Train like

He came to and understood he was moving. He felt he had been moving for quite some time.

Opening his eyes, he could see the other tracks and trains speeding by outside. For some reason, he knew that this was the one he wanted to be on for now.

Looking around, his surroundings were comfortable. Lavishly appointed, every fixture seemed to softly beam with a golden glow. And this chair…

But something wasn’t quite right. He couldn’t remember his name. Thinking of the train he was on, he thought, “I’m a passenger, at least I know that.”

Feeling like an incidental mark on this picture, he sensed a presence then.

“Good afternoon, sir!”

A sudden awareness of guilt came over him.

“Hello,” he said, turning with feigned curiosity on his face, playing the part of an innocent.

“How are you today?”

“Yes, I’m well thank you.” Am I? He thought, behind his own natural poker face.

“So glad to hear you’re well, it’s been too long since we’ve seen you!” The ticket inspector looked genuinely pleased. Relieved, even. The train sped up just then, though no one noticed it. “There was something we did want to talk to you about however… do you have a ticket?”

“I mean… no. I didn’t see any signs—I thought I could just sort it out while I was on the train.”

“No, sir. We require all passengers to have dealt with these things before proceeding with their journey… Are you okay, sir? It seems this may not be the right route for you.”

The inspector’s patronising tone made him angry.

“What?? Well, it’s partly down to your negligence that I’m here without a ticket in the first place! What kind of system is that? How can there be no signs!?”

The ticket inspector’s posture buckled, and they lost much of their former air of professionalism then. “Listen, kid. All I’m saying is that this route isn’t right for you, and if you stay on, it could be dangerous. I’m telling you; you should get out at the next station. I don’t know what else I can do!” Throwing their hands up now, “We have other things to deal with and we can’t hold everyone’s hand!” Gesturing helplessly in exasperation, they walked away shaking their head.

Feeling defensive, the Passenger thought to himself, “Why do they even care? It’s not like their wages come from me buying a ticket… dammit!”

Sitting in relative annoyance now, the Passenger saw something seemingly float by in their periphery.

It was almost as if everything slowed down, and the first thing he knew was that she was wearing a wedding dress. As his eyes took it in and wandered upwards, he couldn’t wait to see her face. Her honey hair felt warm, with the undertone of blonde making it seem somehow more ephemeral, like a memory. She was familiar, and he could feel just how beautiful she was even as his eyes observed the back of her head.

Just then, he was all at once cruelly distracted by the sharp pain in his own head. He’d never felt anything like it and couldn’t look anymore. He held his temples in his hands, feeling a certain sense of defeat.

“Am I hungover…? This is unbearable! How did I not notice before??”

Somewhat frantically trying to imagine a way out, then came to him a fortuitous reminder of the quickest way to deal with hangovers like this—now alone, he carefully got up and made his way to the well-signposted lounge car.

This one seemed even more beautifully appointed and cosy than the others. The Passenger could already see himself spending a lot of time here.

“Alright pal?” The full-voiced greeting came from behind the bar. Glancing over, he saw a rough but good-looking fellow who had been dapperly dressed. He wore a black beard, thick but tidy, and a welcoming smile. Speaking in a thick, cheerful accent, he continued: “Well now, you certainly look like someone I can help!”

Smiling from under his pain, the Passenger laughed, “I damn well hope so, or God knows how I’ll get through the day!” This drew a knowing smile and nod in return.

“Well, not to worry—I’ve got just the thing for you.” His great, hairy forearms began to assemble things behind the counter, accompanied by several different, rather pleasant sounds. Relief was coming. “I call it a ‘Chuck’,” he said, smiling again and placing a full highball glass on the bar top, “because I just chuck everything in it.”

The glass was full of life and weeping with condensation as the Passenger reached for it. It didn’t really matter what was in it, so long as it made him feel better.

He slowly swallowed the cold liquid, savouring the experience and knowing right away that it would be his salvation on this ride. He tasted cold beer; whiskey; tequila; vodka; cola… even red and white wine. But he wasn’t repulsed. No—this indiscriminate amalgam, this madman’s tonic, was delightful, and only refreshed him, deeply. He sunk down onto his stool, beginning to feel warm.

“Oh my God,” he panted, “how is that so good?” He was amazed and not a little bit relieved.

The bartender laughed a hearty laugh, his strong arms crossed over his barrel chest. “Always happy to help! At least I’m good for something!” They laughed together happily for a moment, before the Passenger felt suddenly amiss.

“Sorry, I completely forgot to ask your name… I would tell you mine, but honestly, I don’t even remember it.”

“Ah no worries at all, mate. I’m Butch—it’s a pleasure to meet you, whoever you are!” They laughed again and their hands clutched and shook each other in a virile and enthusiastic greeting. “It’s just good to have someone to drink with, y’know?”

“Well, Butch, I’m quite certain that I’ll be needing many more of these from you on this ride.”

“Can do, mate,” he attested, placing the Passenger’s next drink on the bar top.

“When did he prepare that?” He hadn’t noticed. “Did I already finish my first one…?” Muddled but happier, the Passenger went to sit by the window, headache already fading.

He stared through the windowpane, wondering how he had come here. The glass danced with reflections of the inside as he looked on, and many things passed him by.

The train slowed into the station and, from the throngs of people milling about outside, he picked out a wealthy-looking businessman. He imagined having such success and stability in his life, and felt pity for his own situation. “That would make things so much simpler,” he reflected. Drinking deeply, he began to feel a little better about it however, and waxed existential: “Though in reality, he’s probably not that happy... He sure isn’t feeling as good as I am right now, anyway…”

What did hold the Passenger’s attention, however, were all the maps and signs dotted all about the sturdy station building. He noted how the people were stopping by to read some hidden instruction from them and heading off immediately with such purpose to their certain destinations… that, he envied. Where were his signs? Feeling adrift; apart from all the swarming, linear lives outside, the train set off again—this time more recklessly—and he brooded.

“Where is this train even going…? Where am I going…?” Taking another drink, he questioned, “Do I even care to find out? For all I know this train could go on forever, and I don’t think I care.” The thought didn’t make him feel good, but the ‘Chucks’ did. He dried the glass, feeling more frantic now.

“Butch!! One more, my man!” Butch gave an upwards nod, smiled, and the glass was in front of him before he knew what had happened. The unsteady rocking of the speeding train and the heady coolness of the drink briefly distracted the Passenger. He breathed deeply, feeling his mind slow down.

“Shouldn’t I be out there?” he questioned, “With all those people… I should get off this thing- “

Just then, he felt friendly hands grip the back of his shoulders. Looking up, he saw three figures around him.

The one who was now embracing him was the most familiar. With a kindly face and chestnut-brown hair, his gaze made the Passenger feel at home again.

The second with black hair made him laugh—he was carrying a large tray laden with drinks towards the window-side table. “Does anyone else want a drink…?” He japed, feigning that he was walking alone with the tray to another table.

The third with light ginger hair he knew he liked, though they had a forgettable face.

With all of them now seated around him at the small table, he felt like he could ask for advice.

“Guys… do you think I should get off this train? I’m not sure I should be here… there are all those people out there… “

Here the kind-faced one breathed in and leant forward to start speaking: “Ma- ”

But the black-haired friend cut him off— “Disembarking’s for losers!” He laughed, shook his head and calmed down. “You’re fine! You’re having a good time, right? You’re here with us…”

“Yeah, but… do you guys not get off?”

“Yeah, I mean sometimes, but you don’t need to! It’s fun right now!”

“This is hilarious! I’m so glad we’re all here!” said the less familiar one.

Looking him over, the Passenger now saw signs of success on his black-haired friend. Was that… a map in his jacket pocket?

“What’s that?” He enquired, reaching for it.

“Nothing, nah don’t worry about that,” continued the friend, softly deflecting the hand.

The Passenger’s attempt had been sloppy, as he was now becoming visibly drunk, though most of his company didn’t even seem to notice.

Here, the ginger-haired companion chimed in again— “Listen man: if you wanna get off, you can get off, but look at you—you’re fine!”

The Passenger didn’t know what to think.

“But… I don’t even know where this train is going!”

“Sure you do!” retorted the friend, “It’s going exactly-”

Another train clamoured by just then, drowning out their conversation and forcing them all to take pause to observe it together for a moment.

The Passenger went back to his drink, defeated.

“Oh… and I don’t know if you’ve seen, but there’s this girl… she’s wearing a wedding dress… do you think I should try to find her??”

His black-haired companion immediately replied: “Nahhh she’s crazy. Forget about her, mate! Who walks about in a wedding dress like that! Anyway,” he said, looking to the unfamiliar one, “We gotta go!” And they were gone as abruptly as they had appeared.

All but the one with the kindly face. “You seem like you’re in a bit of a state, buddy. If you wanna stay on for a bit, I can stick around too.” He winked and gave a supportive smile before looking back to his ticket and writing some things down on a notepad. Despite everything before, this little gesture made the Passenger feel safe.

Nonetheless, he was now blind drunk and somewhat deflated. His mood darkened considerably.

Then once again, he saw the white of that dress pass by his shoulder and float on through the cabin in front of him, almost spectral in character. He resolved to follow her this time. Through cars and open gangways he pursued her, all the while catching sight of great hunks of metal coming off the outside of this rumbling, ungovernable mess.

“This thing is really falling apart,” he thought. “Why would such a lovely person even be on this wreck…?”

Just as these thoughts crossed his mind, there were four great, sudden blasts of the train’s horn, and he knew something was happening up ahead. Dumbly excited at the prospect, he ambled through the next few cars, finding only a scrap of the ghost’s dress, which he took along with him anyway. He briefly wondered where she physically could have gone but didn’t want to think about it right then, so he continued his clumsy progress to the front.

When the Passenger finally got to the open control car, he felt how out of control this train truly was. “It’s a wonder this thing is still on the tracks!” He saw that there wasn’t even a conductor, and laughed a futile laugh of disbelief, shaking his head as he went to peer far through the front windscreen.

Then he saw it. Beautiful and pristine, shimmering in the sunlight. Even though it was travelling at just as wild a pace as his own and speeding directly towards him… it felt like an attractive prospect from where he was swaying.

He wasn’t nervous; he was actually excited, if anything. He was already fantasising about the two locomotives rebounding off one another, even lusting for it. He supposed that the result couldn’t be any worse than this purposeless limbo-- now something was going to happen; for a moment, he knew where he was going.

“Maybe I’ll be able to see clearer in the wreckage than from up here… Hell, maybe I’ll even be able to find that girl!”

Getting caught up in the chaos and his mind screaming, “Fuck it!” he took another big drink.

“Yes,” he sneered, licking his lips. “It’s happening.”

And it all went dark.

Strangely, he didn’t remember hearing any horns or panicked people-- just his train and the other speeding towards each other; out of control, on the same track.

In the dark he remembered feeling wet, too. It must have been burst water pipes, he decided.

“This must happen a lot in messes like this.” But the warmth from it definitely brought some comfort, despite the chaos.

From that darkness he awoke slowly. Out of breath, he struggled to his feet, battered and bruised.

His head was in pain, though not quite as much as before. He felt a little freer he thought, though still didn’t really know what he was supposed to do.

“I guess there’s nothing else to do now but examine this wreck,” he said aloud in the lonely expanse.

The whole place was a jumble of twisted metal and broken booze bottles. He could recognise it was all his twisted metal though, the dark tone…

And a great, conspicuous clearing on the other half of the crash site.

“So strange…” he thought. Then wondering “Why?” he felt sad for a moment. “Maybe it got cleaned up? But then what the hell am I still doing here…?”

Crestfallen as he was, it was his own train that was the concern. And now his attention instinctively turned to all those fellow travellers who had visited him.

Spotting a sturdy forearm under some shining metal, he pulled it off carefully, unveiling the towering, loveable Scot. He didn’t have a scratch on him.

“Butch!! I’m so happy you’re still here! Did you see the whole crash??”

Moving to his feet sturdily and without much effort, Butch knowingly replied,

“Aye, that’ll happen sometimes. I guess it’s part of what I do!” He threw his head back and laughed a toothy laugh through his jet-black beard. Gripping the Passenger’s upper arm with his strong hand, he said decisively, “Be that as it may, I should go for now. Maybe I’ll see ya later, mate.”

And just like that, Butch meandered off over some not-too-distant horizon.

The Passenger wasn’t sad; he knew he’d probably see Butch again before too long, but for now, it was a little bit of a relief—he seemed to get pretty unpredictable when he was with Butch.

Not far from where the Passenger had woken up, he found his chestnut-haired friend as well.

Unlike Butch, he was a little beaten up from the crash, but came to with a reassuring smile and got to his feet with the Passenger’s help.

“I’m so glad you’re alright!” started the Passenger with genuine glee.

“I told you I’d stick around! I was worried about you for a minute there…” They shared a sincere hug filled with unsaid gratitude and smiled at each other, sighing with relief.

“Listen, I do have to go back home for now, but here—” the friend handed him a mobile phone, “just call any time if you need me—I’ll come back.” The Passenger felt safe again and let him go, saying a fond farewell, but knowing they would never be too far apart.

“Wait, where was that ticket inspector?” he suddenly remembered.

He searched through the wreckage, frantically at first… then a bit less so… and then less still, until he also remembered how annoying and patronising the ticket inspector had been with him, “Their system was partially to blame for the whole thing!” the Passenger thought, indignantly.

He stopped looking after finding a tag with a surname on it. “I’ll probably be able to contact them once I get back to civilisation,” he concluded, “check in to see if they’re all good.”

“Back to civilisation… where even was that?”

As he was pondering this, his eyes travelled across all of the wreckage. Its dark metal was gleaming in the sun, with sparkling sand stuck to the sides in some places. He was able to admire its beauty from this vantage point, though he felt safer now being out of it, too. As he meditated on that particular point, his eyes absent-mindedly wandered over something that seemed out of place.

“Was that there before?” he thought, “No, it couldn’t have been!”

Running to the object as if his life depended on it, he already knew what it was. It had burned up a bit… but right enough, it was a piece of a map.

Snatching it up, he examined it eagerly. There was a mark in the centre of the map, and instinctively he knew that was him. Casting his eyes far towards one of the burnt edges at the top, he could faintly make out a star. Just seeing it stoked a spark of hope in him, and something about it made him start to think of everything he’d ever wanted to do but had been too embarrassed or scared.

“Well, I’ve got nowhere else to go now…” He accepted it, and from then couldn’t help smiling a beaming smile.

Clutching the scrap tightly and with heart all aflutter with new direction, he decided there and then to conduct his own journey toward the unlikely star that he knew was in the right place.

Feeling like he was already there, he stood staring at the sun, and decided to just start walking.

All the while, far behind him the ghost came from her hiding place in the wreckage.

Slowly she started following, at a distance, as he moved on.