A Platform of Memories – A Short Story

A Platform of Memories

Sidney meets an old friend in an unlikely place. What happens when the memories that connect them are as powerful as Sidney hopes?

I fiddled with the buttons of my walkman as I made my way pass the ticket booth. Nodding to the person behind the kiosk, I made my way up the platform, mumbling to myself, “Who decided to make these buttons so small?”

The heat of the summer air wafted over me like a greeting from hell as I stepped onto the platform of the railhead. My walkman finally decided to work, as I belt out a terrible rendition of Anri’s “Remember Summer Days.”

I moved through the crowd, not wanting to touch another soul in the unforgiving heat. Perhaps that’s why I bumped into her, not because she was holding far too many books in her arms or the look of bewilderment that crossed her face when someone stepped into her path. 

No, it was me cutting through the crowd like knives carving out the edge of a heart. But there she was, barreling forward like a bull in a crowded street. 

She did not seem to mind the frustrated looks she got, or better yet, I don’t think she noticed the fingers that pointed her way. A smile hid in the corner of her lips as she made her way to the last bench on the platform. 

If I had thought her secret smile whimsical, the slight hint of hazel eyes that hid under her curls was pure magic. I had seen eyes like those before, looking out at me from an unruly mass of hair that hid my childhood crush away from the world. 

It was there we collided, one moment that sparked and connected a million others. Her books flew to the east and west of us, and my walkman clattered to the floor with a frightening thwack that I was sure I needed to worry about more than just the buttons. 

“Ouch.” She cried out in protest, pulling her hands to her chest as she examined them for bruises. 

“Sorry, sorry.” The words fell out of me, though I wasn’t sure if I was talking to her or the walkman.

“You should look where you are going.”

“And yo–”

My voice trailed off as I locked eyes with her. It was only for a moment, but I saw a flash of recognition sweep across her brow.

Her curly hair was a halo around her head, wiping back and forth as she desperately tried to gather her books into a coordinated pile. 

We had done this dance before, me knocking over things and her furiously trying to right my wrong. 

I was five the first time I met her, bubbling with energy and the desire to prove myself helpful, I knocked over her water. My little accident ruined the masterpiece she had been working on. Crayons rolled from her happy pile of art supplies as she rose to her feet with small scissors in her hands. It was the beginning of the worst lecture I have ever had. 

“Who raised you?” She questioned me with her fists clenched around the scissors into the smallest balls of fury I had ever seen. If looks could kill, I would have died that day a thousand times. But as our luck would have it, it was the day we became friends. 

Not best friends, despite our best effort or lack there of. She was determined to remind me of her spoiled artwork as we made our way through elementary school. 

“I worked hard on my art, just to have your clumsy feet ruin it?” She chided. 

By middle school, I had grown used to the way her words would ruffle the feathers of my heart. I should have known this feeling was the beginning of a love that would follow me all my life. 

And now my heart rattled in my chest once more as I reached for a book titled “Undoing Self Care.” 

“Thank you.” Her voice was gentler now, as if she was trying to collect herself. Gone were the sharp eyes that could cut glass. 

“Hi,” my voice quivered as I handed her the stack of books that were now covered in dust.

“Hi,” her voice reminded me of how she sounded all those years ago as she went off to college. 

Building up the courage I wish I had years ago before we said our goodbyes, “I’m not sure if you remember me, but aren’t you, Parker?” 

“And you are, Sidney.” It was not a question, but a statement. Her small smile began to spread across her lips like a flower blossoming in spring. 

I smiled, matching her blooming face, and pushed my glasses back up on the bridge of my nose. Whipping the sweat away that pooled on my brow, I helped her to her feet, dusting off the bits of newspapers and crumbs that clung to her. 

“Thank you.” Her smile radiated, and I stood there, feeling my heart-warming with each passing moment. 

My walkman stayed crumpled at my feet as I bent down to retrieve it. 

“Is that the gift I got you in high school?” Parker leaned forward, trying to peek over her pile of books. 

I reached out to take a few books at from her pile, not knowing if she wanted to struggle with them or ask for help. “Yeah, but now I am not sure if it’s gonna work after this.”

“Can I get you another one?” She smiled as I took some of her books and slide my walkman into my bag. “I mean over coffee and maybe dinner.”

“Are you asking me out?” I gawked at her, not believing my ears.

“Well, it’s not like you were going to do it.” She smirked at me with a mischievous grin and winked. 

“Ahem.” I cleared my throat and grinned. “I would be honored.” 

We smiled at each other, both feeling as if a new chapter of our lives were about to begin. And this time it was with each other, as it should be.