Aeaea

You don’t just wake up one day on a train, right? Except you do. No ticket, no brake lever to pull, no recollection of even stepping onto the train. Almost every single one of you. You’re born and yeah, whatever. You like the funny lady who brings her hands to her face and disappears for a couple of seconds. You’re pretty sure you like the man who picks you up and rocks you back and forth. Then, boom.

“What is this heaven?”

This yellow, velvety goodness that’s been plucked from the Elysian Fields and plopped into your mouth. You adore it and you won’t tolerate anything less than it. You love mac and cheese. Then, just as quickly as you found macaroni and cheese, you’ve found a new love – your first crush. They’re beautiful and you’d do anything for their attention. But before you even realize that you’ve changed, the train’s swept you away. You seek stability, safety, consistency before you even understand why you want it. 4.0 grade point averages, 1600 SAT scores, certificates of perfect attendance, presidential honors – you pursue perfection in avenues of life before you’ve even entered a destination.

I remember my childhood vividly. I remember never really understanding any of you. How you could all run around, full of a purpose that you didn’t even understand. You’d cry over tests and worry about whether Billy was going to ask you to the prom, but nobody ever told you to want it. Why did you want it? Why did you care? You all wanted to be rich and none of you ever wanted to just be. “I don’t know, Aila. I just want it.” Not one of you could tell me why. “Society,” some of you would say, “Society makes us want to.” Well, why didn’t I want to? Why didn’t I want it?

I remember being so hungry. So sore. My ribs and jaw ached. The pain had dulled around the time the chill had finished its slow soak into my bones. I had stopped shivering. The last time that I’d tried, I’d been unable to raise my hand above my hip, but that had been hours ago. Now I was just fighting to stay awake. At the time, it was a little ironic. It was the first thing that I knew that I had to do. I knew that I couldn’t allow my eyes to close for too long. He was angry again. I was crumpled against the wall of our storm cellar in the dead of winter – a report card stuffed betwixt the thickest books in the family library. I was so hungry.

And so, years later, I was honestly a little amused – maybe even relieved – when I found myself in my predicament. Like so many who came before me, I could not for the life of me remember stepping onto that train – the Sunrise 242 is what I think the officers called it. Funnily enough, I first awoke in the dining car. I was unsure of how long I’d been sleeping. Maybe I’d intended to get a meal – assuming I’d even walked to the dining car on my own. Nevertheless, I knew what had to be done. Like every child I’d questioned in school, like every student who cocked their head in confusion as I poked and prodded them – searching for what drove them – I recognized my purpose. For the first time, I understood. I felt that intrinsic need to fulfill a purpose that had simultaneously always pulled me forward and forever been obscured from view. I recognized that every moment in my life had culminated in this moment. That every action that I had ever taken was an individual note struck atop a piano, building to the crescendo of my awakening on the Sunrise 242. Perhaps I always knew that it was my purpose.

After a lifetime of trying to understand, when my opportunity finally arose, I knew better than to question it. I knew to seize my purpose without a thought for “why.” I did not pull at threads. I did not beg questions. I turned to the man behind the dining car bar, and I ordered a steak.

And then I waited.

And I waited.

And when it finally arrived, I slipped the steak knife and the fork into the sleeve of my jacket, and I set off into the train. I knew he’d follow. I’d noticed the icy stare almost the second I’d awoken. I’d felt it really. Examining me from across the car. Was I drunk? Traveling alone? I knew he’d come. I knew that he knew the sleeper cars would be empty at this hour. And he followed. It was primal. As he called out for my attention, I increased my walking pace – a cotton-tailed rabbit running deeper into the forest. We passed deserted car after deserted car – slipping deeper and deeper into the train until the sound of the engine was near deafening and his measured calls devolved into shouts and chuckles of glee. I found my meal. My purpose. Like all of you. Against the roar of the engine, when his gleeful cheers turned to shrieks of panic, he drew no onlookers, and I ate in peace.