Erasure

I opened my eyes, finding myself in a small bed with a thin, rough blue blanket on top of me. I was drenched in sweat, like after waking up from a bad nightmare, yet I couldn’t remember having any dreams. And… I couldn’t even remember who I was, what my name was, or how I got here.

As soon as I sat up, I saw a giant window looming next to me, but the sky beyond was an inky black, starless, and there wasn’t an inkling of light near the ground either—it was like peering into a void. It represented how my mind seemed, like it’d been cleared of everything I’ve ever known. I stepped out of the bed, completely barefoot, and felt the carpeted floor. There was a slight hum in the air.

Once I stood up, I could immediately feel a slight vibration. A train, I thought, I must be on a train. I stared at the door in front of me, knowing I couldn’t stay in this room much longer. My curiosity overcame me, and I reached for the handle, sliding the door open. When I stepped out, I looked down a very long hallway and saw numerous other passengers, all of whom looked just as confused as I was, with furrowed brows and wide eyes.

Suddenly a man went hysterical. He began running down the hall, grabbing people, shaking them.

“Where am I? How did I get here? Who are you?” he said.

As he came nearer, I feared I’d be the next person to receive his aggressive questioning, but luckily someone stepped in–a large, bearded man. He took the scared man by the shoulders and looked him in the eye.

“Listen, you need to calm down. All you’re doing is scaring the other passengers.”

The scared man simply stared at him, breathing heavily. The large man glanced left and right.

“I don’t know why I’m here either,” he continued. “Is there anyone here who can give us some answers?”

“I can’t remember anything,” one woman said. “Not even my own name.”

“Me neither,” someone else chimed in.

“Looks like we’re all in the same situation,” the large man said. “If we’re on a train, then there must be a conductor. I’ll have a look around.”

He began walking to an exit door at the end of the hall.

Everyone waited for the large man to return, standing with their backs against their room doors–everyone except for the scared man, who instead pressed his back against the opposite wall, sliding to the floor. Sitting on the floor with his knees bent, he ran his fingers through his hair.

The minutes added up. The woman whose room was next to mine looked at me with large green eyes. She was fairly tall, with astonishingly long, curly hair.

“Do you think he’s coming back?” she asked me.

At first I was taken aback by her question, because why would she assume he’s not coming back? But then I started to feel dread swell in my stomach.

What if he’s not coming back?

“Maybe it’s a long way to the front of the train, where the conductor is,” I said. “I think he’ll be back.”

“I’m starting to worry,” she said.

“Well, why wouldn’t he come back?” I asked.

“Maybe we’re not supposed to go through the exit,” she said.

“But it’s right there. It’s not even locked,” I said. “He just walked right through.”

“I mean, yes, but we don’t know what’s beyond that door.”

I looked toward the exit door, feeling goosebumps develop on my arms. Something about that door… It gave me chills.

“Maybe one of us should go check on him,” I suggested, loudly enough so that the other passengers could hear. “See if he needs help.”

The green-eyed woman just looked at me in silence, but her fearful expression told me she wasn’t going to be that volunteer.

“He’ll be back,” one man said, a couple of doors down from me. “Come on, guys, it’s only been, what, 30 minutes?”

“More like an hour,” another passenger, an older man, mumbled.

“How should any of us know?” a middle-aged, red-headed woman answered. “It’s not like we have a watch. Or anything, for that matter.”

“I do,” one man said, tapping on his wristwatch. “But it doesn’t work. Seems like it’s broken or something.”

Tension seemed to be building among all the passengers, with lots of people fidgeting and shifting their gaze, but otherwise remaining silent. Time continued to tick by with no sign of the man returning.

“Clara,” the green-eyed woman suddenly said, looking down.

“Clara?” I echoed.

“I remembered just now. That’s my name, Clara.”

“Iris,” the red-haired woman said. “That’s mine. It came to me too.”

“My name is Richard,” the scared man from earlier suddenly said. He began to lift himself off the floor, looking slightly relieved.

I thought about my own name, but no matter how hard I thought about it, it wouldn’t come to me. What did come to me, though, was a memory from my childhood, of being on a swing, kicking my feet up into the sky… and someone was nearby. A brown-haired woman, smiling. My mother?

“I’m going out there,” Richard said, suddenly courageous. “I need to find out where this train is going.”

He quickly walked to the exit door and went inside, and as he opened the door I caught a glimpse of the room past the door. It looked like it contained rows of seats, but that was all I could make out.

“I’ll go too,” another man said, following Richard past the exit door. Once they left, silence ensued.

“Do you think we should go, too?” Clara asked me.

I considered it, but a strange fear was taking hold of me. It felt too uncertain, going past that door. And maybe the others would return soon with answers. We just needed to be patient.

“Not yet,” I said. “We should wait a little longer.”

“I just can’t stand waiting,” she said, biting her nail. “I need to know what’s past the door.”

I didn’t know how to respond since I knew I wouldn’t have the guts to go with her. Clara, after standing there silently for a few moments, finally turned and began walking toward the exit.

I stayed there with the other passengers, occasionally glancing over at them. I locked eyes with the red-headed woman, and her forehead was creased with worry. I was sure mine was creased too.

Another memory appeared out of nowhere, though not from my childhood this time. It was a memory of being in the car at night, and a guy in a white T-shirt was driving the car. I looked over at him, and his eyes looked tired—droopy and slightly bloodshot.

Then suddenly, I saw a flash of light beyond the car. The guy driving quickly twisted the steering wheel, and then a screech tore through the air.

And that was it. That was all I could remember.

As soon as that memory faded, another one arrived. Alyssa, I thought. That’s my name.

I looked toward the door again. More and more passengers were walking to the exit. Yet I wasn’t. Wasn’t it better to simply face the fear than to stand here waiting, curiosity gnawing at me?

Something shifted in me. I wasn’t sure what it was, but the feeling came on quickly and intensely, like a fire igniting my core.

I would do it. I would walk through the exit.

I took my first few steps toward the door, my eyes straight ahead. My heart was pounding, but I also felt relieved that maybe I’d have my questions about this train answered.

As the person in front of me passed through the door, she held it open for me. I followed her in. There were rows and rows of seats, just as I’d caught a glimpse of earlier. When I looked through the windows here, though, it wasn’t black like the view from my room. Instead, each window displayed a static screen, like a television with no signal.

“You’ve finally arrived,” I heard someone say, presumably the conductor.

He greeted each person individually, by name, then instructed them to take a seat. Finally, it was my turn. There I saw the conductor, standing in the aisle. He was a thin old man with a mustache and beard, wearing a black suit embellished with gold buttons, a slight smile on his face. But as the person in front of me took a seat, I realized that the rows of seats were endless. I couldn’t see any door leading to the next section of the train.

“Alyssa,” he greeted me. “Please have a seat, and enjoy the view.”

I noticed that everyone had their own row, so I went to my own too. As I walked past each row, I saw Clara, and Richard, and the large man we’d been waiting on, each sitting down, completely absorbed in the static screen, although I wasn’t sure why. It didn’t show anything. But the answer was revealed to me as soon as I took a seat, when the view from my window shifted from a static screen to a beautiful blue sky.

The sky was part of my memory from earlier, the one from my childhood when I was on the swing next to the woman. But this window showed me a memory much longer and more vivid. It showed me leaping off the swing and running to the arms of the woman, who I was now suddenly certain was my mother. I held her hand as we walked off the playground.

Then another memory came, another happy childhood memory, where I was blowing out five candles on my birthday cake, surrounded by my family.

Then another, of being at a fair, holding a candied apple, pointing toward a teacup ride in the distance.

The memories continued to reveal themselves, each one shifting seamlessly into the next. The rest of the train seemed to melt away as I watched the memories unfold through the window. Like stepping into warm bathwater, I felt immense tranquility engulf me, and it didn't concern me where this train was headed as long as these images continued to play.