Arrivals Never End

There, nestled in a row or empty cashmere seats, lies a man out of time, slumped awkwardly with his elbows beneath the arm rests and his fedora hat barely clinging to that which it was made for. Surrounded in a lush landscape of first-class luxury in an eerily lonely car, the train waits for him to get up to speed.

As each eyelash slowly opens as that of satin curtains being drawn at first light, the man immediately notices the familiar feeling of disorientation. The dry eyes and sensitivity to light bring him to the conclusion that he has once again gone against his own promise and has hit the sauce too hard. Yet the more he thinks about it, the less he can remember about the night before and how he arrived in this most comfortable chair.

With each passing second, he better realizes that he is on a train. Not only a train, but a luxurious train. A train from something he’s only seen in the movies. Movies that take place in the 30s or 40s. The cashmere chairs are contoured by thick leather, the carpet plush with a very particular burgundy rich quality, and the chandeliers gleam of authentic crystals. Even the odor is that of a mix of charming pipe smoke and new leather.

He at last finds his balance and walks around the empty car to investigate. Finding only random crumbs upon the floor and half smoked cigars in the ashtrays, he looks out the foggy windows to attempt to make out the whereabouts of this anonymous train. At first, he sees only nondescript mountain ranges, but as he continues to stare his view changes drastically. Suddenly, he finds himself looking upon New York City, Manhattan to be precise. But it is the Manhattan of old.

Just as he attempts to come to grips with the likelihood that this is all a dream, the sliding inter-car door opens and a tall gentleman in an old conductor’s uniform emerges.

“Are you finding everything to your liking, Sir?” asks the conductor.

“Uh. I mean. Well, yes, I guess. But I mean…” The puzzled man answers as he loses his train of thought becoming ever transfixed on the conductor’s face. A long yet pleasant face with a rather blank look on ever widening eyes. It is a look of all-knowing yet vacant contentment.

“Would you care for a tea or coffee while you wait, Sir?”

“While I wait? Wait for what? I mean I don’t know where…I don’t have a ticket.” The man replies trying to maintain his composure.

“Oh, that’s quite alright, Sir. You are a guest on board. Forgive my rudeness, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Fernly. Please don’t hesitate to ask if I may provide any assistance at all.”

“Nice to meet you Fernly, my name is…Jack, Jack Dawlish,” he replies with growing uncertainty. “Listen, where exactly is this train going? I mean what’s its destination? When I looked out the window before it seems we’re in New York, but not exactly.”

“Are we really, sir?” Fernly answers with a wry smile upon the side of his face.

Uneased by the answer he received, Jack takes another look out the foggy window. He is frightened and in awe to find himself eclipsed by the grand site that is Mount Fuji.

“How the hell did we get to Japan?! This is some kind of crazy trick. I must be dreaming,” Jack says as he paces back and forth in the car trying to retrace his steps.

"I'm afraid not, Sir. But I assure you there is nothing to be startled by. Why don’t I get you some nice hot tea?”

“No thank you. But wait. Tell me…where does this train stop? I mean how do I get off?” Jack clutches his jacket with ever growing anxiety.

“Stop? My dear sir. This train does not stop,” Fernly says with a polite chuckle. “It is my responsibility to make sure this train always maintains the exact same speed and to ensure our guests are always comfortable…until they reach their destination.”

“Destination?!? But you just said this train never stops! How do the passengers get off?” Jack pleads with mounting urgency.

“Well, Sir. It’s not so much a matter of how, but rather where and when if you get my meaning.” Fernly gestures towards the exit door.

“Are you kidding me?! You mean I have to jump in order to get off this thing?! This train has gotta be moving at least 70 kilometers an hour. How can one survive that?”

“Well, survival was never the issue at hand Mr. Dawlish. It’s a matter of eternity.”

“I knew it! I’m dead, aren’t I? This is Heaven, maybe Hell?” Jack inquires as a look of almost mad clarity washes over his face.

“Perhaps, or something in between. It’s all a matter of perception you see. Some might find this train to be torture, some might find the prospect to be divine, and some might just embrace the moment and not overthink it too much you know. Eternity is beyond anything, as simple as death. It is existence in its purest of forms.”

Jack’s excitement grows to eruption. He runs to the window to find himself staring out at what appears to be 1970’s London. He jumps back, clapping with overwhelming zeal.

“Haha! I get it now! This baby keeps moving through land and time. I just gotta be patient and when I see what I want, I take a leap of faith and hop on out of here. That’s a fantastic idea. That’s a brilliant way to choose. But I have to tell ya. I gotta admit, I didn’t think I deserved this. First of all I’m not even sure how I died. Or if I died. I know I haven’t been taking good care of myself lately. Drinking too much and ignoring the people I care about. I got laid off a decent job I had several months ago and I just haven’t been able to find anything since. Not that I’ve been trying too hard. I just didn’t want to settle for anything that isn’t in line with my dreams. Or my self-respect. I know I’ve been a very selfish man, but I have a good heart. Perhaps that’s always been my curse, I feel too much and therefore I get down on myself too easily and mistreat myself. All I’ve ever wanted was to fall in-love and live my life peacefully and share my ideas with the world. Maybe this is the chance I’ve been waiting for. Let me ask you Fern…” A teary-eyed Jack is stopped in his tracks as he notices Fernly has disappeared.

Suddenly, there is a brisk breeze that welcomingly embraces Jack’s face. He notices that the exit door is ajar. He looks around the car with eyes as wide and as open as they’ve ever been. He still has questions to ask but there is no sign of the conductor. Perhaps the quota has been met.

He hesitantly walks towards the once foggy window with feverish anticipation. A bright sun shines onto his face as he finds himself staring into what seems to be a city of the future. Tall beaming structures surrounded by greenery and prosperity. He can’t make out which city exactly as the changes have clearly made it unrecognizable.

Without hesitation, Jack swings open the door and yells out, “This is it! This was made for me! This is my time!”. He backs up to get a running jump and flings himself with the pure joy of a child streaking down a water slide.

The train came to a sudden halt. Lights flashed in the dark of night. Weary passengers in the overcrowded dusty old Philadelphia commuter grumbled aloud that the train had again broken down. Late again they’ll be for dinner.

Several police officers stand in the ditch around the body of a man out of time.

“You said this man had been heavily drinking?” asks one of the officers of the conductor.

“Yeah, I knew he had some micky in his jacket pocket that he kept nursing. I just feel really bad. I was chatting with him earlier when he was still coherent, and the guy clearly had a rough go of things lately. He had written this book about time travel, was going to be a best-seller one day and take him to great places. Then he passed out. Next thing I know he wakes up in a crazy panic and jumps out.”

“And what did you say was the last thing he yelled?”

Something about “This is it!” It was a place made special for him. “This is my time!”