Identity

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The Metro entered a tunnel, and sunlight windows became dark. The lighting in the train car was dull, the air conditioning frigid and loud. Seats were mostly empty—no conversations, no music that was too loud for headphones, no middle-aged men wearing too much cologne. A man and a woman sat a few feet away in adjoining seats. They wore baseball caps and DC tee shirts, their noses buried in an oversized map. Rebecca interlocked her arm around a metal beam and leaned against the wall.

"This station stop: Rosslyn," said the male voice on the intercom. "This is the last stop in the Commonwealth of Virginia, and the first transfer point to the Orange Line. Doors opening on the left side."

The conductor applied the brakes and the train began to slow down. Rebecca gripped the metal beam and steadied her feet as the station's round beige ceilings replaced the black of the tunnel. The train came to a stop and an automated female voice came on.

"Doors opening, please step back to allow customers to exit. When boarding, please move to the center of the car."

"I think it's this one," the seated man said. "We get off here."

The Metro doors slid open and Rebecca stepped back. The man glanced at his map, looked at Rosslyn station, looked back at the map.

"I don't know," the woman said. "He said it was still Virginia. We have to wait."

"It's okay," he said. "Let's get off here and ask someone. If it's wrong, we'll come back and catch the next train that comes by."

"I'm pretty sure it's either one or two more stops."

"Come on. The doors are going to close," he said.

The man sprang up from his chair and grabbed his wife by the hand. The woman clutched the map in her hand and crinkled it as she struggled to keep up with her leading half. Their golden wedding bands caught the light as they moved, and if Rebecca knew where they were trying to go, she might have offered to help. She slinked to the other side of the train as the couple barreled past her, nearly pummeling a pair of short girls trying to board. The two girls held hands and stared up, side-stepping as the married couple bounded off the train.

Rebecca watched the two girls enter the train and climb into the same adjoining seats. Their turtle shell backpacks and bubble jackets made them balloon to twice their actual size. The blonde girl kept her hair in a neat ponytail, and her skirt or dress was neatly pressed. The brunette's hair was a bob of straight, short hair, and she looked to be the younger of the two. She pulled a crudely covered lollipop from her pocket and unwrapped it.

"This is Blue Line train in the direction of Largo Town Center," the conductor said. "Next stop is Foggy Bottom. Blue Line to Largo. Next Stop: Foggy Bottom."

"Step back, doors closing."

The doors slid shut. Outside, a young man jogged to the platform, but stopped when he realized he couldn't keep up with a moving subway. Rosslyn station zoomed by and the train entered another tunnel.

The blonde adjusted her skirt and turned to her friend who was maybe her sister. "So if you're a girl and you like boy stuff, it means you're a tomboy."

The brunette held her candy in her mouth and looked around the train. "What kinds of boy stuff?"

"If you're a girl and you like Transformers or football or monster trucks, it means you're a tomboy," she said. "But if you're a boy and you like Barbies, it means you're a tomgirl."

"But I like Barbies," the brunette said. She swept strands of hair from her face with her lollipop hand.

"That's because you're not a tomboy. You're just a girl."

"I know."

"It's not weird if you're a girl and you like girl things."

The brunette shifted in her seat, sandwiching her bag against the chair. "Do they have a special name for that?"

The blonde sat up and looked at the ceiling. She tilted her head to the side, looked at her friend and shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "I don't think so."

Rebecca watched as the girls continued to discuss school, homework, and TV shows. Blonde did the talking while Brunette mostly nursed on her lollipop and sometimes nodded.

Kids are expensive, Beck.

"Don't forget to hold my hand when we leave. We have to get off the train together," the blonde said. "Put your lollipop in your other hand."

"Is it the next stop?"

The Metro hummed and sped through the tunnel. Each time the train shook, the small girls bounced and bobbed in their seats.

"No, we have two more. Farragut West is where we get off," Blonde said.

Brunette took a break from her treat and switched hands. She looked around the train as it shifted side to side and fixed her gaze on Rebecca.

Rebecca locked eyes with the brunette, smiled, and nodded. The girl's blue eyes sparkled as she looked down and stifled a nervous smile. Rebecca did a small wave with her fingers and widened her eyes in a face Mom used to make all the time. The brunette smiled with dimples and a wrinkled nose, her feet dangling several inches off the floor. Blonde noticed the exchange and Rebecca smile-nodded at her, too. The blonde grinned, then put her arm around the brunette. Retiring the funny face, Rebecca leaned her head against the cool metal beam and watched the two sisters. She felt the train slow down and the conductor's voice came on:

"This is Foggy Bottom. Doors opening left side."

The train slowed and Rebecca turned to the door. She saw her reflection in the window and her eyes looked zombie tired. She blinked and rubbed at her eyes, and behind her, the girls looked at a book together. The blonde was reading with her finger, and the brunette followed along, lollipop in hand.

Rebecca's dark reflection was replaced by a lighter one as Foggy Bottom emerged at the mouth of the tunnel. The station was usually busy with college students, but college students couldn't be bothered with commuting on early Saturday mornings.

The Metro came to a stop and the doors opened. The automated female voice did her spiel, and Rebecca stepped out. As she walked along the platform, she looked inside the train at the two sisters. The brunette followed Rebecca with her eyes, and Rebecca waved her fingers one last time. More passengers boarded, the doors slid shut, and the Metro was moving again. She stole another glance at the girls until they were swallowed by the tunnel with the rest of the Blue Line train.

We got lucky with you.

Rebecca took the first escalator up, swiped her Smart Trip at the turnstile, and walked toward sunlight. Wind tunneled up from the Metro, and wind tunneled down from street level. She rode the second escalator up, standing to the right while others passed on the left. Shade turned to sunlight turned to open sky, and the wind draft calmed to a clean breeze.

People walked all around, and to her left loomed the George Washington University Hospital. She passed the coffee and bagel cart on the corner of Eye and 23rd. Claude sat inside reading a newspaper, and an older man was digging through the drink cooler for gold or a beverage that wasn't there. Claude looked over his newspaper and waved—he only carried muffins on weekdays. Rebecca inhaled vanilla bean and thought of French toast mornings with Mom and Dad before school. She reached the sliding doors of the hospital and sunlight turned to shade turned to fluorescent lighting. Entering the circular lobby, she flashed her ID card and Jacquie waved her past the security desk.

A pair of EMTs rolled an empty stretcher to the side entrance. Hordes of non-hospital personnel walked to and from the cafeteria, gift shops, and elevators. Rebecca looked up at the lobby's upper level and saw a line of people snaking out the doorway to the ER's waiting room; nurses, techs, and interns triaged patients as they stood in line. The smell of coffee bubbled over the fluorescent lighting, and she noticed cups of cafeteria coffee fastened to most people's hands.

The cafeteria came up on the left, and Rebecca walked inside. A forty-something man sat at a table with two kids. One of the kids, a girl, was fidgeting and grumbling in her chair. She scrunched her forehead and said something to the man who was probably her father; her voice was high and her plate was still full. The man shook his head and the girl grumbled some more. The older child adjusted his eyeglasses and passed his plate along the table in the girl's direction. The girl looked at the plate, looked at the boy, straightened her posture. She buried her nose in the food and dug in. The father ruffled his son's hair and patted his back. The trio had heavy eyelids, hunches in their posture, and wrinkles in their clothes—all indicators of chronic been in the hospital for way too long syndrome.

Rebecca eyed the breakfast menu as people trickled into the cafeteria. The line grew longer and the Saturday staff shouted orders to one another behind the service counter. The smell of fresh eggs and cheese and toasted bagels hung in the air. Breakfast was the most important meal of the day, but it wasn't important enough to justify standing in a theme park-sized line—there needed to be an express lane for doctors and nurses.

She glanced once more at the family of three. The dad alternated between checking his phone and watching his kids eat like a pack of starving lion cubs. The girl talked with her mouth full of food, and the boy ate quietly with chipmunk eyes magnified by his glasses.

We're happy, sweetie.

Rebecca turned and left the cafeteria. She walked to the stairs that curved up along the shape of the lobby and climbed. Her legs felt heavy, and she either needed more sleep or more time in the gym. As she neared the top, a voice boomed from across the lobby near the entrance:

"Give her some air," he said. "Stand back."

"I'll get a doctor," a woman said.

Reaching the bank of elevators, Rebecca looked over her shoulder. Sounds of heels and boots on tile carried upstairs as people scampered on the lower level. Voices grew louder, more people ran, and keys jangled as Jacquie left the security desk to investigate. Two EMTs walked in and flocked to the fallen woman. The door to the ER was propped open by people, and the cafeteria swallowed and spat people like a bowling ball return machine.

Rebecca extended her hand forward and pressed the up arrow. The doors opened, and she entered and pressed the button for the Medical ICU. The lobby was drowned out and replaced by sliding doors, moving metal, and electronic beeps. The elevator worked against gravity, and she felt her stomach growl for food. She yawned and watched the red numbers count the floors, and her throat scratched for drink. She didn't want coffee, but she understood the appeal.

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