Conversation Over Spilled Coffee

         Even after years of living in the chaos of New York City, Wendy couldn’t ever seem to get used to Penn Station. It contained more than just the fast-paced mentality that was characteristic of the city. It was a breeding zone for fear and insanity, as hundred of tourists frantically tried to find their way around the hectic building. They would weave through the intricate passages of the train station, trying to figure out where they would be boarding, hovering anxiously by the screens that announced delays, silently wondering if this dark space reflected the rest of the city. Many of them were simply attempting to transfer to another train, and the limited time frame caused only more madness.

         Wendy wouldn’t have to transfer. She would ride directly from here to the station in Pittsburg, where she would be picked up by her aunt and uncle. It was a fairly straightforward process. She’d done it a hundred times. She had perfected the art of packing for these trips, carrying only a small navy blue overnight bag over one shoulder. Her wallet and ticket were secured in an inside coat pocket, which was zipped tightly closed. It helped that she kept spare clothes and things in the guest room she always slept in at her relatives’ home.
         
         Wendy checked her watch. She had nearly forty-five minutes before her train was scheduled to leave. She occupied the time by wandering throughout the station and browsing through the stores. She eventually found herself sitting in a bagel shop with a cup of coffee in one hand and a croissant in front of her. It wasn’t that she was particularly hungry, but she hadn’t eaten breakfast before leaving home, and thought she should at least make an effort to do so. Her seat faced the door, and she spent more time watching people enter and exit than eating the croissant. She was idly drinking her coffee as a young couple entered the open storefront. The girl carried a suitcase that appeared to be heavy, while the boy had a duffle bag and red backpack. They both were looking around with uncertainty. Wendy watched them begin conversing quietly, then they walked over and took a table near her own.
         
         “My shoulders are sore,” the girl commented, adjusting the suitcase on the floor beside her.
         
         “It’s because you keep carrying your suitcase,” the boy responded, and the slightly annoyed tone in his voice made Wendy think that they’d had this conversation before. “If you’d just use the handle and drag it, they wouldn’t hurt. That’s why it has wheels.”

         The girl made a face. “I hate the wheels,” she countered. “They make me feel like an old woman. I’d rather keep carrying it and just complain a lot.”

         The boy shrugged, and their conversation turned to what they would be eating. Wendy sipped her coffee and continued to listen in. The girl was saying that she just wanted some coffee with a lot of cream and sugar. No, she wasn’t hungry. No, she would be just fine until lunch. No, he didn’t need to get her something for later. Did she want to share something? No, she didn’t. The boy finally got up from the table and walked to the counter. Wendy suddenly felt as if their tables were extremely close together, and there was a moment of awkwardness when she caught the girl’s eye by accident. They both smiled uncomfortably and tried not to look at one another anymore.

         Wendy felt a vibration in her coat pocket, and she reached quickly to remove her cell phone. As she was pulling it from her pocket, her elbow clipped the edge of her Styrofoam coffee cup, which proceeded to tip over and splash the hot liquid across the tabletop. Wendy gave a short cry of disappointment and started looking around for some napkins. Within seconds, a hand had moved across her line of sight, and the girl at the next table was holding a pile of napkins in her direction.

         “Thanks,” Wendy said, slightly embarrassed. She began to mop up the mess. The girl reached over and started doing the same. They exchanged brief smiles.

         “Are you, um, visiting the city?” Wendy asked awkwardly, as they wiped up the last of the spill. The girl nodded.

         “Yeah, we’re here for the next few days.” There was a pause after this comment, so the girl added, “Are you?”

         Wendy shook her head. “No, I live here.” She tried to imagine that the girl was impressed by this information. Another series of tight smiles followed as Wendy scrambled to think of something else to say. The girl seemed to be doing the same, because she mumbled something indistinct about the city and started pretending to look for something in her handbag. Wendy grabbed the wet napkins off of the table and stuffed them inside the empty cup. She stood up and reached for her bag.

         “My train’s about to leave,” she said in the girl’s direction. “Thanks for your help.”

         The girl looked up and nodded. “Sure. Have a good trip.”

         Wendy made her way out of the bagel shop and upstairs. Groups of people were staring at the television screens, waiting until the boarding area for their trains were announced. Wendy walked over to join them, squinting through her glasses at the screens, looking for her train. She found it on the list, but there was no platform noted yet. She leaned up against a railing and waited.