Second Contact

As the train pulls into Penzance, Mary Beth yawns and stretches. She hasn't slept well in the hard narrow seat. Her clothes - UCLA sweatshirt over T-shirt, jeans - are gritty and grimy from dried perspiration and two days' wear. She reaches up for her backpack. Dizziness as she stand s: breakfast and coffee will cure it. She undoes the rubber band holding her hair back, shakes her hair out, then ties it again in a ponytail. She strides down the platform, her ticket ready for inspection. It's still cool at this time, 8.30. Salt is in the air; seagulls squall. She visits the restroom to wash under her arms, clean her teeth, freshen up.

Tonight she'll sleep better: she's booked ahead at the Youth Hostel here in Penzance. It'll be hot today, few if any clouds. She won't be disappointed. No clouds will hide the Sun, not today of all days. Britain's notoriously unpredictable weather won't spoil everything.

She goes into the small station buffet and on impulse buys a newspaper. She's made a point of disregarding the news during her two months in Europe, especially what's been happening back home - strife and race riots. Too depressing - she'll bone up on all that when she returns to California in September. She sits down at the corner of a table with a Brunch Muffin and a plastic cup of coffee almost too hot to touch. Travelling on a budget: it appeals to her ascetic side, and keeps her slim.

Mary Beth left Amy, the College friend she was travelling with, behind in London. Amy hadn't wanted to come with her to Cornwall: London was much more interesting to her. "I can see it on TV," she said. "You'll get a better view that way."

"It's not the same," said Mary Beth.

So Amy went with her to Paddington, saw her off on the overnight train. They kissed, embraced, promised to meet up again at the end of the week. Mary Beth waved at Amy as the train pulled out; just as Amy slipped out of sight, Mary Beth saw her turn and walk away down the platform. It's all or nothing now, she thought. This was why she'd insisted on being in England in August, rather than anywhere else in Europe. Mary Beth's obsession, as the much more sanguine Amy put it.

In the newsstand, the local paper has a large headline: ECLIPSE DAY!

As she sits at the table - alone now except for a late-thirties man with thinning hair sitting opposite - an elderly man strides past and slaps something onto the table. Both Mary Beth and the other man look at it simultaneously, catch each other's gaze, smile.

The elderly man has left a crudely-printed flier on the table: REPENT FOR JUDGMENT DAY IS AT HAND, it says.

Mary Beth glances about her. It's a weekday morning in Penzance; men and women are travelling to work. Children are out of school for the sum mer. She is just one amongst many to pass through this station. There is nothing unusual about today. Except for one thing, there will be nothing unusual. It is not Judgment Day.

[End of this extract. The full story was published in F & SF, March 1994]