Nick was in the parking lot, smoking. It was below zero and his nose was brilliantly pink in color from the biting cold. He was leaning against the brick building, ankle-deep in soft powdery snow. He was staring at the slush on the edge of the curb, darkened to a murky brown color by passing traffic exhaust.
I hesitated in the doorway, holding the door so it didn’t bang shut. Heat rushed out and Nick looked up, feeling the rush of warm air, and scowled when he saw me. “I suppose you’re gonna bitch at me,” he said, holding up the cigarette pointedly.
“I’m not here to bitch at you,” I said, letting the door close. Nick brought his hand to his mouth and dragged deeply, then let the smoke escape from his mouth in a dark gray cloud. “You’re gonna get cancer, though,” I said pointedly.
Nick shrugged. “They’re my lungs,” he said simply.
I had to bite my tongue not to launch into a seminar about the health risks associated with the smoking habit. I sighed and leaned against the bricks beside him. Nick straightened up, flicked the cigarette into the snow banking and moved around me for the door to the building. “See ya inside,” he muttered, reaching for the handle.
“What’s going on Nick?” I asked before he could step inside. Heat poured out. Nick stood frozen, holding the door slightly ajar. He closed his eyes. “You’ve been ice-cold to me since I came in that door,” I said.
Nick shook his head, “I’m not.”
“Yeah you are,” I said, “It’s like you don’t want me here.” Nick looked up at me. His eyes said it all. “You don’t want me here,” I said.
“I don’t get it, Kev,” he said in a defeated tone, “You leave, you come back, you leave, you come back… you gotta make up your mind cos yanno, we’re not gonna sit around waiting for your ass to make up it’s fuckin’ mind.” Nick’s eyes had grown beady.
“Nick, I-“
“We’re better without you, Kevin,” he added, interrupting me. I felt like my throat had been ripped out. Nick stepped into the venue and the door closed behind him. I turned to the street, my heart pounding in my chest, the cigarette on the ground smoking and melting a circle in the snow. I stepped on it, crushing the half-used tobacco on the exposed cement.
I’d made a mistake thinking that things could go back to the way they’d been before.
When I got back in the dressing room, the other three guys looked spooked, Lauren was conspicuously missing, and Rochelle was rubbing AJ’s shoulders. I stood awkwardly in the door. Brian was rubbing his hands together nervously. He looked up at me. “Hey,” he said.
Hurricane Nick had struck.
“Yanno what, I need to go,” I said.
“No dude, don’t leave,” AJ begged.
I sighed and grabbed my coat off the director’s chair. “Nick’s right. I don’t belong here anymore,” I added.
“You always belong here,” AJ argued.
Howie nodded, “Don’t let Nick bother you, he’s just worked up.”
I shrugged my coat on. “Tell him I said bye, okay?” I asked.
AJ pouted.
Brian sighed heavily, “I’m sorry, Kevin,” he said.
“Don’t be,” I answered, “I’m sorry.”
I turned and walked out the door into the frigid cold New England air. I stuffed my hands into my pockets and walked along the sidewalk, bumping elbows with people as I went. My wool coat felt thin compared to the subzero air. I stomped down the stairs to the underground train station and bought a newspaper from a vendor and swiped my credit card for the fare. I strangled through the rotating barricade and walked through the convoluted tunnels of the Mass Transit until I found the platform for the next train that ran through to Logan Airport. I sat down on a bench and unfolded the newspaper.
I’d been sitting there ten minutes before the crackled sound system announced that my train was approaching the station. I folded the paper and looked up… and that’s when I saw him.
Across the rails of the train… on the opposite side of the tracks… sitting on a bench almost exactly like I was, holding a paper and a cup of coffee in hands covered by gloves with the fingers cut out… was my father.
He looked up at me and smiled.
“Dad?” I whispered, and stood up, stumbling toward the edge of the platform.
Suddenly, the train blasted into the station, whipping past me, only a foot away from my face. I stopped short and blinked in surprise. I could still see him in strobe-like flashes as the windows passed by me, the lights flickering from the train’s power moving through the tunnel. My heart was racing, my stomach dancing in my gut, my hands shaking and sweating.
When the train halted, I bolted through its doors onto the opposite side of the tracks, looking around in a panicked manner.
He was gone.
