Daniel Caporaletti / Maps and Atlases

Maps and Atlases Daniel Caporaletti

The train station is no place for fiction. Brian had no novel to read. He had sat alone in enough places to know that he would not be able to concentrate on any author's imaginary universe, not with so many people shuffling through the narratives of their lives—of their real lives—all around him. He would rather watch them and think up his own stories. When he felt creative he would write them down. But that afternoon he did not feel creative—only anxious and reluctantly excited to see Jane, who he had not seen for nearly three years.

He wore his Marine uniform and sat on a small bench outside of the train station, waiting for her to pull up in her olive green sedan, the one her parents had given her years ago, the one he had repaired so many times while they were in high school. The engine would overheat a few times every summer and he would have to meet her, usually on some deserted mountain highway, and check the car's cooling system. It was always the head gasket that leaked. He kept telling her father that he should buy a new one, but he never listened.

He had purchased flowers from an old man on the platform. Jane would appreciate the gesture. Simple acts of kindness like that excited her. He listened to a train pass behind him. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sound, straining to hear the various tones in all their forceful density. It was not as easy for him to hear things as it used to be, not after three years in the desert, three years of listening to helicopters and IED's and the screaming voices of his superiors. He hated when people yelled and everyone yelled over there. You had to. You were trained to. No one really listened to all that yelling, and if they did listen they never really understood what it was they were listening to. The slow decrescendo of the passing train cars was a sound he could understand, and it brought a light smile to his face.

Jane approached Brian from a parking lot at the foot of the hill across the street. She spotted him immediately in his fatigues, but he did not see her. She wore her blue dress, the one he liked, and started up the hill toward the station, waiting for him to notice her. She did not bother to wave.

The sound of the train faded. Brian opened his eyes and started down the hill. She noticed the flowers in his hand. He held them at his side with the petals pointing straight to the ground.

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“These are for you.” He held them out to her when they were close enough. She brought them to her face. They smelled sweet.

“Thank you,” she said. “You look so handsome in that uniform.” She embraced him, careful not to lose herself and jump into his arms. She felt the cold metal of the badges on his chest against her body.

“Are you hungry? Do you want to go somewhere to eat?” she said without letting go of him.

“No, let's eat later. I want to go to my apartment first.” He pulled his body away from her and continued down the hill. He placed his hand on her back and admired the way her blue dress hugged her skin. She handed him her keys as they approached the car. Whenever they were together, she always made him drive. She did not like to drive when other people were in the car. Something about being so directly responsible for another's safety made her uncomfortable. Besides, she knew that he enjoyed driving her places.

They got into the green sedan. It smelled musty, like old clothes and wet wood. Jane was never very good at keeping it tidy. He noticed that she had gotten a new keychain. It was silver with an “I Heart L.A.” logo on the front.

“When did you get this?” He held it out to her.

“Last summer. I drove cross country, all the way to the ocean. Didn't I tell you about it in one of my letters?”

He did not remember.

“By yourself?” he asked.

“No...with Doug.”

He remembered who Doug was.

“I bet you got lost quite a bit, driving all the way out there. You used to get lost on the way back home from school for Thanksgiving sometimes.” He laughed. “Did you bring a GPS with you?”

She smiled. “Nope.”

She had never used a GPS. She did not need some automatic, impersonal robot telling her where to turn or how many miles she had to go before reaching her destination. When she drove she knew it was important to pay attention to the world passing by her windows. She needed to find her own way. And if she ever did get lost, there was a wide array of maps and atlases lying beneath piles of old clothes on the floor of her back seat.

They drove in silence. He stopped for a red light and cringed at the sedan's squeaking brakes.

“I hate that sound,” he said coldly.

“I know.” She patted his thigh. “I'm sorry.”

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She was not that sorry. The sound did not bother her. She searched for some sort of conversation starter.

“When was the last time you were at your apartment?” she asked.

“Six months, I think.”

“Must be nice to finally be home.”

He could not call it his home. He had bought it just before he enlisted and had only been there a few times in the last three years, when he was on leave. Still, it was nice to be driving back in his hometown. He knew the area so well. He had it all mapped out in his head. He loved that, knowing exactly where everything was, knowing the street names and all the short cuts.

He could not take the uncertain geography of life in the desert. Everybody over there was too complacent with the unknown. There was no right or wrong; no way to be sure you were headed in the right direction. In fact, he usually felt that his actions made it harder and harder for anyone to feel safe. He wondered if one day people over there might know all the street names of their town and be able to navigate effortlessly about their neighborhoods. He wondered if they would know all the short cuts. Maybe they already did know them.

He parked her car and they entered his apartment. He had forgotten how bare and lonesome the place was: the walls were white and plain; there was no artwork, no television or computer, no food or drinks in the fridge; just an old stereo, some books, a few dusty lamps, and a California king size bed on the floor of his bedroom.

Jane felt the emptiness of his home and immediately tried to make it more cozy. She took a large glass from the cupboard, filled it with water, and placed her flowers in it. They stood next to each other in the kitchen. He watched her admire their pink hue.

“Aren't you going to take those with you?”

“I can't.” She did not take her eyes off of the flowers. “How would I explain it to Doug? He would want to know where they came from.”

“Where did you tell him you were going? Did you tell him you were coming to see me?”

“I told him I was going to see my father.”

Brian flipped through a pile of old mail on the counter. He had left it there six months ago.

“Why did you stop writing me letters?” Jane asked.

He did not answer. He kept his eyes on the stack of mail.

“Did you get the letter I sent to you?” She moved closer to him.

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He nodded. “Yes. I got it. You are going to marry him then, right? In the fall?”

“Yes. In October.” She did not know what else to say. “I wish you had written back to me. I loved getting all those letters from you.”

“I didn't want to send you something and then...” He paused and pushed the mail stack across the counter.

“What?”

“They were letters for you. I didn't want them to sit on the kitchen counter for some guy to pick up and wonder what they were. I want no one but you to know that they exist.”

At this she jumped on to him. He had resolved not to be the one to initiate any kind of intimacy, but he had expected this. She had expected it too. She wanted it, wanted to make him feel good after being gone for so long. They pushed and pulled onto each other into the bedroom and onto the bed on the floor. She took off his clothes. He grabbed her hips and lifted her dress. He pulled her closer to himself, hard. She barely touched him. She did not roll her hands across his chest like she used to. Before too long it ended.

It started to rain outside just after he finished. They heard it against the window as they caught their breath. He ran his hands through her hair and listened to what sounded like muted applause, like a quiet congratulation to the both of them for their brief, forced union. There was no sound he loved more than rain. As he held her, he did the best he could to hide his satisfaction.

She felt cold. The rain grew louder outside, evolving into a full-fledged, summer storm. She remembered back to before he had left, their final summer together when they were both still in school. Whenever it stormed like this he would rush to her house, excited, wet. It got to the point where he would not call; he would just show up at her front door, soaking wet, and he would take her upstairs to her bedroom. He would not say a word. Her memories of those afternoons were so clouded, so surreal. Once, he had said that a thunderstorm was nature's orgasm. Every time it stormed she thought of that.

Now they were done before the storm had even started. They watched the wind blow the trees outside his bedroom window and lay quietly beside each other, careful not to get too close. The storm ended; it lasted twenty minutes. They decided to go out to dinner.

He drove her to Rotier's, the place his family had always taken him as a child, and the place where he had taken her on their first date. It was nothing too fancy, but he knew that she enjoyed going there. They sat in a small booth by the kitchen. He ordered two beers. She felt strange being back in her

hometown; Rotier's felt much smaller than it used to.

“Nobody lives here anymore. I feel like everyone has left.” She glanced around the restaurant.

Brian shrugged. He did not like sitting by the kitchen and hearing all the clanging plates and cutlery. It sounded like some confused marching band, like a bunch of obnoxious children banging on percussion instruments just to see if anyone would tell them to quiet down.

“So...” She started to ask him something and then sighed, staring at her bottle of beer.

“What?”

She hesitated. “Well I want to ask you about your time over there. But I know you probably don't want to talk about it...”

“No, it's okay. There just isn't a lot to say. It's hot. And sunny. It hardly ever rains.” He searched for something to talk about that might interest her. “The worst part, Jane, is all the noise. You can’t ever hear yourself think. I hated that more than anything.”

The waitress arrived and took their orders. He drank another beer and then asked her about Doug. All he knew is what she had told him in her letters, that she had met him at school and that he was from somewhere east, North Carolina—Raleigh maybe.

“Well, he's going to med school. He wants to be an optometrist, an eye doctor—”

“I know what an optometrist is,” he interrupted.

She started again. “I really like him Brian. You would like him too if you got to know him.”

“I'm sure he's charming.”

“You know, Doug is the only person I have ever felt safe with. Everyone else—even you—I've always felt like I was not on solid ground; like the whole world might fall to pieces at any moment.”

At this he rolled his eyes.

“What?” she sat up in her seat. “Oh, you think that's funny or something? You think I'm being sentimental?”

His face turned serious. “I just know what delicate ground is Jane. That's all it is over there. Literally. You never know when the whole world might explode beneath your feet.” He was embarrassed at how somber a tone he had taken. He tried to smile.

“I'm sorry,” she said quietly. She thought for a moment and then realized she was not sorry. She looked him straight in the eye, letting herself get

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68 angry. “Why do you do that? Why do you always do that? You make me feel so fucking stupid. Are you trying to guilt me or something? Are you trying to make me feel worse than I already feel? You left me, Brian. Remember? You told me that we were finished.”

“I didn't want anyone waiting for me,” he said softly. “I didn't want—”

“I would have waited. You know I would have waited.”

Their food arrived. They avoided looking at each other and started to eat. Brian chewed as quietly as he could. He knew she hated the sound of his chewing.

“Well, what about now?” he blurted without thinking.

“Now?”

“Yes, now that I’m back.”

She furrowed her brow. “Brian...I can’t do that. You know I can’t.”

“Because of Doug?”

“Yes, but...No. Not just just because of Doug.”

“Then why did you come to see me?”

She blinked and took a deep breath.

“Why did you lie to Doug?”

“Because I wanted to see you. I...I wanted to make you happy. You know that.”

“Stop telling me what I know,” he said sternly. “It’s been three years. How could you possibly know what I’m thinking?”

She sighed and shook her head. He could tell that his statement had hurt her, and secretly he was proud of himself. She retreated back to her meal silently, and resolved not to give him another chance to twist her words. He waited for her to rekindle the exchange, for some kind of explanation. None came.

The waitress refilled their water glasses. Jane pushed her food around her plate with a fork.

“What are you going to do with yourself?” She kept her eyes on her plate.

He smirked and imitated her father. “Well I guess I'll feed the pigeons in the park for a while.”

She laughed. It was one of the many sayings her father had repeated all her life, over and over to anyone who would listen. He had always asked Brian what he wanted to do with his life, and warned him to make something of himself or else he would be like one of the old men in the park throwing bread at the pigeons.

She spoke through her laughter. “Yes, but seriously.”

“I don't know. I'll figure it out. Just going to be on my own for a while.”

They finished eating and left. It was dark outside. He did not know if she was planning on staying the night with him. They walked toward the car. He reached out, waiting for her to hand him the keys. She began to fumble through her purse. She stopped.

“I want to drive.”

He was surprised. “Really? Why?”

“I just do, okay?” She opened the driver side door. He stood still in the parking lot. She began to cry. She brought the palms of her hands to her face and got into the car.

He closed his eyes and listened to her muffled sobs. He was embarrassed, unsure of how to react, incapable of consoling her. He opened his eyes and got into the passenger seat, careful not to look at her. He let out forced exhalations of sadness to let her know that he was upset too. But he did not feel sad, only frustrated and confused. The sound of her quiet sniffles annoyed him. The more she cried the more he hated her for making herself so shamelessly vulnerable. Eventually she stopped and rubbed her eyes. She started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. After a while, he chanced a glance toward her. She did not look at him. She was driving well over the speed limit. He wondered if she thought she had made a mistake by coming to see him. He wanted to ask, but he could tell by her focus on the road that she was no longer in any mood for conversation. Her determination scared him. He thought seriously for the first time about whether he would attend her wedding in October.

She turned onto his street and parked outside of his apartment building.

“Are you going to come inside?” he asked, almost automatically. “I'd like it if you stayed the night.”

“No. I'm going to drive back to Raleigh.”

“Raleigh? You'll be driving all night.”

“I don't want to sleep next to you, Brian. I'm sorry. I really am. I just can't. I can't sleep in your bed. I will just cry and I won't fall asleep.” She patted his knee. “And I know you. You won't fall asleep unless I do. You always have to be the last person to fall asleep, like you’re afraid you’ll miss something.”

He got out of the car and poked his head through the passenger side window. She leaned across her seat and gave him a light, forgettable kiss.

“You're going to be fine,” she said. “I'm sure of it. Keep in touch, okay?” She put the car in reverse.

“You know how to get out of here?” He pointed back to the highway.

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“Yeah.”

She pulled away and left him standing on the curb. The car disappeared around the corner. He lingered, listening to the fading sound of her accelerating engine. When he couldn't hear it any longer he closed his eyes and listened to the silence. He could hear everything.

A train whistled in the distance, crossing the highway on its way out of town. He knew that Jane could hear it too.

He went back to his apartment and found Jane's most recent letter. He read the first few lines and then folded it and put it away. He walked to the living room and dug through an unpacked box, looking for a novel to read.