OOM: Storm
The train rolls west, a steady rhythm and blur of rails and stations, and Meghan Ford sits stiff-backed straight in her seat and stares out the window and wonders why the sky is clear.
There should be clouds.
This is, after all, the eye of a very large, very violent storm -- a deceptive moment of stillness that all but dares you to think that the worst is over.
It's not. Meg knows that. Whatever storm she and her sister have unleashed here isn't anywhere near done doing its damage.
Even knowing that, though, there's nothing she said in Kim's apartment that she wouldn't still say if she had it to do over again.
Meghan is not surprised to see her father sitting on a bench on the platform when the train reaches her stop. Whatever Kim had said, there was no way she hadn't called their parents after Meg left.
The conscientious big sister to the end.
There's a part of Meg that would very much like to just stay on the train and keep going west and west and west.
But, then, even if that were a choice, it's not the one she would make. So she gathers her bags and she steps onto the almost deserted platform, where both her father and the storm are waiting.
"Kim called," John Ford says, by way of greeting.
"I thought she might," says Meghan, though what she means is, I knew she would.
"She said you had a fight."
"I'd have said argument but fight is not exactly wrong."
John sighs. "Meghan--"
"Dad," she says, "can we please not have this conversation in the middle of a train station?"
Her father sighs again, takes half of his daughter's bags, and heads for the car. Meg follows just far enough behind to make it hard to talk. It's a fairly futile gesture, though, since if you want to trap someone for a conversation, it's hard to beat the front seat of a moving car.
"What happened?" John asks, eyes darting briefly from the road to his daughter.
"What did Kim say happened?" Meg counters. Partly because she wants to know the lay of the land here. Mostly because she thinks her parents deserve to hear Kim's news from Kim, even if Kim has told her to tell them.
"That she told you she was taking a job in England and you fought about it."
"Then I guess that's what happened."
"Meghan."
"What?"
"I was hoping for a more detailed answer. And I wanted your answer, not Kim's."
Meg crosses her arms. "Kim told me that she's moving to England. Next month. She's already done all the paperwork, and had it approved. The apartment is already almost empty, she's worried about giving sufficient notice to Toronto General, but telling us about it was pretty far down the To Do list. And I told her that I was tired of being lied to, and kept in the dark about . . . well, I left."
"Oh, Meg," says her father. They've stopped at a red light, and he turns his full attention to her. "Meg."
Meg doesn't say anything for a long moment, and it's not a comfortable silence that descends. Then she says, "The light's green."
John drives though the light, then turns into an empty parking lot and turns off the engine. "Meg," he says, again.
"What? What was I supposed to say? That it's all right that she's decided to just . . . just abandon us, without so much as making a show of discussing it with us? Again?"
"Meghan, you are not being fair."
"I'm tired of being fair."
"Did you talk about why she decided to move? Or why she waited to tell you?"
Meghan opens her mouth to reply and then stops. It's the first time she's realized that they didn't.
"Just . . . she just said that it was something she had to do."
"I see," says her father. "And did you give her a chance to explain what that meant?"
No, but Meg doesn't want to admit that. She's tired. She's tired of a lot of things -- not only of being fair but also of trying to be accepting and understanding about things she doesn't really know how to accept or understand. Things she doesn't really want to accept or understand. She's tired of trying to see Kim's side, of trying not to upset things, of feeling lost and alone and overwhelmed. She's tired of feeling ambushed and attacked. She's tired of having to work -- hard -- at a relationship that came as easily as breathing for the first 16 years of her life.
"Fine," she snaps. "Take her side. You always do."
"Meghan," says her father, firmly, "I am not taking anyone's side. I just want you think about this. I hate to see you decide at eighteen that you don't want your only sister to be a part of the rest of your life."
"She decided it first," Meg mutters.
John looks at her, but doesn't respond to that latest comment. "Kim said she'd be visiting soon. Maybe you two can talk about all this then."
"I have plans that day," Meg says. Whatever day it is.
John Ford sighs again. "Well, maybe they will have changed by then."
"I don't think there's much of a chance of that," Meghan says, and turns to look out the side window.
John waits a moment to see if she's going to say anything more, then starts the car and drives them home in silence.
In the west, clouds begin to gather and the wind picks up.
It's going to be a hell of a storm.
There should be clouds.
This is, after all, the eye of a very large, very violent storm -- a deceptive moment of stillness that all but dares you to think that the worst is over.
It's not. Meg knows that. Whatever storm she and her sister have unleashed here isn't anywhere near done doing its damage.
Even knowing that, though, there's nothing she said in Kim's apartment that she wouldn't still say if she had it to do over again.
Meghan is not surprised to see her father sitting on a bench on the platform when the train reaches her stop. Whatever Kim had said, there was no way she hadn't called their parents after Meg left.
The conscientious big sister to the end.
There's a part of Meg that would very much like to just stay on the train and keep going west and west and west.
But, then, even if that were a choice, it's not the one she would make. So she gathers her bags and she steps onto the almost deserted platform, where both her father and the storm are waiting.
"Kim called," John Ford says, by way of greeting.
"I thought she might," says Meghan, though what she means is, I knew she would.
"She said you had a fight."
"I'd have said argument but fight is not exactly wrong."
John sighs. "Meghan--"
"Dad," she says, "can we please not have this conversation in the middle of a train station?"
Her father sighs again, takes half of his daughter's bags, and heads for the car. Meg follows just far enough behind to make it hard to talk. It's a fairly futile gesture, though, since if you want to trap someone for a conversation, it's hard to beat the front seat of a moving car.
"What happened?" John asks, eyes darting briefly from the road to his daughter.
"What did Kim say happened?" Meg counters. Partly because she wants to know the lay of the land here. Mostly because she thinks her parents deserve to hear Kim's news from Kim, even if Kim has told her to tell them.
"That she told you she was taking a job in England and you fought about it."
"Then I guess that's what happened."
"Meghan."
"What?"
"I was hoping for a more detailed answer. And I wanted your answer, not Kim's."
Meg crosses her arms. "Kim told me that she's moving to England. Next month. She's already done all the paperwork, and had it approved. The apartment is already almost empty, she's worried about giving sufficient notice to Toronto General, but telling us about it was pretty far down the To Do list. And I told her that I was tired of being lied to, and kept in the dark about . . . well, I left."
"Oh, Meg," says her father. They've stopped at a red light, and he turns his full attention to her. "Meg."
Meg doesn't say anything for a long moment, and it's not a comfortable silence that descends. Then she says, "The light's green."
John drives though the light, then turns into an empty parking lot and turns off the engine. "Meg," he says, again.
"What? What was I supposed to say? That it's all right that she's decided to just . . . just abandon us, without so much as making a show of discussing it with us? Again?"
"Meghan, you are not being fair."
"I'm tired of being fair."
"Did you talk about why she decided to move? Or why she waited to tell you?"
Meghan opens her mouth to reply and then stops. It's the first time she's realized that they didn't.
"Just . . . she just said that it was something she had to do."
"I see," says her father. "And did you give her a chance to explain what that meant?"
No, but Meg doesn't want to admit that. She's tired. She's tired of a lot of things -- not only of being fair but also of trying to be accepting and understanding about things she doesn't really know how to accept or understand. Things she doesn't really want to accept or understand. She's tired of trying to see Kim's side, of trying not to upset things, of feeling lost and alone and overwhelmed. She's tired of feeling ambushed and attacked. She's tired of having to work -- hard -- at a relationship that came as easily as breathing for the first 16 years of her life.
"Fine," she snaps. "Take her side. You always do."
"Meghan," says her father, firmly, "I am not taking anyone's side. I just want you think about this. I hate to see you decide at eighteen that you don't want your only sister to be a part of the rest of your life."
"She decided it first," Meg mutters.
John looks at her, but doesn't respond to that latest comment. "Kim said she'd be visiting soon. Maybe you two can talk about all this then."
"I have plans that day," Meg says. Whatever day it is.
John Ford sighs again. "Well, maybe they will have changed by then."
"I don't think there's much of a chance of that," Meghan says, and turns to look out the side window.
John waits a moment to see if she's going to say anything more, then starts the car and drives them home in silence.
In the west, clouds begin to gather and the wind picks up.
It's going to be a hell of a storm.