Compartment 114

 

Calvin moved through the narrow aisle of the 7:55 train from St. Paul to Boston.  His suitcase with the broken zipper was swinging in front of him and he apologized every time it bumped another passenger.  A girl named Lyndsey followed ten feet behind him, moving patient with a single bag in hand.  Just passed seats 15A-15J they both entered a compartment numbered 114.

“Sorry you have to share it with me,” Calvin said as he struggled to stuff his suitcase in the top rack.  “I really couldn’t afford a second one, but it’s only 36 hours to Boston and there you’ll have your own room.”

“Thirty Six hours is it.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Well . . .”

She sat on one of the compartment seats and set her bag at her side, keeping it close to her thigh.  Her knees were held tight together as well, as if she didn’t want to take up too much space in the world.

“I think I’ll read for a while then,” she said.  “If you don’t mind.”

“Oh, right, of course” Calvin said.  He finished stuffing his suitcase away and turned back to Lyndsey.  “I’ll probably just go walk around a little by myself anyway.  Maybe watch as the train leaves.”

“Thank you for inviting me though.”  Lyndsey said.

“No problem . . . I mean, thank you for coming.”

“Of course.”

She had her book in her hand, but she didn’t open it yet.  Calvin stood at the door, waiting a few moments because it felt like he should wait a few moments.  And then he stepped out of the compartment.

He only took a few steps down the aisle before settling in an empty seat just in front of compartment 114.  And in that seat he watched as the train pulled out of St. Paul, moved through the suburbs, and crossed over the Mississippi into Wisconsin.

 

“Sorry,” Calvin said as he quietly opened the sliding door of compartment 114. 

“What?” Lyndsey said, looking up from her book.

“I don’t want to interrupt you.”

“Oh . . . I mean no, it’s quite alright.”

“Yes . . . well . . . enjoying your trip so far?”

“Umm . . . yes, so far it’s been fine.”

“Yes . . .  right,” Calvin said.  He was still standing at the threshold.  “And what are you reading?”

“Umm . . . Finding Laura it’s called,” Lyndsey said, closing the book to show him the cover, but using her finger to keep her page.  “Just a mystery, romance sort . . . nothing too special.”

“I see . . .”

He thought about rolling onto the balls of his feet then, it seemed like a moment where he was supposed to do that, but he didn’t.

“So how is your family?”  Lyndsey asked.

“They’re all good I think.  I don’t see them much, but they’re well.”

“And your brother?”

“He’s well too.”  Calvin said, slipping his hands into his pockets, and nodding gently.

“You can sit down if you like.”

“Do you mind?”

“Well, you did pay for the compartment.”

“Right,” Calvin said, moving quickly to the seat across from Lyndsey and sitting down.  His hands were still in his pockets and his eyes wandered over to the window where distant pine trees moved slowly along the horizon.

“So Calvin . . .” Lyndsey said.  She marked her page with a bookmark and set the book atop her bag—still resting against her thigh.  “May I ask why your brother couldn’t come on this trip with you?  If it’s not too forward I mean.”

“No, no, it’s fine.”  One of Calvin’s hands unconsciously left his pocket and scratched his nose.  “. . . he died.”

“He died?”  Lyndsey repeated, raising her voice only slightly. 

“Yes . . . and they don’t allow corpses on the train.  I checked.”

Calvin thought it was funny, but Lyndsey didn’t laugh.

“But . . .” she said.  “You just said he was doing well.”

“Well, he’s doing well for a dead person.  He’s not too decayed yet or anything . . . at least I don’t imagine he is . . . I haven’t dug him up and looked or anything.”

“Oh . . . ok,” Lyndsey replied.  A psychology minor made her wonder if his jokes were a coping mechanism, but she didn’t ask him about it.  “Well, I’m sorry for you.”

“Thanks.”

“And . . . when did he die?”

“Umm . . . two weeks ago.”

“And you’re still going on this trip,” Lyndsey said.  “It’s not hard for you I mean.”

“No . . . not really.”

“Alright.”  Lyndsey said.  She didn’t know what else to say to that and so silence hung between them.  Before it could grow too heavy, however, she rose from her seat and said softly, “I’m just going to go and use the rest room.”

“Of course,” Calvin said, rising hastily and pulling the door open for her. 

She looked at him as he did, trying to make out his thoughts, but all she saw was a small smile on his lips.  ‘Thank you’ she muttered to him and then stepped out into the corridor.

 

Twenty minutes later Lyndsey threw open the door to compartment 114.

“I’m not in love with you!” 

“I know,” Calvin said.

“And you’re not in love with me.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Then why do you do this?  Why do you set yourself up and make me have to skirt around, trying to be nice, trying not leading you on.  And why did you give me your dead brother’s ticket?”

“I don’t know,” Calvin said, speaking timidly now as Lyndsey stared down at him.  “I just . . . I wanted to go to Boston, and I thought you might like to go too.”

“But you can’t just do that,” Lyndsey said, pacing the compartment now.  “You can’t just invite me to Boston if you don’t know why?”

“Well, I’m sorry, but—“

“You can’t do this to someone if you don’t love them or if you don’t care about them or know them—“

“I care about you,” Calvin said.

“But you don’t love me.”

“Well . . .”

“No, you don’t love me Calvin.”

“No . . . but I don’t really believe in love.”

Lyndsey stopped pacing now and stared down at Calvin again.

“You don’t believe in love?”

“Not really.  So I figured it didn’t really matter if you loved me or if I loved you.”

“Calvin . . .” Lyndsey started.  She put her hand on her forehead, like people do when they want to think better, then she sat in her seat and looked across at Calvin.  She felt like a teacher who had to tell her student that not all children thought  , but she didn’t.  She didn’t say anything like that and the pause in speech grew longer and suddenly she rose again, took her book from her bag, stepped for the door, and said, “I’m gonna go read.”

She slipped into seat 15A, just ahead of compartment 114.  Her book was still held tightly in hand, but se didn’t open it, she didn’t even look at it, she just stared out the window, watching the scenery fly by until the night hung its black shroud, forcing her to stare at her own reflection.

 

All Calvin ordered for breakfast the next morning was a simple plate of toast.  He ate two pieces, and left the remaining two to grow soggy.  A fly landed on the toast at 9:12 AM.  As Calvin watched it rub it’s legs together, Lyndsey stepped into the dining car, moved over to his table, and sat down in the chair opposite of him.  Her book was still in hand, her eyes were worn, and her hair was disheveled from having slept with her head against the window.

“I’m sorry,” she said after the proper amount of silence had passed.

“I’m sorry too.”

“No, you don’t have to be, you were just trying to be nice.  And I’m glad you invited me along.  And . . .”  She shifted in her seat then.  “I mean, we have 5 more days together so we’ll have to get along, won’t we?”

“We will.”

“Of course, it’s not like we’ll always be together though either,” Lyndsey added quickly.  “I mean I’m sure I’ll go off on my own some when we get there.  As you will too.”

“Naturally.”

“Yes, naturally,” she repeated. 

She took a small sip of water and watched as Calvin played with his cold toast.  A fly was resting near the last dollop of butter and he was moving the bread around with his fork to see if the fly would get scared.

“And you don’t believe in love?”

Calvin smiled.  The fly flew away and so he put down his fork.

“Not really, no.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know . . . I just don’t think people are like that.  I don’t think we need someone else to complete us and I definitely don’t believe in ‘soul mates’.”

“You said you loved me,” Lyndsey said, grinning.  The waiter brought her a plate of warm toast and the fly looked down at it from the window.  “After only two weeks as I remember it.”

“And you dumped me right after that.”

“But you believed in it then.”

“I was young,” Calvin said, reaching over to take a piece of her toast, but she pulled the plate back from him.

“But you believed.”

 

As the train moved on through Indiana Calvin could be seen staring out the window of compartment 114.  Across from him Lyndsey sat read Finding Laura.  Suddenly, however, she shut her book, not bothering to mark her page, and turned her eyes to Calvin.

“How did he die?”

“My brother?”  Calvin said, still looking out the window.  “A car accident . . . in the rain.”

“And you don’t miss him now?”

“I miss him, I just don’t feel real messed up about it.  I mean, I’m don’t pine over my loss or anything.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know . . . I just don’t.”

“My grandpa died,” Lyndsey said and Calvin turned from the window to her.  “He’s the only person I’ve known that’s died, but that was when I was younger.”

“While we were dating I think, when we were on that school trip to Boston.”

“That’s right,” Lyndsey said, crossing her legs.  The act let her take up more space in the compartment than she had ever before.  “And you remember that?  Wasn’t it like eight years ago?”

“Well, will you remember my brother’s death eight years from now?”

“I suppose so,” Lyndsey said.  “And you don’t believe in love?”

“I don’t believe in the word, and I don’t believe in the way people use it.”

“So do you believe in marriage?  Do you believe in dating or children or anything like that?”

“I’m not that odd,” Calvin said.

“But you don’t believe in love.”

“I believe a relationship is just two people deciding that being together is worth all the trouble it causes.”

“Is that why I’m here then?” Lyndsey asked, grinning.  “To see if I’m worth it?”

“Sorry, but no,” Calvin said.

“Oh . . . well, then why am I here?”

“I just wanted to go to Boston,” Calvin said with a shrug.  “I thought you might like to come too.”

Reviews

[G.f. Snell Iii]

Hi Charles:
The best part of this piece is the scene where Lyndsey storms back to the compartment and confronts Calvin. The emotion is at a perfect pitch and the dialog is crisp and precise. Really well done. Unfortunately, the reader has to wade through a lot before getting to this part.

You are an ambitious writer, Charles, and for that you deserve credit. You're reaching for the stars, but you're not quite there yet. The good news is that many of your challenges will fix themselves with more experience. You''ll eventually write yourself out of it (if you keep on going).

You have a tendency to overwrite, which is common among young writers. You're not yet at a point where you trust your readers -- so you are constantly stage directing. Making the characters move and placing them around the storyboard. The results are passages of cluttered writing. Let me give you an example. Here's what you wrote:

"Only a few steps through the aisle did he go, however, before he settled himself down in an empty seat just in front of compartment 114. And in that seat he watched as the train pulled out of St. Paul, moved through the suburbs, and into the Minnesota countryside."

That's a lot of words and even includes an unnecessary "however." The second sentence actually repeats information from the first (stage direction). Here's how I'd edit it:

"He settled into an empty seat in front of compartment 114. He watched the train pull out of St. Paul, move through the suburbs, and into the Minnesota countryside."

The edited version is all your own words -- just pared back.

Let's tackle your dialog. The key to strong literary dialog is to make it sound real -- when it isn't. Real conversations are riddled with "uhs," "ums," "ers" and awkward pauses. We don't have to experience that in fiction. It's all right to thrown in an occasional verbal "tic," but they should be used sparingly. And please get rid of the ellipses -- they're distracting. Here's a section of your dialog:

�Sorry to bother,� Calvin said as he quietly opened the sliding door of compartment 114.
�Oh, quite alright,� Lyndsey said, looking up from her book.
�Yes . . . well . . . enjoying your trip so far?�
�Umm . . . yes, nothing to complain about so far.�
�Yes . . . right,� Calvin said, standing still at the threshold. �And what are you reading?�
�Umm . . . Finding Laura it�s called,� Lyndsey said, closing the book to show him the cover, but using her finger to keep her page. �Just a mystery, romance sort . . . nothing too special.�
�I see . . .�
�So how is your family?� Lyndsey asked after a moment of silence.
�They�re all good I think,� Calvin said. �I don�t see them much, but they�re well.�

Here's how I'd edit it:

�Sorry to bother you,� Calvin said, opening the sliding door.
Lyndsey looked up from her book. �Quite alright.�
�Yes, well. Enjoying your trip so far?�
�Nothing to complain about so far.�
�Right,� Calvin said, still standing at the threshold. �What are you reading?�
�'Finding Laura,'� Lyndsey said, closing the book, but using her finger as a bookmark. �Just a mystery, romance. Nothing special. How is your family?�
�They�re good, I think,� Calvin said. �I don�t see them much.�

I look forward to reading more of your prose.

[Valerie Jones]

The characters are very well defined. The interaction between them and the spontaneous flow of the dialogue makes it very interesting.
I agree with Lyttleton regarding the time period in which the scene seems to be placed. The words chosen place the reader's mind in an ambience of probably the 40's as well as the scene set in the train. Yet the book places it forward in time. Perhaps choosing a different piece for her to read might help the rest find more coherence.
I was delighted by the ending. Your style is refreshing, as it reveals a mix of well read literature and a personal touch.

[Willis Thai]

Wow a pretty good story. I expected it to end with a ride back, but it's still good.

[Amber Victoria Tudor]

That's funny because I just read "Hills Like White Elephants" last week. I read lyttleton's comment, and I have to agree that is does remind me of that story. The dialouge and the setting of the countryside and train station are all similarities.
I am terrible at reviews, because I always feel like the story I read is better than anything I could possibly write, but here it goes...
the date was unclear except in the hint of what she is reading. "Finding laura" came out in 1998 so this has to be a very recent tale. The problem with that, is that in my mind I am picturing something more classic. I see the characters dressed in 50's garb and a train much more elegant than the commercial ones today. I guess the tone sets the scene, but the evidence isn't backing it up.
Anyway, Charlie... I like your style. It is so different from that of my own. And I must admit, sometimes it is hard for me to read more refined pieces... only because I like kooky, twisted stuff... but when I do I am always glad I did.
the awkward silence lingers in this and I think that was your intention, much like the story Lyttleton and I compared it to.
Nice work dear.

[Lyttleton]

Hmm, this is really something, I must say. Depending on how you feel about Hemingway, this may or may not be a compliment, but this reminded me of "Hills Like White Elephants" a great deal, in many ways, but mostly in style. It's very simple, very little description, and despite a great deal of dialogue, very little said (as you state in your description).
Another way this reminds me of that particular story (and that period of story) is the language, both of the narrative and within the dialogue. It feels dated.
Now, as far as the narrative goes, that's fine, because there's nothing wrong with sounding a bit old-fashioned, it's a nice little nod to another period in American Literature (my favorite period, the 20s and 30s). But, as for the dialogue, well, at times, it seemed too formal. I mean, there are places where the word choice of your characters would either seem to indicate people of very strict/refined upbringing (which they don't seem to be... they seem to be just normal youth of middle America), or of a different time (like say, the 20s... but nothing here indicates that this piece is set in the past... it feels like the present).
Example: "I think I�ll read for a bit then if you don�t mind." It's not so dated that it couldn't be said now (It's not like you said, "I believe I'll resign myself to a good book if it so pleases you"), but there is still a touch of formality to the way it's said that it glares out to me. Something about the combination of 'for a bit then' and 'if you don't mind' seems like something strangers would say to each other (maybe) but certainly not something former girl/boyfriends would say to each other (even if it was only a brief affair). If I were to reword it, it'd be only slight, something like, "Well, I think I'll read for a bit, if that's alright with you."
I'm granting that 'a bit' may be something that is more regional... I feel a person from Kansas would say 'awhile', but since I am not from the St. Paul area, I won't presume to know which is more common there. Still, in my travels, I more often see 'a bit' in print, and hear 'awhile' spoken. Once again, it seems small, but these are just the little touches that make dialogue come off the page.
Another example: "I just don�t pine over his loss." Even if this is a well-read, well-spoken person, 'pine' seems like an odd choice of words, and that's accepting the fact that he is intentionally trying to exaggerate the lack of 'pining' he feels. You know what it is? You write a little like a British person might speak, using overstatement to emphasis the opposite (that heightened sense of British Irony which is absolutely wonderful, but feels out of place in the mouths of your traditional American youth).
The discussion about the dead brother also seems weird, but in a quirky way that I really enjoy. It's that mischevious side of you that comes out a bit more when you have a shot in your hand, methinks.

I really enjoy the overall piece, I think you've done a wonderful job with the mood and pace of it. Once again, I can't help compare it to Hemingway (his short stories... I've never been a big fan of his novels, but I think he shines in his short fiction).

If I were to make a guess, I would say that I think your time in England and the fact that you're a very naturally intelligent and literate person is causing your characters to speak in a somewhat heightened language, which is good if that's who your character is suppose to be, but can be distracting if nothing else about that character indicates that they are anything but regular people in regular ol' America.
I guess what I'm saying is, you're gonna have to dumb down your characters dialogue a bit. Or, at least, I feel that way, but I may be alone. This is just my personal take on it and obviously every writer has to find their own voice in their own characters. Just my two pence.
This shows remarkable talent.

[L. L. Jacobson]

...well I believe in love like no other, no endeavor; alone here in this place,
far off from any truth in a face, and I love that your characters are honest and real.
It means they breathe their own thoughts.

Ironically, Boston and the Indiana countryside are the places I'd like most to live; I am an Indiana girl in heart; sad when I departed the multi-colored leaves that dance in a whirlpool-like motion in the cold autumn winds.

You have a fascinating tale spoken through the many vessels of you; to connect them is to see into the light of your writing; beautiful, effortlessly.

[JlB]

Damn Charles this is wonderful. I wish I could read this conversation forever. I love the way they talk, your characters are so well defined.

This is quite amazing.
Good work writer.

jl

[Erik Bergstrom]

I just had to read it again! And I get 2 points for the review! Yay!

[Sanand]

�Well . . . he died, as it were.�
I love that line. Calvin claiming not to believe in love is just driving her nuts. Very good dialogue. I am working to developing some talent in that department. Reading writers such as you really help.
Sanand

[Aria Svetlana Markovitc..]

A very interesting story. To be honest, it reminded me a lot of Catcher in the Rye...Calvin that is. Althogh, he seems to lack the emotional conflict the character in that book has.

I think this story has a lot of potential. It did seem very real, but it also seemed as though you rushed it. Also, a lot of commas...that ditracted me quite a bit. I would think of leaving out a lot of commas and just starting new sentences.

Aria

[Johnnyelvis]

EVERYTHING IN BRACKETS ARE WHERE THE STORY NEEDS FIXED, ADDED ONTO, OR REMOVED.




Compartment 114-
Through the narrow aisle of the 7:55 train from St. Paul to Boston(,) a boy named Calvin moved, his suitcase with the broken zipper swinging in front of him and (having to apologize) every time it bumped another passenger. Ten feet behind him, stepping light and patient with a single bag in hand, (remove there) there followed a girl named Lyndsey. (remove And)And into the first compartment, just passed the rows of seat, they both went. (Line space)

Compartment number 114.(line space)

�Sorry you have to share it with me,� Calvin said, struggling to stuff his suitcase in the top rack. �I really couldn�t afford another, but it�s only 36 hours to Boston and then you�ll have your own room.�
�Thirty (-six) Six hours is it,� Lyndsey said, sitting on one of the compartments seats and setting her bag beside her.
�Yeah, I think so.�
�Well . . . I think I�ll read for a bit then if you don�t mind.�
�Oh, of course,� Calvin said as he finished stuffing his suitcase away and turned back to Lyndsey. �I think I�ll go wander a bit myself then, maybe watch as the train leaves.�
�Thank you for inviting me though.� Lyndsey added, her book already in hand.
�No problem . . . I mean, thank you for coming too,� and out of the compartment Calvin moved.

(This line reads terribly. Why not replace it with �after a silence that lasted for a few beats, Calvin left the compartment)

Only a few steps through the aisle did he go, however, (sorry � another terrible line here. Are you trying to be Yoda?)

before he settled himself down in an empty seat just in front of compartment 114. And in that seat ( repetition of seat)
he watched as the train pulled out of St. Paul, moved through the suburbs, and into the Minnesota countryside.

�Sorry to bother,� Calvin said as he quietly opened the sliding door of compartment 114.
�Oh, quite alright,� Lyndsey said, looking up from her book.
�Yes . . . well . . . enjoying your trip so far?�
�Umm . . . yes, nothing to complain about so far.� (repetition of yes and so far. Not needed � sounds clumsy)


�Yes . . . right,� Calvin said, standing still at the threshold. �And what are you reading?�
�Umm . . . Finding Laura it�s called,� Lyndsey said, closing the book to show him the cover, but using her finger to keep her page. �Just a mystery, romance sort . . . nothing too special.�
�I see . . .�
�So how is your family?� Lyndsey asked after a moment of silence.
�They�re all good I think,� Calvin said. �I don�t see them much, but they�re well.�
�And your brother?�
�He is well too.�

(sounds forced. Replace with He�s okay.)


Calvin said, slipping his hands into his pockets, and nodding gently.
�You can sit down if you like.�
�Do you mind?�
�Well(,) you did pay for the compartment.�
�Right,� Calvin said, moving quickly to the seat across from Lyndsey and sitting down, his hands still in his pockets and his eyes wandering to the window and passing landscape beyond.
�So . . . may I ask why your brother couldn�t come on this trip with you?� Lyndsey asked after another long moment of silence. �If it�s not too forward I mean.�

�Well . . . he died, as it were.� (as it were? Replace with � oh � he�s dead.)


�He died?� Lyndsey repeated, raising her voice only slightly. �But . . . I thought you said he was doing well.�

(There is no shock here on Lyndseys part. No..nothing�)

�Well comparatively yes,� Calvin said, �good for a dead person I mean. He�s not too decayed yet or anything . . . at least I don�t imagine he is . . . I haven�t dug him up and looked or anything.�


�Oh . . . ok,� Lyndsey replied, looking down to her book where her fingers fiddled with the page edges. �Well I�m sorry for you.�
�Thanks.�
�And . . . when did he die?�
�Umm . . . two weeks ago.�
�And you�re still going on this trip,� Lyndsey said. �It�s not hard for you I mean.�
�Not really.�
�Oh . . . alright.� Lyndsey said and again silence stretched out between them. Before it could grow to any great amount, however, she rose from her seat and said softly, �I�m just going to use the rest room.�
�Of course,� Calvin said, rising hastily and pulling the door open for Lyndsey who muttered a �thank you� as she stepped out.

�I�m not in love with you!� Lyndsey said as she threw the door to compartment 114 open twenty minutes later.
�I know,� Calvin said, turning his eyes from the passing scenery.
�And you�re not in love with me.�
�I know.�
�Then why do you do this? Why do you set yourself up and make me have to skirt around, trying to be nice, trying not leading you on. And why did you give me your dead brother�s ticket?�
�I don�t know,� Calvin said, speaking timidly now as Lyndsey stared down at him. �I just . . . I wanted to go to Boston, and I thought you might like to go to.�
�But you can�t just do that,� Lyndsey said, stepping into the compartment. �You can�t just invite me to Boston if you don�t know why?�
�Well I�m sorry, but��
�You can�t do this to someone if you don�t love them or if you don�t care about them or know them��
�I care about you,� Calvin interjected softly.
�But you don�t love me.�
�Well . . . I don�t really believe in love.�
�You don�t believe in love?�
�Not really.� Calvin said and still Lyndsey stared down at him. �So I figured it didn�t much matter if you loved me or if I loved you.�
�Calvin . . .� Lyndsey began, sitting down for the first time and looking at him like a teacher to her student, but the pause in her speech grew long and suddenly she rose again, took up her book, stepped for the door, and said, �I�m going to go read.�

(could be a dialect thing � but going to go read sounds forced. Replace with �I�m going to read.�)


And out into the aisle she made her way, slipping into the first row of seats, settling herself in a chair just ahead of compartment 114, keeping her book held tightly in hand, but letting her eyes stay glued to the window and scenery beyond until the blackening night beyond sent her off to sleep.

Just a simple plate of toast was all Calvin ordered for breakfast the next morning and as he sat alone in the dining car, watching the world pass by,

(remove, replace with .)

Lyndsey stepped silently over to his table and sat down in the chair opposite, her book still in hand, her eyes worn, and her hair disheveled from having slept with her head against the window all night.
�I�m sorry,� she said after the waiter had taken her order, toast as well, and poured her a cup of tea.
�I�m sorry too.�
�No, you don�t have to be, you were just trying to be nice. And I�m glad you invited me along,� Lyndsey said as Calvin arranged his cold pieces of toast in a stack. �I mean, we have 5 more days together so we�ll have to get along won�t we.�
�We will.�
�Of course we won�t be together all the time in Boston,� Lyndsey added quickly. �I�m sure I�ll go off on my own a lot as will you.�
�Naturally.�
�Right then,� Lyndsey said. Taking a small sip of tea, she watched as Calving played with his cold toast before asking suddenly. �And you don�t believe in love?�
�Not really, no.�
�Why?�
�I don�t know.� Calvin said with a small tilt of his head. �I�ve just come to realize over the years that most of what people share isn�t because of some grand emotion or self sacrificing force as love is supposed to be.�
�You said you loved me,� Lyndsey said, grinning as the waiter brought her plate of warm toast. �After only two weeks as I remember it.�
�And you dumped me right after that.�
�So did you believe in it then?�
�I was young,� Calvin said, reaching over to take a piece of Lyndsey�s toast, but as he did she pulled the plate back from him.
�But you believed.�

As the train moved on through Indiana that afternoon a boy named Calvin could be seen staring out the window of compartment 114 while inside the compartment, sitting across from him, a girl named Lyndsey read Finding Laura. Suddenly, however, she shut her book, not bothering to mark her page, and turned her eyes to Calvin.
�How did he die?�
�My brother?� Calvin began, looking still out the window. �A car accident, in the rain.�
�And you don�t miss him now?�
�I miss him. I just don�t pine over his loss.�
�Why not?�
�I don�t know . . . I just don�t.�
�My grandpa died,� Lyndsey said and Oliver turned his eyes to her. �He�s the only person I�ve known that�s died, but that was when I was younger.�
�While we were dating I think, when we were on that school trip to Boston.�
�That�s right,� Lyndsey said, crossing her legs, �and you remember that? Wasn�t it like eight years ago?�
�Well(,) will you remember my brother�s death eight years from now?�
�I suppose so.� Lyndsey said as Calvin took a stick of gum from his pocket. �And you don�t believe in love?�

(all this repeating about believeing in love � we already knows that he doesn�t)


�I don�t believe in the word, nor the way people use it,� Calvin said.
�So do you believe in marriage?� Lyndsey asked. �Do you believe in dating or children or anything like that?�
�I�m not that odd,� Calvin said.
�But not love.�
�I believe a relationship is just two people deciding that being together is worth all the trouble it requires.�
�Is that why I�m here then?� Lyndsey asked with a smile. �To see if I�m worth it?�
�Sorry, but no,� Calvin said, unwrapping his gum with a smile as well.
�Well then why?�
�I just wanted to go to Boston,� Calvin said with a shrug. �I thought you might like to come to,� and on through the Indiana countryside the train moved, making for Boston with a boy and a girl chatting in compartment 114.