Crazy Train

Who is she? I am straining to hear her, so far away I can’t make out the words. She’s so far away. I don’t recognize the voice. Who is she? I cannot see her. I cannot see anything.

“Excuse me,” she says, sounding a bit gruff. “Excuse me! Ticket, please!” I understand what she is saying but not what she means. Then I hear very loudly, “EXCUSE ME. I need your ticket, sir!”

Startled, now, I am awake but not fully comprehending what is happening. “I’m sorry, what do you want?”

I now realize that I am on a moving train. My seat is facing a window, the landscape flying by. I look around and see a few other passengers in this car. There is a young family with two young boys, a woman perhaps in her seventies, and a couple of young teenage girls.

The woman who is speaking to me—maybe she’s the train conductor. The name badge on the jacket of her royal blue uniform reads Zosia. She’s wearing a red scarf and white gloves, and a woolen hat with the letters OCOL embroidered above an image of a gold train engine. As I continue to awaken, that hat train seems to be traveling out of her hat toward me.

She’s still speaking to me. “I need your ticket, sir.”

“I don’t think I have one,” I say as I look through my pockets. Reaching into my jacket pocket, I find my keys and a wallet. “Would you take a credit card?” This seems like a logical question, but I’m still not getting what’s happening. Why am I on this train, and where are we going?

“You need a ticket to ride this train, sir,” Zosia says, glaring at me with disdain. “You won’t be traveling with the other passengers to our destination without a ticket.”

I stare at her in disbelief. “Where are we headed?” I realize as soon as the words leave my mouth that I sound crazy. I should know where we are going, after all. “I mean, where will I be getting off so I can purchase a ticket?”

She looks at me with a blank stare. “Please buckle up through the tunnels. We tend to go faster through the tunnels.” Then she turns and walks away.

“Thank you?” I reply more as a question than a statement as I watch her walk away. I can hear her heels clicking on the floor. As she passes each of the passengers, she tells them I don’t have a ticket. They stare in my direction, gasping, which I think is odd. So what if I don’t have a ticket? What’s the big deal? Zosia reaches the end of the car and opens the door. She takes one last sorrowful look back at me, then turns and walks out of the car. She’s gone.

The man is watching me carefully as he gathers up his family. Is he afraid of me? He gets the boys to shuffle to the same door Zosia walked out of, and they leave. The young girls follow. It’s just me and the old woman. She’s staring at me. I’m a bit perplexed as to why everyone is acting so strange, but my loss of time is foremost on my mind. How did I get here?

The old woman is working her way up and out of her chair. “Are you leaving as well?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer at first. She walks over to me instead of the door. She puts a hand on my shoulder and, looking into my eyes, says, “I am so very sorry, son. Please know that this trip is the one you signed up for and will be the same in every way. Just quite a bit shorter than you expected.”

What can she possibly mean? She turns and walks toward the door. She’s walking as steady as if she were taking a stroll through the park, not a moving train.

Now alone in the car, I wonder how I got here and where I’m going. I want to ask someone but don’t want to sound insane. Outside the window, there’s beautiful landscaping. It seems we’re traveling toward a river with mountains in the background. It’s truly beautiful. As I watch the mountains grow closer, I almost forget I have no idea where I am or where I’m headed. I just want to get home now.

Making the decision to ask someone where we were, I get out of my seat and start making my way to the door. A little unsteady at first in the moving compartment, I find my sea legs and reach the door. There are no buttons or handles to open the door. No lights indicate whether or not you can open the door safely. I push on the door, but nothing happens. What the heck? I may not be mechanically inclined, but opening doors have never been an issue before. I wish I had paid closer attention to how everyone else opened the door. The window in the door is tinted very dark. I can see my reflection in the glass. I cup my hands around my eyes and move toward the window. Hands resting on the glass and eyes squinting, everything comes into focus.

Expecting to see another car, what comes into view are the tracks. There are no other cars there! I am sure this was the door that the conductor left through. The same door that everyone left through. Where did they go?

Double checking to make sure my mind isn’t playing tricks on me, I am unnerved to verify there’s nothing but tracks behind the car I was in. The only explanation is that I am mistaken, and somehow, I got turned around. She must have gone through the other door.

I walk as fast as I safely can to the other end of the car and reach the door. Again, no handles or any signal that you can safely open the door. With some trepidation, I cup my hands and again peer through the window. My heart drops. There’s nothing but tracks. I am alone on a train—well, not a train but a car, with no passengers, no engineer, and no way of knowing where I’m heading.

I walk back to my seat and, in a daze, sit. I must be dreaming. All I must do is relax and fall asleep, and this nightmare will be over.

I close my eyes and concentrate on my fiancé. We’re to be married, Shelly and I, in a couple of months. We’ve been engaged for years, but Shel was expecting, so we recently made it a priority. Shelly is a psychologist and will have some insight into this crazy dream for sure.

As I concentrate on falling asleep, the gentle rocking of the car I’m in becomes more like swaying. I open my eyes. The mountains are right in front of me, seemingly surrounding the car. It’s as if we’re about to crash. I grip the arms of my chair, and as I do, the world goes black.

Swaying turns to rocking, and I can’t see a thing. I feel for my seat belt and am able to fasten and cinch it tight. Now I know what Zosia was talking about when she said buckle up through the tunnels. This will be the last time I ride on an OCOL Train!

My eyes are starting to adjust. I can see through the window a room coming into view. It’s the inside of a house, my house! The train is rocking, and my hands are gripping the arms of the seat, but the room is still, like watching television. The vision becomes clearer and clearer until it’s as if I’m watching in high definition. I look at my wife, walking into the living room with a boy in her arms. He’s about three or four years old. She sits him down on the couch and turns on the television. It’s playing a show I don’t recognize. Then I see myself walk through the front door. I drop my briefcase and jacket in the foyer and scoop up the young boy, giving him a great hug. I can feel the love that I feel for him. I can smell him as I give him a hug. It feels incredibly real. I watch as I carry him into the kitchen and meet Shelly. As I kiss her on the cheek, I push my nose into her neck and hair. The distinct and beautiful smell of her wafts through my nostrils. It’s as if I were really there. Then the picture disappears. It’s black, totally black again.

Just as I begin to contemplate the paradox of my dream within a dream, another picture comes into view. I’m driving a car. Not my car, a Tesla, I think. The sound of the motor is clearly electric. I’m on a busy road, pulling up to a red light. I stop and look around for something in the car. I’m a bit older, and I have a beard! I have always thought about growing one, but I can never get past that itchy stage. I always end up shaving it off. The light turns green, and I start to go. Not really paying attention except for the road in front of me. I hear a horn and screeching brakes. Just as I look to my left, a black SUV slams into my driver-side door. The picture disappears again. My heart is racing. I am terrified and feel positive that I just watched my own death play out in high definition.

Then the window, the viewing screen, lights up again. I am lying in the hospital. Shelly is there with the boy. Christian is his name. He’s older now, maybe nine or ten. “Daddy, Daddy!” Christian shouts with glee. He’s so happy to see me. “We’re taking you home today, Daddy!”

Shel leans down and gives me a kiss. “Well, Derek, your little vacation must come to an end. We’re here to take you home now,” she says with a big smile. God, I love her. I feel it so strongly as I watch this incredible future life of mine. The nurse comes in with a wheelchair.

“Let me help you in, Mr. Dennison.” The nurse says as she engages the wheelchair brakes.

“I think I can get in myself,” I say with certainty. As I sit up and bring my legs over the edge of the bed, I can feel incredible pain in my right leg. My entire lower right leg and shin are bandaged.

“You will be set up with physical therapy three times per week,” the nurse explains. “The plates and screws in your tibia will cause some discomfort for a while, but you will have full mobility as the doctor told you yesterday.”

I can feel the pain. It’s incredible. Then the screen goes black. Nothing again for what feels like an hour. Finally, it feels like the train is slowing down, and I see a bright light as we exit the tunnel. The light is blinding. It seems so bright after the darkness in the tunnel.

To help my eyes adjust, I bring both hands up to my face, the heels of my hands rubbing vigorously into my eye sockets. That feels good! Then I drag my hands down my face and feel hair. A beard! On my face right now! What the hell is happening to me? I unbuckle myself and stand up. Walking very quickly to the door, I look into the dark window at my reflection. I look older with the beard, and I definitely look afraid. I pull on the hair, and it's attached to my face. I’m terrified. As I walk back to my seat, there’s an ache in my right leg. Like a toothache. I sit down, not wanting to believe that two plus two equals four. I lift my pant leg to reveal a scar about six inches long on my shin. That scar was not there when I woke up on this hell train.

What does this all mean? How can I wake myself up? I know one thing, I will never purchase a Tesla! That is a fact.

Thinking about Shelly and the boy, Christopher, I am fully aware that we did not know the gender of the baby, let alone have a name picked out. This is a crazy dream.

Then the swaying starts again. I buckle up and hold on in anticipation of the next tunnel. It comes fast, the darkness, the rocking feeling. This time the window screen lights up rather quickly. I’m outside, at some kind of event. Shelly is with me. We look so much older. I’m almost completely gray—even my beard is gray. Shelly is beautiful but noticeably older. She has salt and pepper hair, much shorter than I’m used to. You can just see the crows’ feet around her eyes, but they’re lit up. She’s so happy in this moment. So am I. Then what seems to be a never-ending line of robed people with graduation hats comes up the center aisle. We’re at a graduation. Shel is waving frantically and patting my arm while pointing at one of the graduates. It’s Christopher, much older now. I’m sure this is a college graduation. I can feel overwhelming pride as I watch this scene play out.

Just as suddenly as it started, the scene ends. Total darkness engulfs the car. The rocking of the train seems faster than before. I hold on and wait for what seems like an eternity. Then the window screen lights up again. We’re in the hospital. Why are we in the hospital? I am pacing, looking incredibly worried. Where is Shelly? Why am I here? Just then, Christopher comes in with a woman. He looks to be in his thirties. They have a little girl with them, about four or five years old. The woman, I assume Christopher’s wife, is pushing a stroller. The little girl comes running up to me, yelling, “Grampa, Grampa!” and jumps into my arms. I feel the love deep within my soul. This is my family.

“How is Mom?” Christopher asks.

“Not sure. The doctor hasn’t been out yet,” I reply.

The scene dims and then returns, with me sitting by Shelly’s bedside. Christopher is there with his wife as well. Shel is intubated and so frail. “No, Shel, no, please don’t leave me,” I cry as she lies there lifeless. “I don’t know how to be without you, baby.”

“Are you ready, Mr. Dennison?” the doctor asks.

I can feel the pain, the emptiness, the hole in my chest. This is really happening, and I’m feeling every bit of it.

“We are ready,” I say, though I’m not ready at all. How could I be?

They remove the connection to the ventilator. She’s gone.

The screen goes black, and I sit there in total darkness, rocking back and forth, crying harder than I have cried since I was a child. All I want now is to wake up and get off of this train!

I can feel the train slowing down—I know the light will come. It does. With the heaviest of hearts, I try to tell myself that this is just a dream, but I know it can’t be. Everything is too real. I’m watching my life go by, and I can’t participate in it.

As the light comes, the incredibly bright light, I wait for my eyes to adjust. I rub my face, feeling the roughness around my eyes, the wrinkles. I pull my hands away and squint to see them. They’re old man hands. Large veins and full of wrinkles. They have that shiny, thin skin look to them. I hold back my tears and stand up to go look in the window. I’m stiff, as if I’ve been sitting for decades. I stretch a bit and make my way slowly to the door. In the tinted window, I see my grandfather.

Suddenly, I hear a voice over a loudspeaker. “Please take your seat. We will be coming into the station soon,” the echoing voice says. “This will be the last stop.”

Terrified, I make my way slowly back to my seat. As I sit, I think back to how much I have missed and then forward to the notion that none of this is real and is just a very intense dream.

The train sways again, and we enter the darkness. The screen lights up, and I am lying in a bed. I’m alone and incredibly frail. I can feel the weakness and pain. I can feel the resignation to let go. I want it both on the screen and in the chair. I want to end this, to move on, and let all of the pain go. I am too weak to pick up my head, and my breathing is growing softer, with long periods between breaths. I know the end is coming. I can’t turn my head away from the screen. Too weak, I can only watch myself on the screen, on the bed, as I move through this life. On the screen, I see my reflection from my chair in the train car on the screen, too. I watch my frail body taking longer pauses between breaths in this reflection.

There is no strength to move, but I hear the train door open. I hear the shoes, the high heels clicking across the floor, getting closer. Then I see the reflection of Zosia in the window screen. She hasn’t aged a minute. She’s looking lovingly at me. “It’s time to deboard, Mr. Dennison.”

I feel calm. As I watch her reflection with my breath fading in and out, I notice her cap. In the reflection, the logo reads LOCO with the gold train edging out of the cap. The L is backward, but it definitely reads LOCO—crazy train. It all makes sense now. Crazy train, I laugh quietly inside as everything fades to black.