It's the fourth day and she's wandering through the city again. The money she stole from her mother's wallet took her all the way to Illinois on the train. For a day and a half, she stared out the window and tried to form plans in her head. She snuck into the first class section and ordered the most expensive meals on the menu, things her mom would never have let her eat, things like crab cakes and remoulade or jasmine rice with bok choy. She even tried to swipe some businessman's BlackBerry out of sheer boredom, but he saw her and she had to sprint back to the coach before they kicked her off the train.
Now Thalia roams absently. She's free, she should be unbelievably happy, but she's not sure what to feel—the initial excitement is wearing off. The tall gray spires of Chicago just fill her with the unsettling sense of how small she is. Avoiding the waterfront, Thalia just feels like she's pacing out the same stretch of land, circling through the heart of the city over and over again. She almost wants someone by her side. Almost. Being alone is better, for now, than the silent wreckage of glass, the different kind of alone Thalia used to be.
With the last twenty dollar bill clutched in her hand (only now does it feel weird, holding someone else's money), Thalia walks into a diner advertising "Chicago's best burgers". She decides she'll treat herself to a cheeseburger while she can. It's taken this long for her to realize that her resources are finite. She's impulsive, rash, not someone to plan ahead, and it's really because of this that she's ended up with a backpack full of CDs and someone else's twenty dollars. Thalia is always getting stuck in these situations. This is just like the time she punched Tommy Dearborn in the face without thinking and the inevitable twentieth note was sent home to her mother: not that her mother really cared, but that meant it was time for the fourth parent-teacher conference. Conferences were something Thalia generally tried to avoid, as they always ended in some kind of—she shakes her head. There's no use in going backwards.
The cheeseburger is delicious. She relishes every bite, remembering that it cost her about five dollars, but in the end orders a second. In her head she's been reasoning: she's already spent this much money. She might as well live in her own definition of luxury while she has the chance. Cheeseburgers are a rare treat for Thalia. Her mom, being an actress, never brought home anything greasy.
Thalia closes her eyes as she chews, and all kinds of things swim through, like imprints of dreams she's never had. When they blur into a solitary color, she opens her eyes again. A waiter is blocking out the light. He's tall and dressed in black, the check in his hand, giving Thalia a strange look. She pays the bill hurriedly and ducks out into the street.
She wonders if there's been a missing person's report filed yet. Or if she's just being paranoid.
The light fades quickly, bouncing painfully off the glass buildings, and though the lights come out in the dark the city still feels hopelessly empty. As the hours go by the few people who are out start looking sketchy. Thalia grits her teeth (there's no way she's backing down now) and finds her safe place, the little corner behind the Chinese restaurant dumpsters. In her sleeping bag she sleeps, though it feels more like waiting.
The stars come out hesitantly, faintly. Thalia thinks she's always wanted to go to a place where she can see the stars. They feel close to her somehow, but she knows she's a city girl, surrounded but free. A quandary, a dilemma, a quagmire. Her vocabulary flashcards come back to haunt her.
She spends half a day in Chicago before deciding to spend the remains of the money she's wasted. French fries or gummy worms, bananas or beef jerky? The food can't really satisfy her. She finds herself standing in front of the train station, staring at the ads plastered on the walls. What Thalia really wants is to move. She's got to keep moving.
Folding the bills between her fingers, she asks the man at the counter how far it will take her. He furrows his eyebrows. "That'll take you as far as Elgin," he says.
Thalia has no idea what this means but tries not to act ignorant. "Are there any trains that could take me out of state?" The paper money feels raw and crinkly. Isn't it obvious that it doesn't belong to her?
"No, this is an in-state line," he replies stiffly. He doesn't know what to make of her.
Suddenly, she's so sick of Illinois. Elgin, Chicago, all of it. "Is it a big city?" she says tiredly.
He looks almost amused. "If you're looking for a big city near there, I'd suggest Rockford. But you don't have quite enough cash to get you there." Twirling a pencil in his left hand, he smiles down at her in a way that suggests their conversation is over unless she wants to buy a ticket.
Frustrated, Thalia walks out into the crowd of people all waiting for their trains, for people to get off of them, for someone to call, waiting, waiting, waiting. The stars or the city lights? In the daytime this decision is much less difficult. She makes a face. She should have maybe saved up while she was at home, instead of her own vengeance. Thalia used to collect glass bottles for some coins that she could spend on herself: the one thing there was always enough of in the apartment was glass bottles. She isn't good at stealing. She's fast, she runs fast, she runs every time. But she's never been stealthy.
"All right, here goes," she grumbles under her breath.
The crowd is surprisingly unrelenting. The first few people Thalia asks don't even stop to look at her. The sparks flickering off her body, the sky turning darker. One woman hurries her children away, gripping their hands tightly. She must have seen it. She must have. Because if she hadn't she would have yelled, defended him, called them all liars. Another woman, an older one, apologizes profusely but Thalia thinks she's lying. This is just the backlash, coming to haunt her. It begins to feel like the smallest difference and she isn't sure anymore why she didn't just buy the ticket.
Finally a young man stops and looks her over. He's blond, just slightly scruffy, maybe in his twenties, his eyes as startlingly blue as hers. He digs in his pocket and Thalia waits expectantly, unable to control her small slow smile.
He offers up the money and her fingers make contact.
She feels a shiver, a ghost touch like gossamer brushing against her hand. Something supernatural arcs through her body until she's electrified, shaking, frightened and reassured at the same time.
He's gone.
Once a boy will touch her hand so lightly and it will feel like that. And, unconsciously, she will let it guide her into a connection. But it's something of hers and it always has been and the time will spin dizzyingly away.
Thalia buys the ticket, boards the train.
Always running.
