Homebound

At first, the lull of the train underneath Vera’s feet was comforting, but this solace vanished as realization set in. Six-year-old Vera Hansen was alone in the train car with no recollection of where she was going or where she had been.

Her heartbeat quickened. Vera glanced to the window on her left, but it was dark outside and all Vera could see was a faint reflection of her own face. Her pale blue eyes shimmered like a patch of ice on the glass and her high pigtails bobbed with the motion of the train.

If you get on the train by mistake, get off at the next stop and wait for me there.

Vera remembered her mother’s instructions, her tender smile, and her strong grip enveloping Vera’s own tiny hands. They stood together on a wooden platform with people all around, more people than Vera had seen in one place in her entire life. Panic wrapped around Vera’s throat like a snake constricting prey.

“You’re safe, min elskede,” her mother had promised. But Vera hadn’t felt safe there. She was already missing the red cobblestone streets that weaved their way through town all the way to the port where her father’s dingy was tied up to the dock still reeking of fish from the day’s catch. That was home. That was where she was safe. Not here, where it was noisy and the air smelled of smoke and people schooled tighter than baitfish. But where were all those people now?

Vera scanned the train again. This time, she spotted a strange man in a conductor’s uniform standing guard at the back of the car. Vera didn’t recognize him, in fact, she was certain she had never seen him before, but she instantly got the sense that he was there to help. She hurried towards him, her Mary Janes echoing across the floor of the near-empty car.

“Pardon me, Sir,” Vera spoke, but her voice sounded strange to her. She was acutely aware of her own accent, shaped by years living in Denmark. “When will the train stop again? I need to get off.”

The man smiled warmly at her. He had the kind of smile that could ease any troubled soul. “The train won’t stop for a very long time,” he said. The news was jarring, but the man’s soothing tone quieted the worries in Vera’s mind before they could fully form. “Why don’t you go sit with that young man over there while you wait,” the conductor offered.

There, in the far corner of the train, was a boy that Vera hadn’t noticed before. He was wearing black slacks that were too short on his long legs and his blonde hair was slicked back and stiffened by excess use of hair gel. His eyes were transfixed on the yo-yo as he flicked it from his hand repeatedly. Vera recognized him at once and felt the last of her worries melt away.

“Oh Victor, you got on the train too?”

Vera scrambled up into the bench seat next to her older brother. Victor stopped playing with the yo-yo and watched her in a calm, but discerning manner.

“You look different, Vera,” he said, his words soft. “Are you not a memory?”

“A memory, why Victor, whatever are you talking about?”

“A memory, a thought. A hukommelse.”

“We shouldn’t talk in Danish, Victor. Mother says we need to practice our English if we are to live in New York.”

Victor usually hated it when Vera corrected him, as is typical of any strong and independent eight-year-old boys. But this time he only smiled.

“Look out the window and tell me what you see.” He prompted. The train must have gone past the tunnel, for in the window was a flash of fast-moving buildings and cars. Vera scanned the scene.

“We are passing through New York City now. There are so many buildings and cars and people walking in the streets. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it here.” Vera said.

“I remember you and Mother complaining about the crowds, but Father and I loved it. So many people, so much excitement. America is the land of dreams, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I hope Father’s job here works out. Oh, there’s Broadway, where we saw Peter Pan. Do you think Mother will sew me a dress like Tinkerbell’s?”

“Maybe one day. Remember, right after we saw that play you thought you could fly with pixie dust for a solid week? You kept jumping off things!” Victor laughed. He had the kind of laugh that comes from deep within the belly. It erupted like bubbles from a shaken soda can. Vera had the strangest sense that it had been a long time since she last heard him laugh, though she couldn’t place why that was. Victor was always laughing.

“Oh, now we're passing the bridge onto Long Island,” Vera said excitedly. “I’m so glad we live here because it's less crowded than the city. We must almost be home now. Look for our house, I bet we can see it from here. Oh, I hope Mom and Dad will be waiting for us at the train station. I bet Muffin is hungry.”

Victor’s laugh faded. In its absence, the silence hung about the train car like a thick fog. “Who is Muffin?” he asked after a moment.

“Why, Victor, he’s the cat. The little gray one that always hangs out outside my window.”

“I don’t remember the cat,” he said, his voice grave. “I think that must have been after.”

“After what?” Vera asked, but her question didn’t need to be answered. The very next scene outside the window was of a graveyard. She could see figures standing around a tombstone, a whole family, all dressed in black. Even from such a distance, in the short time the scene passed by the window, she could read the tombstone.

Here lies Victor Hansen. Loving son and brother. August 1942 to December 1950.

Vera looked back at Victor with horror-struck eyes. She remembered now that he was sick. Remembered how his face had been sunken in and his eyes had dark shadows and his body had weakened, but he didn’t look that way now. He looked vibrant and healthy and full of vim. “You died?” she asked, no longer sure of it herself. Her mind and her eyes were telling her too different things.

“Everyone dies eventually. Even you, it seems.” Victor looked at her up and down, as if seeing her for the first time.

“I’m not dead!” Vera retorted defiantly.

“Perhaps not in this car,” Victor said. His expression was impossible to read. “How about you move on to the next car, see what is waiting for you there.”

“The next car? I don’t understand.”

Victor pointed and Vera saw a door at the far end of the train car, leading to the next portion of the train. She rose and slowly walked towards it, but paused only after a few feet. “Aren’t you coming with me?” she asked, turning around to face her brother who had yet to budge from his seat on the train.

“I can’t,” Victor said, his voice solemn. “This is the last train car for me. I don’t see another door.”

“What do you mean? The door is right there,” Vera insisted, motioning to the black door at the far end of the car. “You’re the one that pointed at it, what do you mean you don’t see it?”

“I know where it’s supposed to be, but it isn’t there for me. Just for you, Vera.”

“You aren’t making any sense,” Vera pouted and stamped her foot on the ground. Her stomp echoed. She hated it when Victor tried to trick her.

Victor sighed in defeat. “Just go through the car, Vera, you’ll get it when you go through.” He said. Vera let out a frustrated grunt and cupped her hands into fists, but she did as Victor had asked and stomped all the way to the end of the train car and right up to the door. When she turned back around to glance at her brother again, Victor had resumed playing with his yo-yo. He seemed younger than she remembered. More care-free. She stared at him for an eternity of a moment, her palm pressed against the car door, then finally she pushed through and stepped into the second car.

In this car Vera was able to see out the window without standing on her tiptoes.The walls were a copper brown, and there were little storage cubbies along each side with combination locks in place. Vera wanted to turn around and go back to Victor. She didn’t want to be in this strange car by herself, and she was quite certain now that Victor had been playing a trick on her after all. When she turned to leave, however, she heard someone call her name.

There were three teenage girls whispering in a corner, dressed in plaid skirts, long white socks, and white blouses. One of the girls was beckoning Vera over. Vera recognized them at once as her best friends; Lorena, Beatrice, and Claire. “We’re over here, Vera, come sit with us,” Beatrice called. Vera approached slowly.

Sixteen-year-old Vera Hansen had spent almost every single lunch period in the company of Lorena, Beatrice, and Clair, but something seemed different this time. Lorena appeared in normal light, but Beatrice and Claire both seemed to flicker and fade and had a slight yellow tinge to them, the color of an old photograph.

The girls sat gossiping on the velvet red seats. Vera joined them, and Beatrice and Claire greeted her excitedly and then resumed their conversation as if her sudden appearance was commonplace. Lorena, however, seemed to be looking over her quizzically.

Feeling uncomfortably by Lorena’s strange gaze, Vera glanced out the window. They were passing by the bowling alley the four of them used to frequent to listen to the newest albums. ‘Stuck on You’ by Elvis Presley came on the speakers of the train. Beatrice and Claire immediately started singing along. Lorena, however, closed her eyes and then mumbled quietly, “This always was my favorite song.”

“This song is brand new!” Vera countered, but as soon as the words left her mouth, she found herself doubting it. She could distinctly remember her excitement days before when she and her friends first heard the song come over the radio, but at the same time, there was another memory creeping in; her as an older woman, with a strange man dancing around a kitchen singing together as he twirled her about. Vera blinked and the image was gone, but she was left with the strange sense that she had just seen a memory. It didn’t make sense. How could she remember something that hadn’t happened yet?

“So you are really here, aren’t you, Vera?” Lorena asked. She wore a strange smile on her face. For a moment, it seemed as if there were traces of wrinkles under her eyes even though she was only sixteen.

“What do you mean?” Vera asked quizzically.

“What year is it?” Lorena asked.

“Why, it’s 1960, silly,” Vera laughed.

Lorena smiled that strange smile again.

“It’s 1960 here, but what year is it really?”

Vera hesitated. She knew it was 1960 now, but at the same time, it seemed like no time at all had passed since she was riding on the train with her brother Victor, and he had been dead for nearly ten years. Vera started to ask Lorena what was going on but the words were lost on her lips as a new presence took her breath away. From the far side of the train entered the most handsome man in the whole school; Marshall Hopkins.

Marshall, with his deep brown eyes that Vera could stare at all day, looked at Vera with a smile. She nearly fainted right there, he was looking at her. She hadn’t thought he knew she existed.

“Hey Vera!” He motioned towards an empty bench.

Vera stared too stunned to move. Marshall Hopkins wanted to sit with her? Her heart tumbled and swirled in the chaos of movement that only a first crush can cause.

“Lorena, pinch me I must be dreaming. Marshall just spoke to me.”

“Looks like your memory has a lag on it. I saw him kiss you earlier,” Lorena responded.

Vera’s cheeks turned into an overripe tomato. “Kiss me?” she echoed.

Lorena chuckled softly, but her laugh seemed distant and distracted “First Claire was ga ga over Ricky, and now you. That’s high school I guess; the time of love unless you’re a pimple-faced four-eyed dork like me.”

“Oh Lorena, you don’t mean that,” Vera frowned, looking back at her best friend. “You’re so pretty I’m sure you could have a boyfriend if you wanted. Your hair is like stingy caramel candies and your gaze can melt anyone’s heart. Not to mention you cook a mean banana cream pie. That is enough to seduce any man.”

Lorena laughed, this time with heart, but she still didn’t seem interested. “Go sit with your boyfriend, I think I’m ready to move on to the next car. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

Vera barely had time to process Lorena’s words. As she stood up, the memories of her time with Marshall started flooding back to her: their first date at the bowling alley, their frequent bike rides to the candy store, their evening strolls in the park. Vera smiled shyly as she sat down next to him, feeling as if she were meeting him for the first time and reuniting with a long-lost friend all at once. He put his arm around her and he rambled on about his favorite topic, baseball. She cuddled into him feeling content to stay in his arms forever. She didn’t care that she could hardly feel his embrace, or that his figure was flickering and tinted by the same faded yellow of Claire and Beatrice. This felt like home, and she knew she was exactly where she belonged.

Vera lost track of how long she spent on that second train. At first, she lavished in the delights of high school. She gossiped with her friends, she went on dates with her boyfriend; life was perfect. It was too perfect. It was as if every day was filled with an increasing frequency of deja vu. Every conversation seemed scripted. Soon, she memorized the lines that the people around her would say just as thoroughly as she memorized her favorite songs.

“Marshall, do you ever wonder what’s in the next train car?” Vera asked one evening as she was cuddled up against Marshall’s lap, wrapped tightly in his sweater.

“High school is the best time of our lives,” Marshal replied as Vera silently mouthed the phrase. She persisted.

“But what is college like? And after- do we get married, do we have a family?”

“What are you talking about marriage for? We are only sixteen, Ver. That future stuff can wait, we should just enjoy the moment.”

“But I feel like I’ve been enjoying the moment for a long time. I want to move forward. I want to go to the next car.” Vera stood up and gave Marshall’s arm a tug. He rose obediently, but the moment she tried to lead him towards the door on the far side of the train, he refused to budge.

“High school is the best time of our lives,” Marshall repeated.

“Come on, Marshall, please,” Vera begged, but it was of no use. She couldn’t get Marshal to walk towards the door.

“He isn’t really here, you know.” Vera looked up in surprise at the conductor that she had spoken to when she first arrived on the train.

“He only exists inside your memory right now, and memories are unable to travel across cars if they aren’t present in the next one.”

“He’s not present in the next car?” Vera asked in alarm. “But we are supposed to be together forever.”

“Sometimes people drift apart, despite the best intentions.” The conductor responded. “You and Marshall had different tracks to take.”

Vera looked back at the boy she thought she’d love forever. Once forgotten memories now crept their way to the surface. An argument about college. A heated debate about the policies of women in the workforce or as caretakers for children. His sweater on another girl.

“This can’t be happening,” Vera fought back tears. The memories may have been from long ago, but the pain felt fresh.

The conductor placed a soothing hand on her shoulder. “I know it hurts,” he said, his voice like aloe, “but move forward and see what else life has in store for you.”

Vera nodded, gathered her courage, stole one last look at Marshall’s beautiful brown eyes, and then confidently stepped into the next car.

She stumbled as soon as she entered. The motion of the train was ten times as strong, and she couldn’t find her balance. She looked down at the floor to see if it was spinning. Instead of her sleek black school shoes, she saw her pale toes cramped together in a pair of golden high heels.

“I can’t walk in these things!” Vera exclaimed.

“Well, you better get used to them. You have to look your absolute best on your first day at the university. The quicker we find you a new man, the quicker you can stop crying over Marshall Hopkins.”

A firm hand grabbed Vera’s arm and stabilized her. Vera looked to her side and found an older, more confident version of Lorena standing next to her. Her pimples were gone, and wild black hair was neatly pulled back. Unlike the Lorena she had met in the last car, however, this Lorena had that faded yellow hue. Vera realized now that meant she was nothing but a memory. The real Lorena must have already passed through.

This train car was insanely crowded. There was an almost equal mix of those present, and those who were nothing but faded memories. Vera wasn’t about to lose track of time talking to her own memories again. She stumbled forward awkwardly in her heels towards the nearest present figure and tapped on his shoulder. A boy with slick black hair and squared-off glasses stared at her. She faintly recognized him from her Calculus class, but couldn’t recall his name.

“I, er” Vera stumbled, not sure how to phrase her question. Truth be told, she wasn’t even sure what to ask.

“New arrival?” The boy asked, solving the problem for her. Vera nodded vigorously.

“Alcohol is under the pavilion to your right.”

“Excuse me?” Vera asked, blinking. “I mean I’m a new arrival in the car, on this train that-”

“I know,” the boy from Calculus interrupted. “We’re all on the train. But you can still get tipsy in the afterlife, or the in-between, or wherever we are now. That’s why so many people stay here in this car. If the rest of your life sucked, I recommend sticking around a while.”

Vera wasn’t sure what to think about the rest of her life, but the pain from Marshall was still fresh, she still missed Victor, and the boy’s words about the afterlife were just plain daunting, so Vera headed straight for the booze and took a swig. She retched, abhorred by the first taste of alcohol. Her mind swirled and she saw an image of herself in someone’s house, wearing a flowing blue dress and her golden heels and gagging from another drink as Lorena stood beside her laughing. She took another swig, and saw herself in a different house and a different outfit, still scrunching up her face at the bitter taste of liquor. Another swig, another memory. Soon, Vera had no idea where she was or even who she was. When she looked out the window of the train, she could no longer see full scenes, but only flashes of various times and places as the train traveled through a lack void, following no tracks, and no longer seeming to obey the rules of gravity. Vera stumbled about, drunk on her memories, her thoughts derailed, until she reached the door to the next car.

“Ah, you’re awake,” A man’s voice spoke with a heavy accent that Vera couldn’t place. She blinked her eyes open, but her vision was blurred. She could feel the ground beneath her moving, and above her, she could see a man with chestnut brown hair dressed in a paramedic uniform. She recognized the stranger, though she wasn’t sure how.

“What happened?” Vera asked.

“It’s going to be alright, ma’am, you just took a slight fall. We’re headed to the hospital now,” the man responded. His words barely registered. Vera couldn’t stop staring at his face. She knew where she recognized him from. He was the man that had twirled her about to Elvis Presley in one of her other memories.

The man was speaking again, but Vera felt like her mind was still spinning. She closed her eyes to steady herself. As she did, she could feel the world around her shifting once more.

“Okay and, open!” The man said. His accent was even stronger when paired with immeasurable excitement. Vera opened her eyes and discovered herself standing before a metal table with a vase of red roses The table was set for two and featured two delicious plates of baked tilapia and rice.

The man was standing across from her, his white smile blinding against his tanned face. His green eyes were brimming with life, despite the yellow hue that hung around him as a bitter reminder that he wasn’t truly there and none of this was real.

Vera knew him now. She knew him better than she had known anyone. His name was Toshi Siward. He worked as an emergency paramedic in Farmindale, NY. He had come to America to be a doctor but had decided he’d rather be the one to comfort patients on their way to the hospital. His father was disappointed in his decision. His mother was still harboring her disappointment that he moved to America in the first place rather than marrying a nice Macedonian woman and settling down back home. Toshi knew he could never fully satisfy either of his parents, but might placate them by starting a family here in America and earning enough money to fly them in for visits on holidays. He wanted a big family; a dozen children. He wanted to play catch with his sons and do gymnastics with his daughters and he had already taught himself how to throw a curveball and do a split in preparation for those moments. He was a good chef but a horrid baker. He sang like a dying vulture but insisted on squawking out notes to all of Vera’s favorite songs every time he took a shower. He took showers at extreme temperatures and steam would fog up the glass every time. He had no hot water when he was growing up, and revealing in the searing heat was his way of always reassuring himself that he was well off. He donated money to every homeless person he met on the streets. Once, when he had no money, he donated the shoes off his feet and walked home barefoot in the snow.

Toshi pulled out Vera’s chair and beckoned for her to sit. She did so. He had a nervous smile on his face and was more clumsy than usual. He continually dropped food in his lap and must have been wearing enough food to make a whole other plate. By the time he finally brushed off his lap and got down on one knee. His legs were shaking. “Vera Hansen,” he said, his green eyes locking with hers and spiraling together, intermingling in perfect harmony as the land and the sea. “Will you marry me?”

Vera fell to her knees and kissed him even though he wasn’t real.

“Yes,” she breathed out in excitement. “Yes, I will marry you!”

Vera practically ran to the next door. She knew what was coming this time. And she was ready.

The wedding bells rang out like songs from angels. Vera flew down the aisle. She saw pews and pews of people; all with the yellow hinge of memory, but she didn’t care. These were the smiling faces of her friends and family. Her parents and aunts and uncles and cousins were all seated in the pew to witness her big day. And there, at the end of the aisle, was her future husband.

“Now that smile was worth the wait,” A woman’s voice spoke up, sounding loud and clear and removed from everything else. Vera nearly toppled backward in alarm. She glanced left, then right. Suddenly, her eyes settled on Lorena, donned in a beautiful pink dress, standing next to the alter. She was the only person in color in the sea of sepia

“Lorena,” Vera breathed out in alarm. “You’re really here!”

“Yes, I decided I’d wait for you here, on your big day. I was sure you’d want to relive this memory, and I am honestly not sure when we’ll see each other again. I moved down to Florida and started a family of my own, you know.”

“Florida? Family?” Vera glanced back at the pews and searched until she found a man she knew to be Lorena’s husband even though she couldn’t recall ever meeting him before. He had jet black hair shaved close to his chocolate scalp and was bouncing a caramel-colored baby girl on his lap.

“Yes, you should come visit us in your memories when you get the chance. You came down for my wedding to Ike, and for Nia’s baby shower.” Lorena explained.

Vera frowned, “Your memories?” she echoed. She looked around at the wedding scene again. The priest and the congregation and even Toshi all seemed to be frozen in place, as if waiting for her attention to return to them so that the ceremony could resume.

“Yes, Vera, haven’t you figured out what this is, yet? Some people say that your entire life flashes before your eyes the moment you die. I used to wonder how so much time could be compressed into one little moment. Now I know.”

“So this train is-”

“A train of thought. A chance for us to relive our lives while we wait to move on.”

“What are we waiting for?” Vera asked.

“Why, everyone to board, of course.”

Vera’s head was spinning. She thought back to her first day on the train and her conversation with Victor. Everyone dies eventually, even you. Victor had told her.

“Does that mean I’m dead?” Vera wondered out loud.

“Dead. Living. It’s all relative if you ask me.” Lorena shrugged. “Right now, those still living seem more dead than we do. Nothing but memories. But some of them are here, somewhere on this train. After I leave your wedding, I’ll find Ike and walking him through my childhood memories so he can match faces to stories. I’m excited for him to see you in your pigtails from when we first met.”

“You’re going to take him back?” Vera frowned and thought back to when she had tried to drag Marshall to the next car with her. “But the conductor said that people cannot travel across cars.”

“Memories cannot, but passengers can move about freely. They just cannot enter someone else’s memories unless guided.”

“So Ike is a passenger? Vera asked, frowning at his sephia hue.

“I don’t recall what happened exactly, but I have a vague recollection of his funeral; flashes here and there of memories I haven’t yet relived. We journeyed together all our lives, so it is only natural we should be by each other’s side on the journey to the afterlife, is it not?”

Vera’s gaze turned to her husband. He was still frozen in place, waiting for her to say her line of the vows. As she stared into the deep forests of his eyes, she could recall faint traces of memories yet to come. She felt his kisses against her neck and his fingers intertwined in hers. She heard the bubbling giggles of an infant and smelled baby powder wafting through the air. She saw the beaming faces of two young children; a boy and a girl, as they stood together out in a big yard playing catch with a slightly older version of Toshi. Vera sighed in blissful satisfaction. She couldn’t wait to walk through the next door, and the next, and the next after that and relive all of the treasured memories she held dear to her heart.

But there was something she had to do first.

“Well, Lorena, I wish you the best of times with your journeys with Ike. I hope we meet again in another car.”

“Are you off to relive your happily ever after too?”

“Yes, but when I see my children again, I want them to meet their uncle”

The first train car was different from how Vera remembered; quiet and quaint. Her sleek black Mary Jane’s were replaced with comfortable sneakers and she wore faded jeans in place of her little blue dress. Victor, on the other hand, looked exactly the same as he had before. He was sitting in the same spot Vera had left him, playing with his yo-yo. The train conductor was sitting next to him.

“Vera, is that you?” he asked in surprise, looking up at his once-younger sister.

“It’s me,” Vera said warmly.

“So, what did you see in the other cars?” Victor wondered, his voice brimming with curiosity.

Vera glanced at the conductor, and he nodded to her, granting permission to her idea without her even having to voice it.

Vera extended her hand toward him. “Let me show you."