The train flew through the maze of tunnels beneath the city like a thousand-foot bullet down the barrel of a gun. In it were tired passengers, many sleeping after a day's work (or lack thereof) on the streets above them. The pale lights covered the entire cabin in an artificial glow that only added to the claustrophobia induced from the strangers in the car; the coughers that spit flem into their sleeves, the old women seeming to wear too many coats, which left their actual size to the imagination, the tall men standing around that always seemed to have their hand a little too close to their pockets. The worst thing about all of these strangers, or so Amelia thought, was that they all wanted to remain in their state. None wanted to be disturbed, but all seemed to curiously gaze around. If you caught their eye, God forbid, they'd turn away as if they'd seen an accident. Everyone preferred isolation over a conversation, which disheartened Amelia. She firmly stood by the fact that people prefer to build relationships with those around them; it seemed like the thing to do in a world as big and fascinating as the one she was living in. However, the others around her seemed to prefer the life of an android, leaving in earbuds and standing side by side with people they didn't know and would never know, relentlessly pounding their brains and eardrums with ultimately useless sounds and information.
"Amy, don't stare," her grandmother said and clasped over the top of her hand. Her name was Ethel, and she was sitting at the ripe old age of ninety-five. Her joints were puffed up like balloons with arthritis. Had Amelia seen this on any less familiar hands, she would've been reminded of the Swamp-Thing or the Creature From the Black Lagoon.
Amelia had fallen into one of her gazes of thought, pondering not only her own life but those of others. She was eleven, and that seemed to be the time of youth that the brain was most curious. Her look seemed to be set on a pale man in a black trenchcoat, but her eyes weren't actually seeing. Her imagination ran at top speeds with thoughts moving faster than the metro they were riding in.
"Sorry, Nana," she apologized. "I wasn't looking at him, I was just thinking." She looked up at her Nana's sweet old face. Her glasses sat on her nose like the big bubble T.V. screens that she had seen in the attic of her house in New Jersey. The thick lenses gave a false enlargement projected her beady but blue eyes, reminding her of an owl. Amelia knew that she was youthfully beautiful once-upon-a-time; her mother had shown her the pictures of grandma in her glory days. While those days were long past, Amelia could still see the shadow of her Nana's beauty sitting behind the wrinkles of her smile and the clear seawater that made up her eyes.
"I know you weren't, dear." She leaned in to whisper in Amelia's ear. "I just don't want any unwanted attention from the folks on this train. I'd like to keep the talking between you and me at this time of night." She gave a warm, wide-lipped grin but didn't reveal her teeth. Amelia had been in the room to see her grandmother's teeth sitting in a glass cup filled with water on her nightstand, next to the pill-bottles so large they looked as if they belonged in a cartoon. Amy had screamed and ran upon seeing the floating smile, not understanding, but then her mother had explained that she couldn't use her old teeth anymore and needed the dentures for her everyday life. She explained how useful they were to people her age who struggled with decay and frailty from the never-ending misery that was aging, and her Nana popped them in and out a few times for example. Watching this, Amelia was reminded of some of the raunchy comedies she'd seen as a kid (mostly Nickelodeon reruns) and laughed. They weren't scary anymore. They had become just part of Nana's way of life.
Amelia's thoughts jumped back from that tangent and into the subway car. "Every time I look up at someone, they look away from me," she started. "It's like they don't want to talk to me." She seemed discouraged, but her grandmother gave her a taut look that made her think of her father after he'd finished cutting the grass, looking back at the perfectly symmetrical lines he'd spent cutting into the turf like a baseball field for long, hot hours.
"It's for the better," Nana said. "None of these people have any business talking to my Amelia tonight."
They rode together in silence after that and Amelia lay her head into her Nana's side, letting her put her arm around her shoulders. She heard the sound of their thick winter coats sliding against each other. It reminded her of the sound of when she rubbed against the side of the Coleman tent she and her father took camping in the breezy warmth of late Spring. She longed for that season, the prelude to Summer, in which she would go to the ever-elusive Disney World. Her family had talked of the trip for months, and as it turned out, Nana would get to go too! She had been counting down the days since the announcement, done two school presentations on it, and knew that she only had four months and eleven days until they packed up the van and left. They were going on the first of June; her birthday of all days. It would be the gift to trump all gifts in her eyes.
Nana and Amelia had just gotten back from visiting her Papa Jack at his nursing home in the city. She was always uncomfortable in those places; seeing all of the old people in wheelchairs being pushed around by women in thick shoes and scrubs. They all had necks that seemed to just sit on their harshly arched backs, their purple-green veins running every direction over the surface of their arms and legs, their saggy, wrinkled muscles swaying as they moved their limbs. Most of all, Amelia was bothered by their voices. Their throats produced straggly, hoarse sounds that seemed to barely escape their throats to reach her ears. This made you have to lean in even closer to the older folks than you already were, which made her even more uncomfortable. The nursing home always smelled funny too, like when you first walk into a doctor's office. You can almost feel the sickness floating on the air, but the false security of the fragrances of Lysol and strong alcohol tried to coax you into believing that the place was uncompromised in its sanitation. They almost always failed to convince her, and she tried not to touch anything.
However, once Amelia got to Papa Jack, everything changed. His presence was one that cast a golden glow on everything surrounding him. His positivity seemed to radiate off of him in sheets, a phenomenon that Amelia had seen nowhere else and couldn't describe. He seemed in decent shape for his age, and even if that wasn't entirely true, he put on a show. She knew he was sick, but he'd walk around his room and attempt dance moves and, on occasion, try to pick Amelia up at his nurse's dismay. His voice wasn't weak, either; it was commanding, even booming. He'd probably be bedridden for days after her visits, but he mustered the strength to give Amelia the memory of him that he wanted her to have.
"Amelia!" he thundered when she came through the door and into his room. The walls were painted a plain white and drab murals scattered the walls, but the shackles this room attempted to be on Papa Jack's spirit would not claim a victory. His arms reached seemingly for the ceiling in excitement and he walked as quickly as he could over to where she stood. For his age, he moved with the grace of a dancer and the power of a track runner. "How's my very special girl?" he'd asked her with that same bounding joy in his voice. His persona reminded Amelia very much of Bugs Bunny, with the quirks and the smirks; even the hops.
She'd told him she was well, explained the thrills of her life in the sixth grade, and talked about how she and Nana had gotten ice cream before coming over. She still had some spread in a thin goatee around her lips, creased by her smirk. Upon his asking, she told him about Nana having gotten straight vanilla while she, a bit more lenient on her diet, had gotten vanilla topped with crumbled Reese's peanut butter cup. Papa Jack laughed and brought her over to the Orchid that sat in the window of his room. It seemed to project its white in a different, more hopeful manner than the dull white of the room and the cloudy sky beyond the window panes. He explained to Amelia how vanilla had been taken and enjoyed from these plants for nearly two-thousand years. He said that it grew long after the blooms died and went on to become the smell and taste that nearly all of mankind has come to enjoy. Amelia loved listening to her Papa Jack tell his stories. It seemed to her that he knew just about everything.
She made sure to tell him this, and he promptly responded. "Oh, I don't kill my brain watching the television like all of the other old-timers in here," he said. "I stick to books. It keeps my mind sharp and makes sure I'm still learning new things. Even when you're old, you never get to stop learning. It's one of the best parts of life."
She thought long and hard about learning for the rest of her life. Imagine how much information is out there, waiting for me to find it, she wondered. It was at this moment that she had decided she wanted to be a teacher. She thought that her "great big brain" that her grandma was always referencing was more than capable of retaining and sharing the information it discovered. She thought that she could teach another generation that came after her, and another, and another after that, to think more. To learn.
She kissed her grandfather goodbye and hugged him. He held her for a few seconds longer than she had expected, and she realized why; he was old and far away from her day-to-day life. This could be one of the last times he saw her. Suddenly, her consciousness retreated into the archives of her mind, retrieving memories like walking on the beach in the winter with him as a young girl, wind whipping her face like a sail, laughing at the Sunday comics together in his broken leather recliner (which still sat in grandma's living room), and him reading books to her, being the ultimate teacher. He wove long and interesting stories about the dinosaurs, the ancient world, the Bible, plants, animals, his youth, anything. She adored him and always paid the closest attention. Now she paid attention to the way he almost clung to her when she tried to break away, understanding that he was afraid. She was afraid too, but she knew that she needed to be strong for him. This would probably be their last moment together.
"Grandpa, I love you," she whispered gently in his ear. She could feel the tears welling in her eyes, waiting to start their descent down her cheek and onto her grandfather's flannel shirt shoulder.
"I love you too, Amelia," he said. His voice, too, was wavering. He gently grabbed her shoulders and held her out in front of him. "You're one of the greatest things that have ever happened to me." His lips were twitching, his eyes were red. She knew they were both near tears and needed to break the ice.
"I'm going to learn everything one day," she said, bringing a gentle laugh and a smile to her grandfather's face.
"Oh, you don't need to do that," he said. "There's too much!"
"But you know everything," she replied earnestly. This time he gave a hearty laugh that was his signature in conversation.
"I definitely don't, ask your Nana." They both looked at her, who was standing behind them. Obviously, the tears had been streaming for a while when they looked at her. She was dabbing her tear-streaked cheeks and bloodshot eyes with a tissue, but when they turned and looked, she just smiled and rolled her eyes.
"He does know everything," she said. "He's just keeping it a secret." She was still smiling, and Amelia turned back to face her grandfather.
"Well, us Nanas and Papas sure do know a lot. It comes with getting old. But you, Amelia, are smarter than anyone I know. You're going to do big things and learn a whole lot more than I ever did." He started rubbing her shoulders and arms. "But you beautiful ladies need to get going. You'll miss your train." He smiled and adjusted his glasses. They were thick, as Nana's were, but his eyes seemed to fit behind them. The glasses only magnified their kindness.
"You're right," Nana said. "We'll be cutting it close if we want to get anything to eat on the way out." She checked her watch and then slid her sleeve back down over its face.
"Come on, Amelia," she said, grabbing Amelia's hand. "I'll call you tomorrow, Jack," she said.
"Bye, Papa," Amelia said. He was sitting in his solid, spring-green chair in the hospital room, which seemed to lack the personality and life his comfortable leather La-Z-Boy exuded.
"Goodbye, honey. Eat something good for me."
