Momento

The train horn blared, shaking her from a deep sleep. As she struggled to determine her surroundings, a splitting pain wedged through her skull. It was so intense, she couldn’t focus on anything else.

As the train lurched forward, so did she. Her head smacked against the seat in front, a sickening thwack echoing through the passenger car.

“Dammit!” she yelled out, her hand instinctively reaching for the injured spot.

“Are you alright?” someone approached her from behind, which startled her again.

He was a tall, slender man with kind eyes, genuine worry on his face, “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“No, you’re fine, you’re fine,” she mumbled, “I just hurt myself on the… the, uh…”

“I’ll get you a bottle of water, okay?”

Then he was gone, and she was alone once again. The woman looked around the train car, pleasantly surprised at the cleanliness. The lights were dimmed and the window shades were drawn, though she couldn’t imagine why.

Normally the trains were packed with faces, from the very young to the very old, all hustling to their retrospective places. It could become overwhelming, that many people in one place. Where were the other people?

“Here you go,” he reappeared, two bottles in his hand.

She hesitantly took one from him, “Thank you… My name is Miranda.”

The man sat next to her, a smile pulling at his lips, “Hello Miranda. I’m John Paul.”

“John Paul? That’s my son’s name,” she replied, beginning to smile.

“Small world,” he chuckled.

The two sat quietly for a moment, enjoying the touch of silence.

“How old is your son?”

“Hm?” Miranda asked.

“Your son, how old is he?” John Paul questioned, turning in his chair to face her.

She seemed to laugh, “Oh, he’s young. He’ll be three in August.”

The man nodded, “So I take it you’re married?”

Her smile faded, “Well, not quite.”

Miranda looked down at the floor, her mind flooding with a sea memories.

“If it’s too much to talk about—“

She shook her head, “No, no… My husband passed before our son was born.”

John Paul furrowed his brow, “My condolences.”

The conversation became quiet again, and Miranda let her mind wander.

She began to think of her late husband. In November, it would be four years without him. Four years, already? Yes, because John Paul was turning three.

Wait, where was John Paul? Hell, where was she?

“Where is my son?” Miranda asked after a while, “And why are we the only ones on this train? How fast are we going? I feel like we’re going too fast,”

John Paul placed his hand on hers, “The train accommodates injured passengers. They gave us a separate car, we don’t want you to get a migraine.”

Injured passengers? Was she injured? She couldn’t remember.

Miranda jerked her hand away, “How fast are we going?” she repeated.

John Paul sighed, “The bullet train usually goes one hundred and fifty miles per hour, on average.”

“On average,” she mumbled.

His answers seemed to satisfy her for the time being, and Miranda relaxed back into her seat.

With roughly thirty minutes until their arrival, she watched as he typed on his cell phone. It was only a few quick texts, but it was enough to pique her interest.

“Tell me about you,” Miranda finally spoke, “Do you have family here? A wife?”

John Paul sighed, “I’m married, but it’s not perfect.”

“What marriage is?” Miranda asked him.

He shook his head, “With my mom being sick, it’s really taken a toll on us.”

She paused for a moment, “Would it help to talk about it?”

John Paul ran a hand through his hair, almost hesitant to reply.

After what felt like ages, he spoke: “My mother was in an accident a few years ago. She wasn’t seriously injured, but she lost the majority of her memory. I take care of her now, I’m actually on my way to her doctor’s appointment.”

Miranda smiled softly and patted his shoulder, “You’re a good son. I know she’s very thankful for you, John Paul. Caregiving is hard, especially when you’re alone, but it truly says a lot about someone when they’re willing to keep going.”

He let out a shaky sigh, “I’m really struggling.”

She squeezed his hand, “And that’s okay. What matters is that you’re trying to help her the best way you can. The important thing to remember, no matter how hopeless things may seem, each day is a new day. You must keep going, not only for your mother but for your wife as well. Everything works out in the end; if it’s not okay, then it’s not the end.”

John Paul nodded and squeezed her hand back, “Thank you, Miranda.”

The horn blared, shaking her from her latest daydream. As the train came to a stop, she stood and began to walk towards the exit.

“Hold on!” a man called from behind her, lugging a carry-on bag on each shoulder.

He was a tall, slender man with kind eyes, much like the fellow she had talked to on the ride.

“Do I know you?” she asked, her vision blurry from the blinding sunlight.

He unloaded an umbrella from one of the bags and quickly opened it for her, “I don’t believe so, but I’m taking you to a doctor’s appointment.”

Miranda took the umbrella, “Oh, thank you, sir. Were you sent by Dr. Brandywine? I’m Miranda, by the way.”

The man hooked his arm around hers as they began to walk.

“Hello, Miranda. I’m John Paul.”

“John Paul? That’s my son’s name.”

He sighed, “Small world.”