A View of First-Class

Clickity-clack, clickity-clack... the rhythmic train on the tracks rattled in her head like a jackhammer in a cement tunnel.

She woke up in a cold sweat to the quiet train car with the same clickity-clack continuing in the background in a dulled, comforting rhythm. The seat cushion behind her head felt damp. Was she sweating through this odd nightmare that she could not recall? How embarrassing, she thought. How long was she asleep? She gathered her composure enough to sneak a peek around the train car. Her car was empty, not another soul in sight. The vintage lamps on the wall flickered along with the train’s rhythm. Everyone else must have just retired to their sleeping cars, she thought.

Her designer bag was still at her feet and as she reached for it, she felt another rush in her head, like she had suddenly sunk underwater and was plummeting down hundreds of meters.

“Whoa..” She sat back in her seat again. She had not had any alcohol in almost a year and did not want the temptation of anything over-the-counter interfering with what was supposed to be a mind and body cleansing trip. Then why did she feel so disoriented? She looked out the window into the dark landscapes whirring by. The moonlight lit up the rolling hills in the distance and she felt the serenity start to return to her shoulders as she remembered how nice it is to be away from the city.

“This is what I needed. It must just be the altitude and fresh air.” As she said this, she noticed how fast the train was moving. They must really ramp up the speed at night. What an amazing speed to be moving at to hardly notice from inside the cozy train car, she thought. She forced herself down again to reach for her bag and brought it up to her lap. Inside, she still had water in her water bottle that she drank down in what felt like one, large gulp. As she stood up she looked down at her dress where sweat had soaked through.

“Oh my...” She said, bringing her back to reality and she hoped that she did not run into anybody on her way back to her sleeper car.

She made her way out into the aisle and peeked through the window to the adjoining car door. As if peering into another world, the dining car was in full swing. Waiters were bringing people bottles of champagne and flipping over fresh, empty glasses to be poured. Food trays were rushing over to other tables with hot, steaming plates of gourmet meals. People were laughing and drinking in the warm glow at an oddly, over-excited level. How did she not hear any of this while she was sleeping? She then realized that she could not really hear them now, either. The insulation between these old cars must really block out the sound, she thought. Dreading the idea that she had to walk through this First-Class “party-car” in her sweaty dress, in front of all these people to get to her sleeping car, made her sit back down.

“Do I stink?” She lifted her dress’s bodice to her nose. It’s now or never, she thought. “Just go.” She scolded to herself.

As she stood up again on a mission, the blood rushed to her head. The floor swelled in a wave under her feet and she grabbed the back of another seat to remain upright.

Maybe the train’s speed is affecting me, she thought. As she peered through the adjoining car window again, she saw the exact same waiter smiling his way over with that bottle of champagne to the same table and flipping the same two glasses over for that same cute couple. The same steaming, hot plate of food was being hurried down the other aisle.

She then felt the blood leave her face and a knot form in her stomach. Something was very wrong. This could not have just been a coincidence. She fought all the disorientation and grabbed her bag off her seat. She needed to get to the bottom of this.

As she slid open the door to the next car, the pounding, CLICKITY-CLACK sound echoed all around her. Her bag slipped out of her hand, falling between the car platforms, inevitably onto the tracks. The train continued in its unwavering CLICKITY-CLACK. She was now face-to-face with a projection screen hovering outside the car window, with a video of that First-Class dining car scene playing over and over and over. Her eyes wide, she reached out slowly in sheer horror, to touch the screen with her fingertips. In an instinctual rage of having been fooled, she grabbed the screen and ripped it down, although unsure of what was even holding it up. Her heart was pounding.

Behind the removed screen was a very different view. She was not on the train that she had boarded. She was not on a train.