Next Stop Brooklyn

Act I

Once a week, she would go to Laurelton, and by the end of each trip, she'd find herself waiting for the train back to her namesake place, returning empty-handed.

No small part of her had been demanding her to stop, and sometimes she would concur what she'd been doing was a folly unbefitting of her.

Despite that, she would always go back, searching—until one fruitless attempt too many.

No more, Brooklyn decided, as she sat on the bench on the platform. Laurelton Station was moderately quiet, and it was raining.

She had decided she wouldn't be going back there next time. She thought she had been too optimistic over that piece of information that she had neglected to put her prized common sense first.

Common sense. That phrase gave way to a wry smile.

Back then, it meant nothing to them, too often left forgotten in favor of the affairs of the heart, of their dangerous game. When she believed she shouldn't, he would always manage to convince her of the opposite.

And they were happy.

"Pardon me, is this seat taken?"

Brooklyn turned to the asker. A courteous-looking lad was staring back, waiting for her answer.

"No. You can sit there," she said. The boy nodded and sat down.

"Thank you."

She fought the urge to look away and forced a smile, taken aback by a rush of an uncanny feeling of familiarity.

"You're welcome," she managed still; the boy nodded again and, to her relief, left her alone after that. 

While Brooklyn went back to staring at the empty tracks drenched by raindrops, the boy rummaged a piece of colorful, perfectly rectangular paper from his bag and began folding it in silence—soon enough, it had already taken the shape of a rabbit. He examined the work from all sides and smiled, satisfied. He then took out more paper and began folding.

Though Brooklyn had initially thought of minding her own business, the utterly gray dullness proved to be too much of a test—what began as occasional glances soon became staring.

That was when their eyes met.

"...Do you like origami, ma'am?" the boy asked. He definitely had noticed, Brooklyn realized. Yet he was unfazed. He was still as polite as ever. He didn't even seem to realize he was talking to a stranger.

But to her, that was a trivial concern. The question and his smile, though, again felt overwhelmingly familiar. So familiar that words failed her, and her self-composure threatened to crack.

"Do you like origami, Brook?"

"Origami…?"

"Don't act like you don't know what origami is. Like it or not?"

"...Maybe, why?"

"I would like to impress you by showing off my origami skills."

"Well…Alright. Let's see what you're made of."

"Um, ma'am? Did I say…something wrong?"

"...Sorry. You didn't," Brooklyn lowered her palm from her face. She didn't cry yet, and she was thankful for that. "...But I guess…I do like origami."

The boy grinned, and soon Brooklyn found him offering a piece of paper.

"...Then, to pass the time, would you like to make one?"

Brooklyn took the paper and stared at it for a while, suddenly at a loss.

"...Um, ah, sorry…if you would like me to, I could show you how to fold something," the boy, noticing that, offered; Brooklyn almost felt as guilty as he was to hear that.

"l...I guess that would be nice," she replied, if only because he asked so graciously. At least, that's what she convinced herself.

"Okay, let's make a simple crane. Like this…"

She could only follow the instruction with a measure of focus—the rest of her unwittingly occupied with something else she could not really put her finger on. 

"This is a crane, Brook. Simple but meaningful, you know? Make a thousand, and your wish is granted."

"...Nobody can make that much."

"I don't need to make a thousand anyway; I've got what I wanted already. Still, I want to show you how to make one. Are you down for it?"

"Flirt. Okay, show me."

As she reminisced, Brooklyn had already finished her crane without realizing what she was doing. It was misshapen.

"Ah, it's not that bad," soothed the boy when he noticed her apparent distress. He also discreetly put his perfectly made one out of view.

"...Thank you," Brooklyn murmured, setting her crane aside after thinking of tossing it away.

"Maybe you would like to give it another go?"

"Ah, thank you, but I'm good. Maybe I'll just watch. You are really good."

"Oh, am I?" the boy leaned back and began folding again, humming. Brooklyn watched and noticed he wasn't making an animal. It was a paper boat, and she couldn't help but voice her curiosity.

"This? Oh, nothing special about it. You see, one day, I'll join the Navy, just like Dad!"

He was undoubtedly proud of the declaration, but that revelation disturbed Brooklyn more than she'd liked.

"...Your dad…is in the Navy…?"

The boy finished the boat before answering," Ah, not anymore. Um, well, I don't know why, and I don't want to bother him about it, especially after…ah, still, I'm going to be an officer and make him proud. Then he wouldn't have to worry about me."

Only then did Brooklyn recognize the strange feelings that were haunting her. Denial. Dread. All over a possibility that she cannot bring herself to confirm.

"Ma'am, are you alright?"

Brooklyn averted her eyes from the worried face.

"... It's nothing."

"But…"

Before neither could speak, the train to Brooklyn had arrived.

"I… I'm sorry. And thank you," Brooklyn rose from her seat, more hurried than she thought she'd ever need. But she must. She should leave soon and not come back.

Yet, even with sight starting to blur from tears, she still managed to turn around for one last smile.

"Take care. You and your dad."

With that, she disappeared along with the crowd into the train that soon departed.

While still struggling to process the parting words, the boy noticed his father come running and frowned. The older man seemed unusually desperate. The word that followed proved even more disconcerting.

"...Why?"

"Dad…what are you talking about? You are scaring me."

The man got on one knee and gave his son a reassuring pat, even though his expression remained unchanging save for a half-smile.

"Tom… you'll understand," he said as he stood up. "Wait here; Daddy has to make a call."

Having said that, he left his confused son for the nearest payphone.

The boy watched as his father seemed to argue with whoever was on the other side; it ended rather abruptly with him slamming the phone down. But when he returned, he seemed oddly satisfied.

"Pack your things. We're going to Brooklyn."

"Eh? I thought we were going to Manhattan. What about that meetup auntie has arranged for you?"

The man shook his head and sighed.

"Brooklyn is more important than someone I don't even know."

Act II

What are you doing right now? Where are you?

People around him came and went, but the question remained with him. The pining had grown stronger since he saw her leaving before he could reach out to her, without even looking back—as if she had given up.

But he had not given up.

His first attempt, in which he dragged his son along, was unfruitful. It was unsurprising, as he had no idea where to go. They ended up simply spending the rest of the day in Brooklyn, and he didn't regret it.

Whenever time allows, he would always return to that place in search of her, despite common sense. Knowing she came to Laurelton had given him hope—perhaps even too much. It was a wonder the police had not apprehended him yet, despite his aimless, dazed wandering.

From the bench he was sitting on, he could see the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge towering in the distance. For more than once, he had been entertaining the thought of crossing it to Staten Island, to Naval Station New York—but would always decide against it, even though he was sure it would be easier to find her there. The place was nothing but a painful memory, and he wasn't even sure he would feel welcome.

He was content to just remain in Brooklyn, where he could reminisce of the happier times—before he allowed his foolishness to let them drift apart—when he inevitably failed to find her.

Brooklyn had always been fond of her namesake, and in their time together, it was their world. From Greenpoint to Flatbush, they knew every corner by heart. It was a small world, but that was enough for them—no need for Manhattan, Queens, or The Bronx.

An errant paper blown by the wind caught his attention. Without thinking, he picked it up and began folding it. It soon took the crude shape of a crane.

"I still got it, Brook…" he smiled.

If I could make a thousand, I'd wish for a chance to see her again. Even if only for once.

His wry laugh attracted some attention, though, in true New York fashion, people were quick to leave him be.

All but one person.

She had just emerged hastily from a taxi that had just come to an abrupt halt, and he could only watch with bated breath as Brooklyn paid the driver and walked toward him.

"Hello…Commander. Are you well?"

Her tone was cordial but not with the same warmth she used to show him. But that wasn't what affected him the most. For reasons he didn't even dare imagine, she had decided to address him by his old rank. She had never called him that when they were still together, even though she was such a stickler for rules. There was no need for her to do that now, in all circumstances—yet she did.

But he could understand her reasoning. The pain wasn't his alone, after all. If that eased her hurt, he would be alright with that.

"I'm…well. You?" He bit his lip so as not to show too overt a reaction.

"… I'm well, too."

He noticed Brooklyn showed little emotion at their mutual lie—or reunion, for that matter—until she glanced at the paper crane in his hand. But whatever feeling it evoked within her, it quickly passed.

Silence soon reigned as both were resigned to vacantly staring at the distance until Brooklyn spoke.

"Commander…I didn't expect to see you here."

Her words, too, hurt him more than they should; it was as if she didn't recognize his efforts at all. But he steeled himself. Hurt as he was, he now had a chance—to perhaps set things right, or, at least, part on better terms.

"Actually, I was looking for you," he said.

"Looking for me…?"

"Ever since I saw you in Laurelton, Brook…I—I have been looking for you."

"You saw me?" She said, looking as if she was fighting an urge to look at him, casting a few glances but immediately looking away afterward until her gaze firmly settled on The Narrows before her.

"I saw you and my son talking…but you were gone before I could go to you."

"So… he's really your son," Brooklyn said, her voice waning, her head slowly hanging down until the pavement was seemingly all she could see.

"Yeah."

"He is a good kid."

"He is."

"I'm glad, Commander…because you've moved on and raised a happy family."

Mockery wasn't her intention, he knew; still, hearing the words, and especially from her stung—and by the looks of it, she was just as pained, by what could have been.

"…I doubt my ex-wife would agree with that, Brook."

"I… I'm sorry—"

"It's okay. There's no way you would know," he said, smiling when she finally turned to look at him, "At the very least, we're still amicable, even though we were only married for about a year. The boy needs his mother, after all."

"I…I see."

"...Hey, don't feel bad, okay?" he said as his hand found its way on top of hers, the other chasing her tears away, and the comforting, familiar feeling of just having her near doing the same for him.

"...Yes," Brooklyn replied, looking somewhat disappointed when his hand soon pulled away, and he resumed vacantly staring at the distant nothing.

"If anything… I'm the one who should be sorry, aren't I? I… shouldn't have allowed myself…to drive you away."

"...All the pressure you received, all the feelings of failure...they were never easy. I could understand your reason," after some reluctance, Brooklyn placed a hand on his shaking shoulder.

"...Still…I wanted to say I'm sorry, Brook. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for hurting you like that."

Brooklyn's gaze trailed away, and she found the paper crane, which he had dropped earlier and left forgotten.

"Your son…he is as good as you," she whispered, cradling the crane after picking it up.

"Ah…well…he asked me to teach him before. I guess he simply needed a distraction. It was lonely with only the two of us most of the time. My ex-wife would often visit, but I really cannot…well, enjoy spending time with her, so I'd usually let her go somewhere with Tom."

"I see…"

"But…he told me he enjoyed talking to you. You two even made origami together, didn't you?"

"I only made one, and it was bad, to boot."

"Still, thank you for keeping him company."

"Oh, don't mention it. As I said, he's a good kid."

"Yeah, he is."

There was another brief silence after that, although it was less unpleasant.

"Brook, are you not coming back to Laurelton?" he asked after a while, to find Brooklyn looking back at him. Her held gaze was tender, and he saw her smiling for the first time that day.

"But I found you already."

"Huh…? But I mean…"

"I have been coming to Laurelton for some time now. I was looking for you," Brooklyn said, holding a hand up when he was about to say something, "I heard from someone that's where you live…so I just… Before I knew it, I was on the train to Laurelton, and then I kept coming back when I couldn't find you. I don't know why I did. Maybe…I just wanted to talk to you about things."

"Well…we just did, didn't we?" he said, receiving the crane back and now looking at it. "I guess that's why I came to Brooklyn a lot, too. I wanted to talk things out…or…"

He turned to Brooklyn. She's still beautiful, still leaving him breathless even after all these years. She was still the person he loved the most, despite everything between them.

"…No, I just wanted to see you again. It's funny how you suddenly showed up when I was thinking about it. Maybe this crane had something to do with it," he laughed, Brooklyn following a little while after.

"Didn't you say you need one thousand?"

"Ah…in any case…I got what I wanted, somewhat; No need for that, I guess. All that's left is your forgiveness. Will you forgive me, Brook?"

"I had forgiven you a long time ago. But I'm glad to hear your apology anyway."

"Thanks, Brook. It meant a lot to me," he breathed a relieved sigh and inhaled when he felt like tearing up again. His gaze soon fell on the crane once more.

"But…suppose I really make a thousand of this…do you think we can…go back to those days, then, Brook?"

A squeeze on his hand brought his attention to a beaming Brooklyn. He had never considered himself particularly good at reading people, but he knew Brooklyn. He knew that gleam within her eyes that only he could understand.

"We can't. But if you wish for a chance to win me over again, then you need nothing."

Feeling her hand tightening around his, he decided it was too good a chance to pass up.

"Well, then. If you're free, want to get some coffee? It's on me."

"Sure, I'd love that."