A stark fluorescent light saturated the train car, causing all it touched to stand out in harsh whiteness, and all it left untouched to be consumed in pitch shadow. There were two of these lights, each spanning the train car on either side along the ceiling. Outside, utter blackness. I stood, one hand in the pocket of my coat, the other clinging to the metal bar that lined the ceiling, alongside the lights. I looked at my face in its rounded surface. Broad and distorted, the somber eyes were black. Red acne stood out against pale skin. I turned away and faced my eyes forward.
    I fiddled with the inside of the pocket of my coat. It was soft, but it felt rough to my hand, and I felt needles prick at my knuckles and fingertips. I kept it inside for the warmth. I felt myself lean forward as the train slowed and light flooded the train car. We were at the station.
    There were murmurs. People looked up from their phones. Shuffling feet, furrowed brows, limbs stretching, the movement of clothes, backpacks . . . I picked up my own backpack and followed into the brightness. I kept my head down and pushed forward. The murmurs increased as I sat down on a bench and waited. They formed a dome around my head as I pulled my legs up to my chest. I breathed into my cold hands. The warmth was only momentary.
    “Hey.”
    I looked up. He was here.
    “You ready to go?”
    I nodded, followed him through the station and up the staircase. The air down in the station had been dusty. This air was too, but less so. I took a breath and followed him to his car, taking my place at the front seat. He searched the radio stations for a song he liked. Pounding synths, distorted fuzz whispered at the back of the car. There was nothing. He turned the radio off. “How are you?”
    “Good.”
    “How was the lesson?”
    “Good.”
    “Good.”
    He was silent. I was silent.
    “Mom says we can go see a movie if we want.”
    “What’s playing?”
    “I don’t know. There was this one I kind of wanted to see . . .”
    “Don’t remember it now?”
    “No.”
    We ended up going home. He parked the car below our apartment building and we rode the elevator up. Fourteenth floor. Our floor. He opened the door and followed him in, then left to my room. I threw off my coat and slipped into bed, breathing on my hands again to warm them. I left the window open, though, so the night air could get in.
    Half asleep, my mouth became dry and I felt I was sinking into the mattress. We all know the feeling. I know it especially well. My room became a garden, and in the daze of the edges of my dream world, flowers sprouted and clung to my hands, begged me to pluck them, and vines swum along the walls. A sapling grew out of the sheets of my bed, and I realized I was the seed. I said goodbye to the flowers and became a tree. I remained a tree until morning came.
    Saturday morning. I awoke feeling exactly as I had when I had fallen asleep. My eyes were hot and probably red. The sun cast a gray moth into the room. I opened my window and leaned my head outside. My hair lapped at my face. Below, thirteen stories of gray before a streak of black. A car pulled out of the parking garage and drove away. I stayed in bed for some time. I tried to see the clock, but my vision was blurry and I could see nothing. One foot out of bed, touched the cold floor, stone meets flesh, another. I search for socks and find none. Drift out to the balcony, look down. There, the same gray slab before me. I felt I could span it with my body. Stretch down and touch that black streak, the road. I lean over the edge, taste freedom.
    I slowly start to topple over. I am barely balanced on the railing, gripping it with my hands, the muscles of my arms straining to keep me balanced. It’s too late. I go down, down, down, down into oblivion into darkness into nothingness. I am pulled back up. Dazed, I go back into the house and pour myself cereal. I eat it. Satisfying coolness in my throat. I go back to my room and lay on the bed again. Back out to the balcony. It’s a cycle, someone needs to come and break it.
    I can barely stand the sight of him. I’m happy to see him, but not quite. More like annoyed. It’s hard to tell the two apart.
    “You okay?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You look a little dazed.”
    “No.”
    “Honestly?”
    No. “Yes.”
    Suddenly, a pounding anxiety comes over me. Tell him. Tell him. Tell him. Tell him.
    No, I can’t.
    “You serious?”
    “Yes.”
    No, tell him.
    I can’t.
    I fling myself over the balcony again. A subtle rage, it shows in my eyes. I know it. He doesn’t see it.
    “You okay?”
    “No.”
    “What’s wrong?”
    Why did I do that?
    I say something, I know not what, and head back to my room. A brief hug. The expectation of warmth, then nothing. The balcony, the balcony, the balcony. This evening, I’ll be on the train again. Shoving my hand into my coat pocket, looking into the thin mirror of the railing.