Wesgrove Station: A Short Story

I couldn't find him. Or I couldn't find Wesgrove Station. I knew David had boarded the train at that very station but where is it? Pulling it out from my memory, I remember it was between Arc Avenue and Aurora Hill. But now....oh I don't know. I think I'm lost. 

Since meeting David, my life had turned around. He took care of me, in a way that my husband Ralph didn't take care of me and my son, Joseph. Ralph was a military general, having earned medals from battles;  he was a tough man, and he earned big money. He was also addicted to sex.

I looked at the crumpled tiny piece of paper in my hands. It reads:

Address: 419 Pinefort Drive, Drachedge City. Get down at Wesgrove Station. Take a taxi to Pinefort Drive.

So where the heck is Wesgrove Station??? I looked out in the window, lost in my thoughts, only to be interrupted by a tap on my shoulder. "Madam?" I raised an eyebrow at him. I rubbed my shoulders not wanting to move as I was already comfortable in my seat. I did't answer. 

"Wesgrove Station."

What was so eerie about Wesgrove Station is that I was the only person at the station. No other people were visible from where I stand, but plenty of cars. A strong wind blew in my direction and I wrapped my shawl around my arms. Maybe I should have worn a coat instead.

I went about and went to the bathroom. Still no people. There was no one else but I. 

I tried to find the taxi stand, which I would most likely find at the entrance of the train station. I'll wait for you, David had told me. As if I could be troubled now.

Surprisingly, when I found the taxi stand at the entrance of the train station, there were taxis lined up but no people lining up. I looked behind the steering wheel. At least they're not zombies, I thought. So I get in the first taxi. "Take me to here," I gave him the address.  

"By the way, I'm Jose. Are you new here?" I never see you anywhere," the driver spoke in a heavy Spanish accent. He had a cigarette between his lips which he dragged at at every stoplight.

It's because this is a ghost town, I seethe inwardly. But instead, I smile my best plastic smile and say, "Yes. This is my first time."

I looked out the window. Gee, even the streets are empty. Dracula City is a lonely city. Or Drachedge. Whatever. 

At the next intersection, I was relieved to see a bunch of school kids crossing the street, They wore parkas and carried their backpacks swinging on one shoulder. I was taken aback when one girl looked at me with disgust. I pushed the thought away and instead focused on the matter at hand.

I fell asleep. "Miss Anna, we're here."

I jolt awake. "Huh???" In my confused dazed state, I say, "Whaaaa....where...how did you know my name???"

I pay the cab driver and get down. The house was charming but just as eerie as the rest of the town. It was a Victorian house, probably built during the colonial era. 

I knocked. "Anybody there? Anyone?" 

I rapped on the door for about twenty minutes, pausing only for three minutes then rapping again. Then, I rap on the window when I hear an old woman say, "Coming, coming." She pushed the white curtains away by the window to take a good look at her visitor before opening the door.

"May I help you?" she says.

"I'm looking for David. David Anders?"

The old woman squinted and said, "David. David, David." She paused. "Oh, David! Now I remember! David is my grandson, son of Elsa my daughter. Come in, come in."

"No, actually...it'll be quick. Is he home?" I hesitated. This old woman looks like a witch. 

"Meeeeeeoooowwwww!" purred a cat.

"Oh, this is Cris." She picked up the ginger cat and stroked its fur. "Why don't you come in, it's getting cold . I'll make you some tea." And in that instant, the clouds became dark and the rain poured. She is some kind of nature witch.

We sit down at the breakfast table. "David. Tell me about you and David. How did you meet my grandson?" she asked.

I get a glimpse of David's face in a framed photograph of him displayed at the counter. Next to the photograph were candles and flowers. I go the counter to take a better look.

The old woman looks at me. "You found Wesgrove Station."

"Yeah. It was hard. Between Arc Avenue and Aurora Hill. But..."

"David's been looking for you."

"Yes," I say hastily, not thinking. I revise my answer. "I mean, he was?"

"Yes. Last night, he wanted to see you. He wrote this letter for you. Anna, he was expecting you." 

I read the letter:

Nunca te olvidare. It's Spanish for "I will never forget you."

Love, David.

"Where is he? I want to see him."

We go to the backyard. There was David's tomb. "Sorry I'm late, David,' I say to his tombstone. I couldn't feel anything. Not even a tear falls,  I was numb. And disappointed.

Now the sun was high and a warm wind blew. The candles flickered out. 

I looked at the tombstone. David Anders. Then his birthday. "He died on his birthday,," the old woman said.  Leaning closer, she whispered, "Today's the anniversary of his DEATH."

At DEATH, I quickly ran away from the house, never wanting to come back. I hailed the same taxi which never left. And there was a letter in my hands. Nunca te olvidare. In Spanish, it means "I will never forget you."

As the taxi left its parking spot, I saw David's face loom large in the window. 

My heart beat faster. 

And the old woman had a naughty smile in her mouth.

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