Do Not Spoil the Ending

I leaned on the wooden ledge surrounding the octagonal booth and stared at the agent. "But we bought the tickets months ago."

Bridget, my friend and traveling companion, leaned against a show poster framed on a marble exterior wall, and fought with the cool wind to tuck her curly hair behind her ear.

The agent pointed to a small cardboard sign taped to the inside of the glass. "We can't seat anyone after curtains up."

I checked the time on my cell phone. My body rocked with each pounding heartbeat. A thousand miles. We travelled seventeen hours to Toronto solely to see our favorite pop-opera tenor in a heartbreaking musical, and five extra minutes in line for the ladies room at the mall kept us outside the building. My hands shook as I pushed the phone in my back pocket, and presented my biggest smile. "We'll be quiet."

The agent winced and kept her head shaking. "I'm sorry."

There it was: the Canadian sore-y. The city had been nothing if not polite, and this woman, while refusing our will-call tickets, kept all snark from her face, and I believed she felt bad when Bridget and I crossed the street to enter the mall again.

On the third level beside a flyover to The Bay, a department store we didn't get in Memphis, Bridget and I absently kicked the table legs at Second Cup, sipping slushy coffee. The McDonalds across from the coffee shop with its tiny maple leaf in the logo defied our perception of the burger joint from back home. Clean floors and tables suited the smiling staff and courteous patrons.

"Almost makes me want to try it," I said. When Bridget frowned, I clarified, pointing with my straw, "Maybe they don't keep their burgers under a heat lamp."

She shrugged and took a long drag. "It's not just the show, you know? Alessandro was in it."

I nodded.


I've been wanting to see him in concert for years. The play was even supposed to have a twist ending, right?"

"It's really good."

Her dark eyes widened. "You saw it?"

I stirred my drink and looked past a lingerie place and the Apple store. Scaffolding blocked most of the aisle, but people bustled through like it wasn't there. "I saw a pirate version on Youtube."

She nodded slowly.

"The trip wasn't a total bust, though," I continued. "Don't you like Toronto?"

"Are you kidding? It's so clean and friendly, the place is a living cliché. In a good way." She looked down and rotated her ankles. "My feet are killing me."

"You wanna go back to the hotel?"

She slurped the last of her drink, her face screwed in thought as though she hadn't been listening. "Kat, what do you think would happen if we didn't go home?"

"You mean the hotel?" I asked, keeping the habit of referring to any place I spent the night as home.

"Staying in Toronto, I mean." Bridget wiped the water rings from the dark stained table with a napkin—or serviette, as they called it up here. "I guess it's not worth being illegal unless it's a really exotic place."

"Like where?"

The napkin went into the empty cup and she winced as we got to our feet. "Japan?"

"How would you get a job?" 

The first few steps smarted as though my soles were post-op, mirroring Bridget's complaints. My shoulders ached from my purse and shopping bags, which grew exponentially heavier throughout the day. It was probably just as well we hadn't gone to the theater because the bags wouldn't have fit under the seats. Or maybe coat check would have taken them. No use wondering now.

"I'm not gonna do it," Bridget continued, "I'm just saying if you're gonna break a rule, might as well do it right."

We took the escalators to the lowest level and walked a city block to where Eaton Centre dumped us into the subway. Because of the efficiency of the TTC, Bridget and I were standing outside Bay Station within ten minutes, staring into lights from stores on either side of Bloor Street. I set my bags down.

"More shopping, then?" Bridget asked.

I couldn't tell if she actually wanted to go or was trying to be nice. Since we might not get back to Toronto for a while, I said, "It's only eight thirty. We're leaving in the morning."

"What if we put our stuff down at the hotel first? It's like a block away."

My shoulders agreed; my feet seconded. All I wanted to do was lie down and watch the crappy comedy channel on TV—maybe order a pizza. "The minute we sit, we won't get up again." 

Bridget pulled her hair in a ponytail and released it. We'd met at work in the mall, kept in touch over the years, and recently, our mutual craziness for Alessandro led me to invite her along to our northernly neighbor. It turns out spending a long weekend out of the country with someone is more difficult than making conversation over a slow-customer evening.

"Club Monaco," she said, pointing diagonally. "The sale rack ought to have something good."

Inside, the racks and tables mirrored other Club Monaco locations we'd visited earlier. Same overpriced fashions; same strange jewelry with no apparent target audience. Like a pro, Bridget angled through the displays until she reached the back of the store and immersed herself in tangled hangers along the wall.

I glanced at the price tag on a sequined tank top (originally $130, now $70) while working out which memory of work to ask if she recalled. 

Bridget's nose brushed my ear. "Hottie at ten o'clock."

A row over in men's sale, a blond guy in his twenties with a backpack slung over one arm squeaked a hanger over the metal rod. He looked like he'd stepped out of one of the fashion ads on the walls to stretch his legs.

"Should I talk to him?" she asked.

I shrugged. "It'll be 'convenience marriage' accusations for all concerned if you get involved with a foreigner."

She pursed her lips and nodded. "Let's see where he's going. Maybe well have some fun after the theater disappointment."

"Stalker fun?"

"If he's going to a swanky club or restaurant, it can be like a free cultural tip. Look at him. He's got to be going somewhere cool."

"Yet he's in the sale rack."

She snorted. "So are we."

The guy took a T-shirt to the cashier. We occupied ourselves at a table of jewelry nearby while he finished up, then casually followed him outside. When he crossed the street and went into Bay Station—the place we'd left minutes before—I wished I'd taken Bridget's suggestion and stopped at the hotel first.

He didn't stop at the westbound platform, like I thought he would from his direction, but continued down the hall and disappeared through a door held open by a plastic chair.

"Does he work here?" Bridget asked.

"It's the way to the other platform," I said, and went through the door in time to see the guy's head disappear down some stairs, next to a decrepit escalator. The treads were gone, leaving a creepy, rusted skeleton of exposed mechanical parts.

A silent, empty platform with white tiled columns opened in front of us.

"Where'd he go?" Bridget asked.

From one end of the platform to the other, confusing signs lay along the walls, none of which telling us the direction the train would go. Some looked like they belonged in New York or other cities. Though there wasn't another exit that we knew of, Bridget and I were alone in the dingy room.

"Toronto was supposed to be clean," I said.

"Why aren't there any benches?"

"The train will be here any minute. Maybe we should go to Little Greece and eat, then go back to the hotel and order a movie."

"Is it Little Greece or Greek Town?" Bridget asked.

"It's like Little Italy or Little India."

"Or Chinatown?"

"Whatever. We need giros." I pulled out the subway map. "I think it's at Castle Frank station." I'd been to the city with my family when I was eight, and I pulled information from the memory of someone not fully paying attention.

"Maybe we should ask someone."

I turned around sarcastically.

She frowned and pointed at the approaching light. "Train."

The floor rumbled, and the train whooshed by without stopping.

"What the heck?" she shrieked.

"Excuse me!" A voice shouted, echoing on the platform. "Can I help you?" He was a transit officer.

"The train didn't stop," I said.

He smiled. "Why don't you girls come upstairs with me?"

Bridget and I followed him up and into a small room, swallowing and glancing at each other.

"Where's your friend?" he asked.

"There's just the two of us," Bridget said.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't we be sure?" I asked, probably stupidly.

"You didn't have a boyfriend with you?"

"Oh that guy?" My cheeks got hot. "To be honest, we were following him."

"Why?"

I arched my eyebrows. "You know."

"No. Tell me."

"He was cute," Bridget mumbled.

"Cute?"

She nodded.

"So where is he?"

"We thought he was gonna catch the train and he disappeared," I said. "Why didn't the train stop?"

"How did you get to the platform?"

"Through a door and down some stairs," I said.

"That door is locked at all times." He smiled. "How'd you get inside?"

Bridget shook her head. "It was propped open by a chair."

He nodded slowly. "Are you girls from around here?"

"We're on vacation," I said.

"Mind if I take a look at your ID?"

"Did we do something wrong?" Bridget asked.

We handed him our passport cards and he read them before answering. "That platform has been closed since 1966."

Bridget's expression probably mirrored mine: wide eyes, open mouth. "We were just trying to get to Castle Frank station," she said. "What happened to the guy?"

"We suspect he's an urban explorer. Probably went into the tunnel." He paused to look us both in the eye. "You're sure you don't know anything about this?"

"Really," I said, "I wouldn't go into a subway tunnel. It's like suicide, right? If a train comes …" I paused, grasping for words, "You die?"

"It's very dangerous."

"So how do we get to the regular station?" I asked.

Within minutes, we were standing on the westbound platform with dozens of people, sure we wouldn't be pulled aside for trespassing again. The train dropped us off at Castle Frank station.

"Have you been to Little Greektown before?" Bridget asked, trying to make a joke about our previous argument, but I didn't get it at first and probably gave her a weird look.

"Years ago, I went with my family during this huge Greek street festival. So much food. Holy crap."

Outside, everything was dark, sort of in the middle of nowhere, and I was afraid we wouldn't find the station again once we left. I oriented myself with the street signs and headed toward the right. "We're on Bloor. We haven't gone that far," I said.

We walked a little way down Bloor, then down Parliament Street, where it looked like all the action was. By the time we passed a fenced-off apartment complex, two Pizza Pizzas, and a pet store in the grips of a dinosaur-sized iguana, I stopped.

"Where are all the Greek restaurants?"

"We could go to Starbucks or Pizza Pizza. Really, anything is fine now." The irritation mounted in Bridget's voice. Should have listened to her earlier.

Bridget crossed her arms. "Let's take a slice from Pizza Pizza back to the hotel."

We turned around where we stood, trying to figure out which direction to go. "Where are we?" I asked.

"Carlton and Parliament?"

I hated to be in a bad mood in such a nice city, but the fatigue and the looming bus trip home, and missing the show caught up with me. "I really wanted to see that show," I said.

"A hundred dollars a ticket," Bridget said. "Our bus fare was cheaper. Guess I'll wait for the movie." Bridget turned in a circle and checked the street signs again. "Gerrard? Are we close to Little India?"

I shook my head. Because my father was Indian and we spent the majority of our vacation in Little India, it was the one place I would recognize. "Let's backtrack to the subway."

We turned in what we thought was the right direction.

"If they make a movie version, I'll find out the ending before I watch it," Bridget said.

"You didn't know the end of The Sixth Sense, and it had a major plot twist."

"Yeah, but I haven't even seen The Crying Game and I know the ending."

"That movie is almost twenty years old. The secret's bound to get around." I said. "What about Star Wars?"

"What about it?"

I cupped my hands over my mouth and breathed dramatically. "Luuuke. I am your faaaaather!"

"I never understood the plot of that movie," Bridget said. "There are files, some emperor does some stuff. Who is the emperor they're talking about?"

I shrugged. "Luke's father?"

"And who is Boba Fett? That's still Star Wars, right?"

"Yeah." I checked the street signs again. "What the heck happened to Parliament Street? We're at Gerrard and Church."

"Get your map."

"It's just for the subway."

"Well, is there a Gerrard or Church subway stop?"

"No." I growled. "We never should have followed that guy."

"We still would have gone to get food," Bridget said.

"Let's keep going this way. I recognize these street names." I continued in the direction we'd been going.

"Why don't we take a cab?"

"I don't have money for my subway fare to get to the bus station in the morning. How are we gonna get money for a cab?"

The next block was silent. My feet hurt so badly I was limping. I couldn't understand why I always did this to myself on a vacation: instead of resting, I pushed myself much further than I ever did during a work week and went back home needing another break.

The main drag of Toronto crossed in front of us. The lights of Eaton Centre and Dundas Square twinkled in the direction we'd left after the incident at the theatre.

I deflated. "At least we know where we are. The mall is that way, so we need to go," I pointed right, after some thought, "this way. There's a stop at College Street."

The next morning found us more refreshed. We had our last breakfast at Second Cup, gathered our bags and legged it to the Coach Terminal at Bay and Edward Street. Taking a cab would have been better than fighting with my unstable suitcase, but at least we got there.

Bridget leaned over in her window seat on the bus and half whispered to me, "Before the bus starts, I'm gonna go to the restroom. I hate being jostled."

I shifted my legs so she could get through.

"I ran out of," she lowered her voice further and leaned in, "protection last night."

I handed her my purse and settled back in my seat.

The driver walked down the aisle talking to each passenger and checking something off a clipboard. By the time he got to me, I knew what he wanted.

"Passport?" he said.

I winced. "My friend is carrying my purse and she's in the bathroom. We're still stopping at the border, right?"

He nodded. "You have your passport, through?"

"Of course."

He hesitated and went on to the next passenger.

Bridget came back almost as soon as the driver got back in his seat. I shoved my purse in the seat pocket.

"The driver wanted to see our passports," I said.

"Did you show him mine?"

"Showing another person's passport never works."

"So, what? We can still go, right?"

The bus rolled out of the terminal.

"We're going," I said.

The ride was uneventful. I listened to music, and Bridget worked on her laptop. I thought we might cross at Niagara Falls, but we bypassed the landmark and went to Buffalo instead. We X-rayed our luggage in a boring, boxy building and stood in line to show our paperwork to the agents.

Bridget was called to the counter first, me a few seconds later.

"Passport and ticket, please," The agent said.

I fished the ticket out of my purse and checked the empty compartment in my wallet where I kept my passport card. I checked the zippered compartment where I kept my unmentionables. The pocket for my phone. The bottom of the bag. In my sunglasses case. The front pocket. The slots for my credit cards.

"What's your citizenship?" She asked.

"American. I promise I have it in here. I had to use it to get in," I tried a laugh, but she didn't crack a smile. I checked everything again. And then I remembered the cute guy disappearing in the abandoned subway platform, and pushing my passport card across the table to the transit officer. I'd left it with him.

Bridget glanced at me as we sat in front of a desk in a small office. The agent left the room while we made calls to our parents and the US Consulate. We'd been silent since.

"So," Bridget said, "we're not stateless now, are we?"

"Don't be stupid."

The room lapsed into silence again.

"So we're probably gonna be detained or—"

"Yeah," I said. "We won't be home for a while." I studied my hands and swore my necklace twitched with every pounding heartbeat. "It's weird," I said after a moment, "the same thing happened to Alessandro's character in that play."

"Kat, if you spoil the ending, I swear I'll never speak to you again."

I couldn't help grinning. I already had.