Hula Hoop Girl

For more reasons than one, Harold disliked automobiles. Railways were his sole means of transportation. Luckily he and his fiancée, Evelyn, lived within walking distance of the train station. However, on Friday, the weatherman predicted rain; more rain than the northeast could ever imagine for July. Like every other twenty-eight year old know-it-all, he, of course, never listened to anything that man said, and kept his scheduled stay at the clinic.

Harold’s train was expected at five fifty pm out of the Middletown station in New Jersey. He always left thirty minutes before, giving him enough time for his fifteen minute walk to the station. As usual, Harold packed a small bag for his visit, as his outpatient stays were never more than forty-eight hours. The contents of the bag were as follows: two fresh changes of underwear, a book, shorts for sleeping, pair of sweats, an additional pair of socks, a pocketed t-shirt, and his toothbrush. On his way out, he said farewell to his plants and kissed Evelyn once on the cheek. When he reached the door, he heard the hail. “Tick…tick...tick,tick…tick.” rapping against it. Harold looked toward the umbrella stand and then back at Evelyn.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride?” She pleaded.

“Positive.”

As Evelyn watched from the living room window, Harold’s frail umbrella folded against the power of the wind, while the trees swayed and gave out to the force of the storm. As predicted, the weatherman was right—the rain showed no signs of letting up; ice pellets the size of softballs began to form, bombarding the pavement, and Harold. When Evelyn eventually pulled up alongside him, he jumped inside the car with haste; he was no stoic.

From inside the dated station wagon, he watched as the trees moved with a fierceness, violent enough to wipe out the power for a square block. He said nothing for the entirety of the four-minute ride. Evelyn did her absolute best to conceal her laughter.

At five-thirty four, they approached the station, giving Harold more than his usual allotted time to purchase his ticket and find the appropriate seat for his long ride to the facility. As the car came to a rolling stop, Harold quickly opened the door and stepped out into the wind and rain, almost forgetting both his duffel bag and his goodbye to Evelyn.

“I’m sorry Evie, it’s just, I’m nervous.”

“You go to treatment every weekend. You’ll be fine! Now get your ticket, or you’ll be late.” She said with a big smile, and lovingly shooed him away.

Outside the hail had given up its icy campaign and gave rise to a heavy drizzle and irregular gusts of wind. Across the street from the platform a tree had fallen, dragging down a power line along with it. Harold took no notice of the tree, or the power for that matter, and ran for shelter underneath the roofed-in ticket machines. It wasn't until he collected his fare from the various bills and loose change in his pockets that he realized the machines were out. He searched for a power cord of some sort, but found only a cautionary sign posted just above eye level that read:

“All tickets purchased on-board train are subject to a five dollar surcharge, when machines are in order.” He read the last line over and over, until it made sense.

“When machines are in order”… “In order.”

He looked down the dim corridor in hope of a working machine, only to find a young blonde girl, the only other person on the platform. She was no older than twenty, and holding what seemed to have been an oversized bright hula hoop. No umbrella, not even bothered by the rain in the slightest.

“Strange,” he thought.

From a distance she seemed too tan for her own good. Her blonde hair was tied in pigtails, and she had been carrying nothing but a small purse in addition to that terribly large hula. She was attractive, despite the egregious tan, and petite. Something however seemed off about her. When she reached the machine, Harold and the hula-hoop girl’s eyes met briefly, until Harold nervously found a sudden interest in the floor.

“Uh, power’s out..” he said under his breath.

“Power’s out.” she said mockingly back to him. “Kidding. Thank you.”

“Sh..Sure.” he stammered.

He wondered why she was dressed for a day on the coast: flip flops, cut off jean shorts, and a tank top. That usually spelled “Beach” in shore towns like Middletown, however, the weather obviously said different. More importantly, what of that hula hoop? It was monstrous. Duct taped together, yellow, green and red PVC painted piping, with hard-to-make-out lettering. It was almost double her size.

Looking back at the machines, she angrily said: “Wwwhhat the fuhh?”

“I know, I still have to get a ticket, too.”

“Wait wherr you goin?” she said back.

“Rahway''

He really meant Princeton. His connecting train was in Rahway, but, for some reason, he said otherwise.

“Well I got anotha ticket, you can buy it off me if you want. Just give me five bucks.”

“Great.”

Unsure of why he said this, he mindlessly pulled out his five dollars and handed it to her. She gave him the ticket and, without even looking, he put it in his pocket. His eyes were instead glued to that hula.

“What gives?”

She gave it a look and with confidence answered:

“Oh this, yeah I made it, it’s Rastafarian, yeaaah!”

Harold had no idea what she meant and took a minute to let it all marinate. The hula hoop, the fake tan, the outfit, how aggressive she was; something was off. At first, he thought she was an artist, you know the type: Do it yourself, very minimal, very spacey, interested in all things Jamaica. She probably slept on a cot, sandwiched in between two trees and read Peter Tosh biographies all day. Interesting, but not fascinating.

The remainder of their conversation was awkward and once the train had arrived Harold expected that it would be the end of it. So, like a gentleman, he insisted that she enter the train first, hoping that they both would walk in opposite directions, into separate compartments of the train.

“Here’s a seat.” She said.

The remark was obviously meant for the both of them. It made him uncomfortable, but he didn’t want to be rude. He was intimidated by her for some reason. The only open seats on the packed train were two tiny, two-seaters crammed against one of the windows, awkwardly positioned closer to the aisle. She sat first, placing her unnaturally large hula between her knees. The seat was unduly small and once Harold settled in, small talk was all that he could muster.

“So what brings you to Middletown?” he asked.

“Oh, my sis lives down here. That’s why we made that hula.”

“That’s different, you don’t see too many hulas these days, especially homemade ones.“

“Yeah, it’s awesome.”

Harold looked back for something in that hula to further the conversation. Skinny PVC piping, electrical tape wrappings, he thought.

“So how’d you make it?”

“Some tubing, colored tape, and a connector.”

“Interesting”.

It wasn’t and it took everything inside him to feign some acceptable level of curiosity. The hula soon became the crutch that supported their conversation. Every time Harold ran out of questions, he looked to the bent PVC piping of the hula.

“What made you make it?”

She shrugged. “I mean the weather’s terrible, what else am I supposed to do? The weatherman predicted rain for like the entire weekend.”

“That man’s a crook.” Finally, he found common ground.

“You sound like my grandfather.”

“Well, he just robs everyone of their plans, every week, and makes more than you and I make together.”

“Yeaah, so what do you do for a living?” She asked.

“I’m retired so to speak.”

“Retired, you must be like thirty, man.”

“Almost”

“Well, you must have a boat load in the bank.”

“I don’t.”

“Well anyone who's retired has gotta have something saved up.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Well, that’s fine with me.”

Inside his bag burned a copy of Aldous Huxley's collected short stories, which he so desperately wanted to read. Train rides were thought of as time well spent; reading, calculating expenses, scanning the obituaries—personal time to do whatever most relaxed him before his weekly visit to the outpatient facility.

“The name’s Talon”

“Like the claw?” he said.

“Yeah, man I know”

“Interesting”

“Yeah I know, hey you got any change on you?” she asked.

Harold, of course, did have change, but because of the limited space he had in the seat he responded: “Nope just dollars”

“It’s fine, I just have to make a phone call when we get off”

“You want to use my phone?”

“Nah, I prefer pay phones.”

“Sure, ok”. He sat still, carefully not making any sudden moves, so that the loose change would not jingle in his pants pocket.”

“You wanna hear something real fucked up?”

“Sure”

“About a week ago, I’m on the platform in Dunnelin and I see these girls walking toward me, I ask them the same question, 'You got any change', they say, ‘no’ and keep walking. Ok. Well, when they walk past me, I fucking hear change from inside one of the girl's purses, so she turns around, smiles, and starts making fun of me to my face. So I fucking walked up to her and punch her in the face.”

“Wow, you really hit her?” asked Harold sheepishly.

“I heard the change in her purse.”

“I mean I could break a five for you if that'll hell?“

“Nah I’m not gonna knock you out or anything”

However brutish or unsophisticated Talon may have seemed, Harold took her promise at face value and trusted that she would honor her word. He also understood the tacit conditions under which this agreement was made: He could not move for the duration of the train ride. If he did, the change in his pockets might rattle and he might get slugged by a girl with a penchant for swearing and hitting people who lie to her. Upon realizing the possible threat to his person, the nature of their conversation changed dramatically. Harold responded to almost everything with monosyllabic answers and only concentrated on his movement, as well as the sudden change in the weather. From nowhere, the sun had pierced through the thick gray clouds. By the time they reached the Woodbridge station, only one more away from Rahway, the rain completely stopped. Talon pulled her shades from her small leather purse to block the waning power of the afternoon sun and asked Harold one last question before they reached his destination.

“So what's in Rahway?”

“Eh, a hospital.”

“Someone sick?”

“No, it's an outpatient facility, actually. I kind of don't want to talk about it, it's sensitive.”

“Ok. You seem real cagey about it. I won't press.” She didn't.

When the train arrived at the Rahway stop, Harold stood up, hands pressed firmly against his pockets, and gave that hula one last look.

“It was nice meeting you, Talon. Enjoy the hula.”

“Same to you, ugh guy. Don’t think I caught your name.”

“It's Harold. And enjoy the sun. Told you that weatherman was a liar”

They shared a brief smile and he grabbed his bag, slowly walking off the train at an alarmingly slow pace, still worried about the loose change. The passengers on board who were also getting off at the stop even had to walk around him. The doors of the train closed, and Talon and her hula went in the other direction, while Harold went toward the ticket machines, thinking, “I can't believe I was scared of a girl with a hula hoop. How outrageous.”

Then his phone rang. It was the outpatient facility in Princeton:

“Harold Pierce?” the voice on the other line said.

“Yes.”

“We regret to inform you that your upcoming stay at the facility has changed somewhat.”

“Uh, huh.”

“Your scheduled AA counselor won’t make it due to the storm, but we have a back up. They’re just as good. Are you ok with this change?”

“Sure.”

“Wonderful. See you soon.”

He hung up, and headed toward the ticket machines to buy the correct ticket to Princeton. He still had another ten minutes before his connection arrived, which to his delight gave him enough time to enjoy the weather, and his book.