Steam Locomotive

I skipped my way through the streets of London towards the train station. Giddily passing by many chaps dressed in fedora hats, and London Fog trench coats; all with their eyes glued to the daily paper. The headline sprawled “Leading clergymen and political figures hold a public meeting in the United Kingdom to register outrage over Nazi Germany’s persecution of Jews”. I admit, it did feel a bit wrong being as frivolous as I was in these horrific times, but I had just finished guest starring on ‘The Castaway’ radio show. It was exuberating to be a part of something that could bring humor and cheer into society in lieu of all the doom and gloom that centered around the war. I have a strong belief that entertainment is essential for morale. I waved at each passing automobile with a grin stuck to my face, while my shiny leather oxfords carried me through the bustling city. I arrived at the entrance of the railway depot right on time and strutted to the ticket booth.

“One ticket to Birmingham” I announced, handing over the necessary fare.

“One ticket to Birmingham” he shouted back at me, tearing the paper ticket and passing it off to me.

I made my way over to the concrete platform, and pulled my silver pocket watch from my tweed coat. The blue steel hands pointed through the white enamel dial to seven o’clock and eighteen minutes. The watch once belonged to my father, and when he passed it then belonged to me. It was the only relic I held on to from him. I only had to wait two minutes for the scheduled arrival, but two turned to six and the train was late. My wife, Mary was waiting for me with our eight year old son, Maximilian; presumably with supper on the table. Mary felt as though I hadn’t been present enough for our son and that I was too wrapped up in my work in the theater. She was right enough but family time didn’t buy Mary new ear rings. Wrapped up in my work and other extracurriculars as I may be, I still provided them with a good life.

The steam locomotive screeched to a halt at the station, and I promptly climbed aboard car number one. I located my solo cabin and set my brown leather satchel beside me as I took my seat. The ticket inspector soon came upon my cabin. While inspecting my ticket he apologized for the delay. He explained that there were a couple of cargo cars located behind the passenger cars, and there was some sort of issue during loading. I assured him that it was no trouble and he went about his business checking the other passengers. In the meantime I dug through my satchel and located my new copy of ‘For Whom The Bell Tolls’ and began to read the words that sprawled along the page. The train again made a clunk as it pulled away from the station. I looked through the window to admire the last blue light before the sun disappeared into the horizon. Hemingways’ words began to read like a lullaby and I allowed them to sing me to sleep.

In a dream turned nightmare I heard a loud ringing in my ears. So loud, they may have begun to bleed. It occurred to me that I needed to awaken myself to escape. I forced my eyes open, prying through the crusted goop that sealed them shut. I am a passenger on a train. In my lap there lies a Hemingway book. ‘For Whom The Bell Tolls’. And the book is marked at page twenty-six though I do not own this book. However, I thought I would pick it up to accompany me on my journey to London tomorrow. Perhaps I only went from one dream to another dream.

I suppose this dream is just a manifestation of my nervousness for the big day. I had been feeling anxious leading up to my appearance on ‘The Castaway’. And though I was comfortable showcasing my works to the public through my employment at the Repertory Theater in Birmingham, I had never been the focal point of a popular London radio show. I rubbed my sore eyes in belief I would awaken, this time in reality. Though to no avail, because I am still grounded in this dream.

Curiously I turned towards the window and lifted the shade to reveal a peculiar sight. We were slashing through the cosmos at what seemed to be the speed of light. A vortex of stars encompassed the locomotive, dizzying me. I felt as though I had just exited a thrashing carnival ride, like the merry go round had somehow broken and whirled me around at a much faster velocity. I nearly vomited. Holding my breath, I pulled the shade back down and got my bearings from the stillness around me. One solo train cabin, one book, one satchel, shiny leather shoes, and still hands. I recognize these still things as my own and I am able to catch my breath. I was tempted to once again open the shade, however I did not want to risk feeling sickly once more. I sat there for a moment, puzzled. I pulled my watch from my pocket to check the time, but the blue steel dial did not move. It was stuck at seven o’clock and forty-three minutes. Oddly, I remember I checked my watch before going to sleep last night and it was at least nine. This is such a peculiar dream.

I decided to get up and move about the train. I opened the sliding door on my cabin and motioned back towards the next one. It looked exactly like my own, however unoccupied. Then I went on to the next to discover the same scenario, unoccupied. So I traveled down to the next, and so on and so forth. All unoccupied. Until, a ticket inspector exited the cabin just before passenger car number two. He stood very tall and thin, dressed in a navy suit with a matching cap. The man had very distinct facial features, a cleft chin, razor sharp cheekbones, and buggy black eyes. He looked almost cartoonish.

“Do you have a ticket, sir?” His deep, even tone of voice rang.

I searched my pockets and I pulled a ticket from London to Birmingham dated for tomorrow, October 26th 1942. I reached out half heartedly, handing the ticket over to the giant.

He raised his bushy brow at me and asserted “This ticket is not valid here, I will help you to where you need to be”.

“Where do I need to be? Where could you possibly take me? We are on a train moving about the cosmos” I laughed nervously.

“Don’t worry sir, we’ll get you squared away”

The giant ushered me towards passenger car number two. I obliged him.

“I advise moving at a continuous pace.” He said.

“Is there a reason you need to specify?” I replied

As the words escaped my mouth I peered into the first cabin and I saw my mother and father in a hospital room. They were young, about the age I am now. My mother was in the hospital bed and she was holding a baby. She wore a pearly smile that contrasted her almost black hair, and my father had a proud look in his eyes as he sat at the edge of the bed with his arm around the both of them.

“We’ll call him Johnny.” She said.

It was then that it occurred to me, the baby was me. I was looking at my first moments of life. I stood there frozen for a moment before the giant pulled my hand, reminding me to keep a steady pace.

We continued down the passenger car. In the next cabin I saw my father walking into my childhood home in Manchester with a golden retriever in tow. I excitedly toddled over to him, hardly maintaining balance. He said to me “Meet Alford”. Alford had belonged to a family that lived adjacent to us but they had to move away and could not take him. He became our pet.

I was cheerful, seeing my father in vivid, lively detail again. My last memories of him were very frail and fuzzy.

Moving to the next cabin my feelings of cheer soon waned, because there I saw my father lying in bed very sickly. My mother was dabbing up his sweat with a wet cloth and he could hardly breathe. His once strong stature had withered to skin and bone, and the life from his eyes had been lost. I moved past that one very quickly. I didn’t like remembering how he suffered in the end. Seeing this scene from my memory made the next cabin a bit more bearable.

I saw myself as a pallbearer carrying my fathers casket into the church. My mother wept, the whole town wept. My father was a well liked man. He routinely volunteered himself, helping those who didn’t have an able man in the house with various home projects. Nearly the entirety of Manchester saw my father to rest. Onward, I observed my mother and I unpacking our things after leaving our home in Manchester to start anew in Birmingham. She told me we were moving to be closer to my grandparents. She reasoned that it would be easier for her to have the help raising me. Looking back, I don’t think she could stay in Manchester regardless. Not with the memory of my father haunting every nook and cranny.

We neared the passageway that connected car three and four when the giant turned back to look at me “Looking back on the early days wasn’t easy for me either”

Had he been through this too?

I stepped aboard passenger car number three. Continuing down the corridor my life continued flashing before my eyes. All of these significant memories that made me who I am today layed out in front of me, as if the train cars were some sort of timeline.

I saw myself leaving Birmingham for university in London, waving goodbye to my mother and grandparents. Then, there was my first encounter with Mary. I was attending a New Years Eve party hosted by my classmate William Rothbaum at his parents mansion in Liverpool. William was studying law just as his father did before him, but had interest in theater on the side. That’s how I really knew him.

The home was a massive brick structure, accompanied by flashy automobiles, and a water fountain in the center of the circular driveway. I was outside gazing at the stars and having a smoke when Mary rolled in. She was riding in the back seat of a green Ford Deluxe along with two other girls. The driver exited the vehicle and held the door for the ladies. One by one they all exited the vehicle, the first two were dressed to the nines in designer dresses with faces painted on to highlight their features. Trailing behind was Mary. Mary was wearing generally plain clothing, a brown cardigan and a navy skirt. She wasn’t dolled up, she just looked plain. At the time this impressed me, she stood out.

The girls entered the home and I soon followed. I watched across the room as plain Mary stood on the sidelines nervously, before I made my move and struck up a conversation. Mary was easy. I don’t think she was used to men taking any interest in her so it wasn’t long into the night before I got her undressed in my Studebaker outside of the mansion. Coincidentally, Mary accidentally fell pregnant that night and later used William to track me down. Moving past this scene, cabin number three reflected the day she showed up on my doorstep in Birmingham. She stood there painfully confessing the life that swelled within her. I was shocked, my mother was distraught. So, I betrothed myself to her shortly after, it seemed like the right thing to do.

“Excuse me, but where exactly are we going and why am I passing my own life by?”

“Just some things you need to see before we can get you to where you need to be.” He repiled.

“I think I’d like to wake up now”, I demanded.

“Johnny, you are not asleep. It’s best if we just press on, you will understand soon.” He said.

I was incredibly puzzled, but I trusted him, and we pressed onward.

We entered car number four. Maximilian, Mary, and I were all in cabin number one. Max was a newborn and Mary was teaching me how to change a diaper for the very first time. I was frustrated, and I told Mary changing diapers was a woman's job. Truthfully, I was just upset because I didn’t understand how to care for a baby, nor did I really want to. Mary was dull, but fine enough. The very thing that made me interested in her would later be what I grew to hate. The next few cabins really illustrated my dissatisfaction. I spent nights “late at work” being intimate with young actresses. I often missed birthday parties, anniversaries, and other important events usually to be with other women. Sometimes I really did keep myself late at work for lack of desire to spend time with my family. I was an adulterer and seeing this all spelled out in front of me made me realize how obvious it must’ve been to her. I think she knew, but I made a good living and routinely spoiled her with presents to make up for my lack of presence, so she tolerated me. These sights made my skin crawl. I resented her. I began to see red, full of rage. Until, the giant shoved me into the next passenger car.

“Who the hell am I? Ebenezer Scrooge?”

The giant did not respond, he shoved me in alone.

I stood adjacent to the door leading from the train car to the outside and watched people swarm in. One man was holding a newspaper labeled October 26th 1942, the headline sprawled “Leading clergymen and political figures hold a public meeting in the United Kingdom to register outrage over Nazi Germany’s percicution of Jews” and then it all came back to me.

The radio show, skipping to the station, the train being late, and then I saw myself enter the train. I was blissful, smiling, and couldn't wait to get back to my family so I could share my experiences with them. I took my seat in my cabin and I watched myself drift to sleep reading a book.

I was laying there peacefully when the bomb went off.

The horrendously painful ring returned to my ears and everything went blank. Suddenly I found myself in the entryway of my home. Around the corner in the dining room Mary was sitting with Max, supper on the table. They were waiting for me. I quietly hung my coat and hat, and set my satchel down on the entryway table. I was terribly confused, but I suppose I began to get used to the confusion and I went along with it.

“I’m sorry that I’m late, there was a delay with the train”

She did not look at me or acknowledge me.

“Max, you can eat your supper. Your father is late again” she said disappointedly.

She didn’t even acknowledge me.

Could they not see me?

Max looked directly at me and said “Dad, will you sit with us?”

“Absolutely I will” I looked again to Mary.

Mary looked at Max bewildered, and followed the path of his eyes to look at me.

“Max, daddy isn’t here” she said

“He’s right there” he pointed directly at me

Her eyebrows scrunched together in a look of utter confusion, then the telephone rang. She frantically dashed for the phone that hung on the wall picking it up, “Hello?”.

Mary listened for a moment before collapsing to her knees sobbing.

It was then I really knew I was dead. I motioned towards Max, kissed him on the forehead and told him goodbye. I went back to the entryway and placed my hat back on top of my head and pulled on my coat. I reached in the left pocket of my coat and set my silver watch on the entryway table before tilting my hat to Max and starting out the door.

Upon opening the door it was no longer night, but morning. I casually walked down the street stopping at the newsstand. The headline of the paper caught my attention. October 27th 1942 “Militia group bombs passenger train in London, carrying cargo bound for war. No survivors.”

I hung my head low with sorrow. It wasn’t that I felt pity for myself but for those that lived their lives around me. Frankly, I thought it would be better for them with me gone. Perhaps Mary would find a man as plain as her and perhaps he could be a better father than I was to Max. Even if she never remarried, being alone would surely be preferable to a life with me. To them, I was a ghost long before I was dead. With nowhere left to go I decided to go back to the station to catch a train, anywhere.

I made my way to the ticket clerk, I did not expect him to be able to see me but just to be sure I would stand there anyway.

“Where to, sir?”

“You see me?”

“Ah, you must be Johnny”

“Yes, Johnny Taylor. How do you know my name?”

“Johnny Taylor, we’ve been expecting you. We knew you’d come here. Give my just one moment, sir”

The clerk turned the dial on his rotary phone and made a call.

“Hello sir, Johnny Taylor is here.”

He hung the phone back on its hook and said “Johnny, I have been ordered to ask you to wait on that bench right over there” he pointed out onto the platform.

I walked over to the bench and took a seat, waiting for something to happen.

I waited there for about twenty minutes, pondering over the details of my life and death. I experienced a range of emotions on either end of the spectrum. I was sad to be dead, I was happy to be dead, and I was somewhere in between too. I wondered about the other souls that accompanied me into death. Where did they go? Were they led through a locomotive timeline of their lives by a cartoonish ticketeer too? I had many questions and the only answer I had been certain of was that I was dead and here on this bench I was somewhere between the world I knew and somewhere else. Soon the same steam locomotive I had traveled on familiarly screeched to a halt at the station. The giant ticket inspector that led me through the timeline stepped out onto the platform.

“Thankful to have someone to take my place, Johnny”

“What is going on?”

“It’s not often someone such as yourself passes away on the train, my name is Henry I have tended to this train for over 100 years. Now that I have completed my service I chose you to take my place. I did not cause the accident, I only saved your soul from — descending.. You see, I’ve given you a great opportunity.”

“I don’t understand, where did the others go?” I replied

“The others went where they were supposed to. Somewhere different than you. Welcome to purgatory Johnny, here is where you will board the celestial train and take my job as ticket inspector. All celestial servants tend to the gods as a form of repentance. The train before you transports many spirits to many realms, with time you will learn.”

“I have been assigned a job on a spirit train to save my soul from hell? Is that what you’re telling me?” I questioned.

“The conditions for this to happen are extremely specific, I have waited quite a long time for this” the giant stated.

The giant then handed me an identical navy suit and cap to the one he wore.

“Best get dressed, the train is departing soon”

I found my way to the nearest washroom and pulled on the trousers and coat. I felt this was all nonsensical while simultaneously believing it made all the sense in the world. I took a moment to myself in the washroom, looking at myself in the mirror. I looked at myself, draped in this ticketeers garb. I was still the same Johnny, but I had a new purpose. If I had been a better man I suppose I wouldn’t be here. However, I can’t say I regret anything. Aboard this celestial train I will unlock more secrets of the universe than I ever could’ve dreamed. Maybe if I get another crack at life I will write a screenplay about it. I pulled on my cap and exited the washroom again meeting back with the giant. We walked together to the platform. As we neared the train my steps became lighter, I could feel my soul shedding the weight of my previous life.

“Good luck, Johnny” said the giant.

I climbed the steps aboard the familiar train, gripping the handrail and looking back to the giant to wave goodbye. His cartoonish face wore pure bliss as he sent me off. The steam let out followed by the famous clunk and we departed the station. I kept looking back at the giant. As we got further away from the station he moved his attention from the train to the sky. The giant suddenly was no longer a man, but bared resemblance to a star. It was so bright, I squinted my eyes and had to use my hand as a share. Suddenly, the orb powerfully ejected upward leaving behind a navy suit and matching cap folded neatly on the platform.

I somehow knew exactly what I was tasked to do as soon as I boarded the train, as if all of the knowledge and policies of being a celestial ticket inspector transferred itself from the giant onto me. I suppose here is where I’ll be, doing my service. Until, like my predecessor, I recruit a new soul; unexpectedly departing our parallel twin, to take my place.