Tougher At Night (July 20, 2009. Issue 7.)

“You had a bee in your hair,” Edna said.

“What? A bee?” The girl whipped around.

Yes, love, a bee. You know, bzzzzzz, dancing on your head. Can’t say I blame it. Very pretty mop you’ve got. Lots of sun-streaks. I presume the color’s natural. Anyway, I smashed it with this.” Edna gripped the train seat and rattled the Boston Globe sports pages above the girl’s head.

"It fell off. I’m positive,” she reassured the kid, yet the kid still looked like she’d been sucking on a lemon.

Well kiddo, you don’t know how lucky you are that good ‘ole Edna was here to avert what could have been a crisis.

“Shit no, where’d it go?” the girl cried, writhing in her seat.

Then she disappeared.

Edna blinked. “Hey, are you all right?”

“Are you sure you killed it?”

"Yep. I'm certain the bee is kaput, dear. You should get off the floor, though. You can’t be too careful what’s crawling around down there. E coli, swine this & that. Ick."

The girl popped up, slapping at her arms.

“Hun, you need to relax,” Edna said, rolling up her sleeves. “Take things easy. It never does any good to get uptight about little things. We've got a long train ride ahead."

The girl looked back, managing a smile. Her nose was pierced with a little gold stud on her right nostril. Edna wondered if she should get one too. She knew of two women of a certain age who’d had their tits done, but she didn’t think she was ready for that.

“Thanks for getting that thing for me,” the girl said.

“You’re very welcome.” What a silly twat. Yes, she told herself, I did the right thing, taking action just as the bee was piercing the kid’s scalp. Still, she’d better make sure the girl was really okay.

She got up and slid into the seat beside her. "You’re not gasping for breath or anything are you? Your throat okay? Feel all crunchy inside? I’m just wondering because if you have allergies, we’ll have to stop this train."

The girl stared at Edna, but it was Edna who gasped this time. The girl’s eyes were bloated at deer ticks.

“Jesus!” the girl yelped, stabbing her finger toward Edna’s chest. “That bee must have flown out of your stupid corsage! Those flowers are huge. There’s probably more bugs in it, and a nest or hive or something. Okay, you know what? Just stay away from me. Just leave me alone.”

Edna stiffened. “This is a hydrangea, sweetheart, not your plain old grocery store corsage. The flowers I’m wearing are of the Nikko Blue strain, and the dainty petals cupping it are freesia. The spindly stuff is baby’s breath, just like my old prom corsage. I guarantee you, ain’t no bee in here, hun.”

“Whatever. It’s massive.”

With a sigh, Edna cocked back her head and gazed at the train ceiling. Greeting her was the same old graffiti she’d been staring at for years: ass-backwards lettering. Black felt-tip marker writing in Hispanic or was that Norwegian? Dang, it didn’t matter.

She pressed the tips of her fingers against the graffiti. The inside of the train was as crazy a place as the city it sliced through, but at least in here, the shell of the metal walls with their hieroglyphics and chipped red paint kept the madness contained. Sometimes Edna wondered if it was even worth it to ever go outside at all. She could ride the train day and night and never go home again. The conductors wouldn’t care. Most days they hardly noticed her, even when she wore a big fat corsage. When had life become so boring? she wondered with a sigh and glance toward snotty girl, who was looking straight ahead.

Unappreciative, that’s what she was. Honestly, these days, if you showed kindness to a stranger, the stranger had a conniption. Then to top things off gave you an attitude.

So what if the bee came from my corsage? Edna thought with a smile. Hey, that’ll be my story for tonight. Everyone’ll get a kick out of that one and finally listen to me. Me—Edna Banks, an interesting, good person.

She put her hand over her mouth, savoring the thought and to keep herself from cracking up in public. God, she was about lose it. No, Edna-girl, control yourself. Deep breath. That’s good. Oh, look at that: another train sitting on the tracks. Stuck, is it? Crap. I hope we don’t crash.

Another horrifying thought hit her: What if that bee bit my nose? I’ll have a red welt, and I’ll be the laughing stock of my reunion. The last thing I need is Sheila Bunting and her gang of cackling witches enjoying themselves at my expense.

"I’m sorry I was so rude to you,” the girl said, jerking Edna out of her misery.

“What?”

“I’m sorry I was so rude. It was really nice of you to kill that bee for me. I forgot all about my manners. I was just so freaked, you know?”

“Don’t worry about it, sweet cheeks.” Edna patted the girl’s cold white hands. “By the way, my name is Edna Banks. I'm getting off at Wellesley Farms. My son is picking me up. Are you familiar with The Farms?"

"No. I go to Worcester. That's always my stop."

"Long trip. You ride the train often?"

"Yeah, like all the time.” The girl folded her jacked across her lap and sighed. “I work nights at Faster Brewing."

"You can’t be old enough for a night job."

“Eighteen. Old enough to work full-time."

“Well yes, you are, but you’re also barely out of high school. Working nights will age you and quick. I’ve seen it happen to some of my dearest friends.”

The girl was silent.

“Speaking of high school, that’s where I’m going.”

“You’re in high school?”

Edna smiled. “No dear. I’m attending my reunion. Class of ‘58. It’s going to be so exciting—” Just then the train jerked three times and hissed.

“Good lord.” Edna gripped the seat in front of her and hung on.

“It’s all right, folks. No cause for alarm,” the conductor bellowed.

“It’s certainly not all right. I hit my head on the ceiling,” Edna said to no one in particular. She felt as if her skull had been pulled from her neck. She patted her hair and face to reassure herself they were still there. “Oh no, where is it?”

“Did you lose something, Edna?” bee-girl asked.

“Yes, but I see it up ahead.” Her satin tote had slid down the aisle of the train car, spilling her high school photographs all over the floor. Piles of photos wedged themselves between the passengers’ shoes.

“This train crew must have come straight out of diapers,” she remarked. “No talent for machinery and they hire them anyway.”

Actually, the incident reminded her of her own trials behind the wheel of a car, though she would never admit it. Bah. Showing your feelings was for folks who liked to yack about themselves in 12-step programs. Dumb bunnies. She hoped Aaron wasn’t into that. Edna had always told him, "No tears, stiff upper lip and that’s how you’ll get your chest hair, kiddo.”

She knew Aaron heard her because he ended up liking girls, not boys. Then that Aroma therapist wife of his, Claire, came along, sending him to shrink after shrink to get his head resized each time he burned a piece of toast, so to speak.

Edna thought shrinks were ridiculous, but she kept quiet. She didn’t want to become one of those overbearing mothers who stuck her nose where it didn’t belong, even if she disagreed with Aaron’s wife. So Edna stayed out of their lives. It was a rule she prided herself on. She was a woman with her own life to live, and now, an important reunion to attend. But first, she had to retrieve her pictures from the floor of this train.

She noticed the conductor was about 10 rows up and raised her arms above her head, waving them to get his attention.

“Excuse me, sir?” She cupped her hands along the sides of her mouth like a Victrola. “Yoo hoo, conductor-man! Can you get my photos please before people step on them and leave footprints?”

Silence.

“They’re mostly by your shoes,” Edna offered.

Now what the hell was the matter with him? He couldn’t be old enough to be hard of hearing.

She would have to investigate.

The conductor leaned over a grey-haired man in a pinstriped suit who was wailing and sobbing like a baby. He was also trying to shoo the conductor away from him.

“Goodness, I haven’t seen a man cry like that since 1962,” Edna said to a woman who had her nose in a paperback. “That’s when I left Edgar, the worthless ass.” Edna sighed and headed toward the men. The conductor grip on the older man’s arm tightened.

“Calm down, sir!”

“Let go of his arm this instant!" Edna instructed the train official.

The conductor’s fleshy vermilion face stared back at her.

Boy, you’re hideous, thought Edna.

“Stay out of this, ma’am.”

Edna noticed the passenger hugging his briefcase to his chest. “J.C.R.” was inscribed into the burgundy leather.

“I will not,” she replied.

“What am I going to do now?” the man cried. “You didn’t announce ‘Newtonville.’ That’s my stop. What am I going to do?” He tightened his hold on the briefcase and bawled.

“I don’t recall you announcing Newtonville, either,” Edna said, lifting her chin.

The conductor straightened as if challenging her. “You stay out of this. And sir,” he said, turning again toward the man in the pinstriped suit, “if you’ll just get off at the next stop, Wellesley Farms, you can take the next train or a cab back to Newtonville.”

“You’re very callous,” Edna told him. “This gentleman is in obvious distress.” He’s also a hypersensitive loon, she thought, and the way to deal with nuts is to make like you understand them. Obviously, the conductor didn’t understand this basic fact of life.

“Ma’am, I told you stay out of this.”

“Fine, but I don’t want to miss my stop, so I’ll just get my pictures if you don’t mind.” Edna took a step and pointed at the black & white photos strewn around the conductor’s sooty rubber-soled shoes.

He grinned. “No problem,” he said, stomping all over them as he strode down the aisle.

Sonofabitch! Edna fell to her knees, scraping her pictures off the floor.

“Are you going to Wellesley Farms?” asked the crying man.

Funny, he didn’t look crazy. In fact, with his executive-cut and ken-doll features, he was quite handsome. Like one of those businessmen in Aaron’s professional magazines. But then again, she reminded herself, Ted Bundy had been good-looking, too.

“Because if you are,” the man continued, “can I prevail upon you for your assistance? I’m completely lost in this territory.”

“Is that why you’re crying? Because you’re afraid you’re lost?”

“Yes.”

Yup, this confirms it. A 100 percent loon right here beside me. And now, I’m stuck with him. What will Aaron say? That his mother couldn’t make a simple trip without bringing trouble along, that’s what.

“No, my stop’s Wellesley Hills, I’m afraid,” Edna lied, picking up the last of her photographs. “But, like the train official said, you won’t have trouble getting back.”

Pursing his lips, the man turned his head, peered over his shoulders and down at Edna who was still on the floor inventorying her photographs.

He tapped her on the shoulder and whispered. “They’re tougher at night.”

“Huh? What?”

“The train conductors.”

Edna got to her feet. “Well, that’s very interesting.”

Loony tunes!

“You’re not like them. You’re kind and considerate. Look at these people. Not one came to help me. No one, but you.”

“Oh my. You talk as if I was someone special.”

“Indeed.”

Okay, this was the last time she would rescue a stranger. People were loose cannons today and proud of it. Not like in the old days when the crazies lived in padded buildings west of the city, away from people such as herself.

Nowadays, the politicians insisted the nuts and regulars mixed. She had to stop thinking in puns.

She picked up her tote, dumped the pictures inside and headed back to her seat.

The man said, “I’m not playing games. I’ll just step out with you at your stop, if you don’t mind.”

Edna felt his breath on her neck. Oh, what the devil! What nerve! The SOB was following her!

She stepped up her pace.

“I won’t be any trouble. If you would permit me to step off the train with you, that’s all I want. I detest going it alone.”

She responded with a cranky sigh and whipped around to face him. “Look you—”
“—Jerald Collins Royce. Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”

Now he was kissing her hand, and Edna wondered if people were staring at them. She smiled a genuine smile for the first time that day. Her heart pounded and her cheeks flushed hot with steam. “Are you always so formal?”

“I’m English.”

“How nice.” Edna glanced back, taking her seat next to bee-girl.

Jerald plopped down beside her.

“We’re next,” Edna said.

“So you are going to Wellesley Farms.”

Caught in a lie. “Yes, I didn’t have my reading glasses before.” Edna’s mind was racing. Okay, she told herself, as soon as you step off the train, even if you don’t see Aaron, make a run for it anywhere, anyplace, just get away from this psycho, Edna-girl!

“What’s your business in Wellesley?” Jerald asked.

“I’m attending my high school reunion. My son and his police comrades are escorting me. At least 20 highly trained, vicious-looking men will be at the stop the minute this train rolls in, waiting to take me to the reunion.”

She must have sounded convincing because Jerald was bobbing his head up and down, eating up her lies.

“May I attend the reunion with you? Will your friends allow me to?” he asked.

“Now, wait just a minute, Jerry.”

“Jerald.”

“Jerald. See, it’s not my friends you would to worry about. It’s me. I won’t allow you to come with me.” Time to get tough Edna, she told herself. Time to ditch this nut.

“I’ll help you find another train,” she continued, “I’ll get you a cab. I’ll even wait with you until you’re safely on your way back to Newtonville, but I will not take you to my reunion. It’s a private affair, and you’d be bored.” There. She felt in control again.

Jerald smiled. Never angry. What a loon.

“Wellesley Farms! The Farms! The Farms,” the mean conductor bellowed.

Once they were off the train and on the platform, Jerald looped his arm through Edna’s and started walking with her.

“Mr. Royce, you may let go of my arm now. You’re safe and the next train should be here any minute.”

“Shush,” he commanded. “Act normal.”

“What? What do you want from me now?”

“I’m attending your reunion.”

Edna stopped in her tracks. If she had to die at his hands, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. He’d have to kill her right here, not at the reunion. Not so Sheila Bunting would have another Edna story to chomp on. She could hear the spider spinning her tale—

“Dear Edna. The poor woman. Murdered, you know. But she deserved it. The way she carried on about helping others. Thought she was a saint. But Edna never helped anyone in her life. She only pretended to. I know who she was—a judgmental witch who stuck her nose where it didn’t belong. In the end, that’s what got her killed. Her body was discovered on the train tracks. Pathetic.”

Edna gulped. “Mr. Royce, are—are you going to do away with me?”

He didn’t answer.

“If you are, I need to know why me.”

Again, Jerald Royce was silent.

“Mom?” A familiar voice.

Aaron! My darling boy. Yes, my suffering will end. My son will save me from this madman.

Wait, what was she thinking? No, Aaron, no, she tried to say with her eyes. Stay away, he’ll kill you, too.

“I’d like to meet your son,” Jerald told her.

“Like hell. You will not harm my child, do you understand?”

“At least allow me to give you this, then.”

“Does nothing I say phase you?” Edna asked, staring at the briefcase on his lap.

He cracked it open. Inside there must have been a million dollars staring back at her, all in one-thousand-dollar bills. Jerald grabbed four stacks and gave them to her. “You’ve been wonderful. Splendid, really. I couldn’t have asked for a more charming and compassionate companion. Now I must bid you adieu, fair lady.”

He kissed her on the cheek, then turned and floated ten inches off the ground before disappearing around the corner of the train.

When the train rolled away, Jerald Royce was gone, yet something told Edna he had left a bit of himself behind, and it wasn’t just the money.

She felt it all around her, a sprinkling of stardust filling her with lightness. She swung her purse like a girl as Aaron approached.

“Mom, who was that?”

“Ah, just some nut, but don’t you worry. Your ma knows how to take care of herself.”

They looped arms and headed for the flower shop. She needed a new corsage. The first had wilted in the hot train and nothing but a fresh corsage would do for tonight.

Nothing but that.