle the situation.
“I’m fine,” Kayla lied. She assumed she was lying, anyway, she hadn’t actually heard what Sarah said. She could feel the eyes on her as she tossed and turned, tears forcing themselves out of the far corners of her eyes.
“Is it the cast?” Kayla didn’t respond, didn’t even seem to notice, and continued writhing. She’d almost forgotten Sarah was there until she felt her arm get pinned down. Just as she was about to scream, it was gone. Euphoria swept over Kayla as the itch disappeared and a cold sweat breached her forehead. She almost said thank you, but she was too focused on the sensation of Sarah’s pen scraping her forearm under the cast. Suddenly all the annoyance and ill will vanished and she felt like she could kiss this mousy, bruised girl if she could move any muscle in her body.
“Shh. Is that better?” Sarah asked. And God it was. Kayla tried to say so but just as quickly something hit her in her stomach and she was uneasy. The stale air moved around her as a breeze kicked in and her legs started shaking; her throat was swollen and her head grew heavy and restless. She fought it for as long as she could until, without any clear warning, she started sobbing.
There was no control, no way to contain it. With each uncontrollable heave, her mind replayed every one of her lowest moments: Little miss perfect Emily Freeman calling her fat on the playground in kindergarten, spotting on her chair in the middle of history class in seventh grade, showing her mom a report card with a D on it and having it hang on the refrigerator for three months for everyone to see. She was so useless all at once and she could feel it again, the quiet on her shoulders oh, so clearly. It has to be today, she thought, it has to be today.
Sarah was probably more confused than anything, but leaned over slowly to embrace Kayla. She couldn’t get a good angle from the side, so it was awkward and clumsy, but Kayla leaned into her anyway, her freezing cheek clashing against Sarah’s blood warmed skin.
Suddenly they were standing together and, still wrapped in Sarah’s arms, Kayla realized the train had just pulled in and they walked across the threshold together. When Kayla sat back down, the worst part seemed to be over, the heavy ball in her stomach all but broken up, and she looked out the window so she could watch the station rush by and away. The man with the suitcase remained where he was, staring into the car, almost at Kayla and Sarah, refusing to look away. Kayla would have felt uneasy, but all she could feel at that moment was relief. She smiled and buried herself in Sarah, hugging her back and nuzzling into her, taking in her warmth, her damn warmth.
“Sarah?” Kayla finally mustered.
“Yes?”
“I’m Kayla,” she said. “Thank you.”
Sarah didn’t answer, but held her tight against her chest. Kayla could feel her breath get more ragged and she realized what they both most look like, bundled together and crying like children at a sleepover making up after some pointless fight. Kayla shivered, entwined with this girl, some form of new friend, and together, they watched the buildings and then the rice fields blur past them and didn’t let go of each other until they felt safe.
***
“Then we got to St. Louis and realized how screwed we were. Two teenagers with no possessions or homes or money. Luckily, my mother is a moron and never checks her credit card statement, so we weren’t starving…You don’t care, do you?” Kayla sighed and picked up one of the puzzle pieces scattered on the table. “Well, that’s how we met.”
“I remember,” the old man said, his eyes hidden behind empty black circles and his fingers laced in front of him. “You could probably skip ahead, though, it might be simpler that way.”
“It’s my confession and I’ll start where I damn well please.” Kayla placed the piece toward the center of the puzzle. The border was only halfway complete and there were tendrils of pieces creeping inward haphazardly. “And, frankly, I don’t know where else to start. Or what’s even relevant, for that matter. Besides, I have a train to catch, so I’ll make it quick enough.”
“This isn’t confession, Kayla, I’m not a priest and we’re not in a church.”
“You’re… something. And coffee shops are the closest I ever got to church, so, confession it is.” She let her fingers slip through her thick curls. “I feel like all I have are the pieces, fractured little moments. I don’t think I could give you a straight answer if I wanted to.”
“Maybe you should see a therapist, instead.”
“Tried it, didn’t turn out so well.” Soft trumpets rang on the speakers in the shop and Kayla fished for another piece.
“If it helps, you could skip straight to the incident.”
“Maybe in a minute. I wonder if Sarah goes to confession.”
“What would she have to confess?”
“Nothing. Nothing but whatever she imagines she’s done wrong. I catch her praying a lot lately.”
The old man drummed his fingers once or twice across the table. “Maybe she’s just taking in the sights.”
“I fucking hate you,” Kayla said, but the old man laughed with hollow air, hunched over to hide his smile. “She’s been taking in the sights of that particular church for five days, this is something else.”
“Do you think she’s wasting her time?”
“We’re all wasting time. You with me, her with church, me with this stupid puzzle.” She jammed the piece into an ill-fitting slot and chuckled as it popped out. “It was her idea to go traveling anyway, and now that we’re here… I have a train to catch you know, I’ll be gone before long.” The roasting smell of espresso beans surrounded them as the old man stroked his beard and Kayla leaned back in her chair. “What the hell are we doing here?”
The old man grunted, “You’re explaining to me how you, how did you put it? Fucked everything up.”
This story is considered a work in progress for legal reasons.
© 2024 Wells Thompson
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.