Train of Thought

I open my eyes and blink several times. My vision focuses in slow increments, like frames of some old film. My heart drums away slowly. I exhale and swallow once, noting the excruciating dryness of my throat. Looking up, I see an old woman sitting directly across from me. She is beautiful, with short white hair and just a bit of lipstick, like she knew (not in a conceited way) that nothing could possibly be added to her loveliness. She is sleeping soundly. I feel a strange sadness, seeing her in such a vulnerable state. I wonder where I am: is this some lovely angel visiting me in my sleep? I smile, settling into this wonderful mystery. To my left is a middle-aged man and a woman, whom I presume to be his wife, both asleep, hand in hand. I turn and catch the eye of a young boy, probably their son. He has soft brown eyes and seems around five, with an atrocious haircut. Looks to be his own work. I grin. He smiles back. What a nice family, I think to myself.

I look out the small square of a window to farmland hurtling by in swatches of green and yellow. I wonder where we are going. I have never been good with surprises; I feel my palms begin to perspire. I grope around my jacket pockets for some clue as to why I’m here. I’m hoping for a ticket, something with a printed destination. Nothing but a few crumbs and a gum wrapper. This isn’t supposed to be happening. My heart rate picks up and my ears begin to burn. I try to control my breathing, taking deep breaths in and out. Outside, the horizon is blurred by the speed of our travel. An icy feeling of dread takes residence in my chest. For God sakes, where are we headed? Who are these people?

As if disturbed by my thoughts, the woman across from me begins to stir. I don’t want to wake her, I don’t wish for her to see me in such a state. I pull at my collar and wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. I look up to find her staring at me. My lips twitch nervously in an attempted smile, and she meets my gaze with iron just behind her eyes. Her mouth pulls downwards into a frown. I like her better asleep. She flares her nostrils and flicks her eyes to me one last time before looking out the window. Why does she hate me? We’ve only just met…My dread intensifies.

I follow her gaze to our small, perfect square of speeding terrain. Dark, ominous clouds have overtaken the sky. My immediate surroundings feel like they are getting further and further away, as though I am separated from my own life. Where are we going? I glance back at the woman across from me, looking for reassurance. She simply stares out the window.

After a few moments of panicked silence, I conclude that I am neither wanted nor needed here. I grab the arm rests and push upwards, slowly lifting my rear out of the seat. I feel a pressure across my waist and the sharp coolness of metal against my stomach. I am trapped. The woman is staring at me now, disgust creeping across her face. She shakes her head slowly. I whisper urgently to her:

“Help me.”

She swiftly puts a wrinkled finger to her lips and looks to the sleeping couple. I don’t understand. My fear morphs to determination, as I attempt to break free; I strain against the metal clasp, to no avail. I bring my shaking hands to the belt and will myself to grip it. my muscles won’t obey. I look across from me, furious. It is her fault.

“What have you done to me!?” I hiss. The woman is quite upset now.

“Arnold, will you please calm down?!” I inhale sharply. She knows my name. She knows my name.

The man to my right is awake now. Maybe he will free me. I try to show him that I’m in desperate need of help. He looks at me, confused. We stare at each other for a long moment. He then breaks out in a smile and dismissively pats me on the arm. Something falls off-kilter within me; I sense that everything is deeply wrong. Where are we going? He is talking now, but I can’t make out anything that he’s saying; it sounds like we are deep underwater. The landscape outside continues to rush by. Large droplets begin rapidly striking the windows. I try once more to break free.

“Arnold!”

The woman snaps.

“Stay seated or I’m going to call them!”

I look around frantically. Who’s them?! Everyone is staring at me with concerned fascination now: the man, his wife, the young child. He once again puts his hand on my arm. I quickly pull away.

“Help! Please help!” I yell.

The rain drums steadily on the window. The train is deathly silent.

The man beside me motions for me to quiet down. His wife looks at me, concerned. Their son begins to cry. The man to my left tries to reassure me:

“Why would you do that? You’re safe, okay. Just trust us.”

The old woman won’t meet my eyes anymore. I see someone in uniform rushing down the aisle. He speaks to us:

“Is there a problem? I’ve been getting complaints from our other passengers…I just want to make sure everything is fine over here.”

Passengers…where are we going? The man to my left feigns a smile and looks like a boy for a second.

“We're fine sir, thank you for checking in. It won’t happen again.”

His grip tightens on my wrist. My chest moves rapidly up and down, betraying my shallow breathing. As soon as the strange man’s back is to us, the man to my left starts lecturing me. I’m not listening. My eyes brim with tears of frustration. Where are we going? I look him in the eyes as I slowly maneuver my wrist out of his grip. Peering at his face, I sense a strangely familiar disappointment. He is a gawky teen and I have spent one too many days at the office…I shake my head, clearing away this image. I must not feel whatever I'm feeling- these people are my captors. Just as the thought enters my head, I break free from his grip. I fumble with the belt across my waist for a few seconds before it snaps undone. I’m free. I’m free!

I glimpse a stark fear in the old woman’s face as I rush up the aisle, moving as quickly as I can. I look out the windows as I speed ahead; the rain has smeared the countryside into something abstract. When I glance up, I’m met with a sea of eyes. Some of the people or…passengers…. is what they’re called…look with mouths agape, others try desperately not to make eye contact. I look over my shoulder, once, as I continue. The middle-aged man is just getting out of his seat. I pick up my pace. Pain shoots across my hip and back. I limp forward, nearing the end of this segment of the machine. Ahead, I can see where it’s attached to the next section.

Behind me, the man is gaining. I can hear his footsteps matching the quick patter of the rain outside. I look to the next section; it sways ominously as we hurtle forward. Glancing back to the man, I step into this new section. He catches up to me right as my foot strikes the ground. He grabs the crook of my arm from the back and pulls me towards him. Throwing myself forward, I desperately try to escape his grip. We’re on the ground now. I yell out, not in pain, but in a shocked joy. We are wrestling. It is one of those endless summer days. We are in the backyard. The barks of a distant dog echo through the humid air.

“Give me the ball! Let go, you little rascal!” I shout through my laughter.

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it!” I cry.

Suddenly, the coolness of metal against my face. I look up to see the strange man I’ve been wrestling with. He has a look of animal confusion in his face, cheeks wet with tears. “Dan…” I whisper, “…What’s wrong?” A spark of relief appears in his eyes.

“I’m so glad you remember, now.”

He wipes his cheeks with the back of his hand. “C’mon let’s get you back to your seat.” He helps me up gently. More pain throughout my back and hips. I look down to my hands and, for the first time, notice the purple veins snaking around my knuckles. I exhale. People are now craning their necks, standing up, trying to get a better view. Dan puts his hand on the back of my head and whispers to me calmly as we pass through a corridor of eyes.

We travel through a crowd of more men in uniform. They look at us with concern and ask if everything is alright. Dan nods and tells them we are fine. We continue retracing our steps down the aisle and arrive at our seats quickly. It seems I didn’t run that far after all. The rain has let up, leaving a comforting blanket of gray covering the sky. I sit down in my seat and the man I now remember to be Dan, sits in his place beside me. The others look at me with wide eyes and ask if I’m okay. I smile. The heaviness that you recognize just before sleep creeps over me. I know I will be okay amongst these strange people...I have Dan. I adjust myself in my seat and turn to my left.

“Son?... You wanted a Strasburg railroad passenger set for Christmas, isn’t that right?”

He nods. A genuine smile crosses his face. “Yeah, dad. I did.” I can barely comprehend his response before I am asleep.

I wake to a throbbing pain and deep soreness across my body. The man beside me, (Darrel…or Dylan…was it?) turns to me and asks how I slept. I touch my hand to my forehead to feel a large knot just under the skin. I wince.

“I’m okay, Duncan, don’t even worry about me.”

He frowns slightly, a curious sadness falling over his face. I meet the eyes of an old woman sitting across from me. She is beautiful, with cropped white hair and just a touch of lipstick, like she knew (not in a conceited way, of course) that nothing could possibly add to her loveliness. My recollection of her feels nicely worn, like it has been handled many times. How curious are people…To have this feeling about someone you’ve just met? Despite her beauty, she is sullen. She stares back at me, sure in herself. Everything within me wills myself to speak to her.

“Excuse me miss, where are you headed?”

The woman, Derrick, and their presumed son are all staring at us now. They hold their breath, as though I have asked her something offensive.

“Same place as you, you old bat.” She responds bluntly.

I try not to show I am offended by her comment; I never thought I looked particularly old for my age. Maybe she’s just having a bad day. I reach up to adjust my glasses and realize my hand is shaking. She smiles, not in a nice way though. A cavernous sense of loss washes over me. The cars rattle slightly as the train pushes onwards.

“Now, be nice...” Derrick says to her. She just smirks at him. I notice a string of pearls around her neck; she wears them well, like they were meant for her. She reaches into her bag, pulls out a well-loved copy of The Giver and begins leafing through it, seemingly looking for something. Before I know it, I’m speaking:

“I know it’s for kids, but I absolutely adore that book! Looks as though you’ve read it quite a few times too.”

Her eyes flick to my face. She adjusts her glasses and lets out a sigh.

“Oh, Arny, everyone knows this is your favorite book.”

I exhale in frustration. Who is this smart-ass woman, and why does she have a bone to pick with me? Again, before I can think, I’m speaking to her:

“Listen Claire, no one appreciates your old lady attitude, we all know it’s an act! You aren’t fooling anyone!”

A feeling of warmth spreads to my fingertips; I look around to see that everyone’s smiling at me. Dan pats me on the back.

“That’s the spirit, dad!” I knew it… I always knew I would be a father.

I beam. She’s looking at me with those same lovely eyes, except this time they are softened by a smile. She returns to her book. It’s like we never grew old, never stopped dancing in the kitchen together…Claire… I look down briefly at her hands to see a simple gold band resting on her ring finger. That cavernous sadness returns. My clouded mind feels like a sheet draped over me, I cannot, for the life of me, free myself- I am lost in it. What did you expect, Arnold? All the good ones are always taken. The soreness in my body returns, as if to remind me of this cruel fact. I glumly stare out the window to the countryside hurrying by, like it is trying to keep up with us. Where are we going? A man pushing a cart appears at my side.

“Hello, would you like some tea or a pastry?”

Everyone around me nods, and the middle-aged woman says her son would like one as well. I struggle to remember what a pastry or coffee is. When I realize everyone is looking to me, I nod my head vigorously. The man reaches under the cart and begins to hand out small, doughy squares wrapped in some type of clear film. As he’s pouring a clear liquid into several cups, I unwrap the pastry with trembling hands and look to see Claire gently holding her cup of coffee, steam veiling her face. A tune gently filters down the aisle as the man walks away pushing his cart: Baby, I know you’ve got to go…. And I have no right to tell you not to go… The road just isn’t there for us… There never… Nostalgia without substance consumes me. I look at Claire and smile. I know that she needs the countertops clean… always, that she drinks her coffee black as night, that she makes the same jokes even after they quit being funny. I’m not sure how I know all this, but I can just tell, tell by the way she turns the pages so carefully in that book. The doubt returns: She will never be mine, she would never want me. I run my thumb across the smooth metal bridging my finger, lost in thought. Outside, the sun has pried open the clouds and everything is traveling through time along with us, rain-soaked and fresh.

I look to the young boy sitting across from me and chuckle at his unkempt bedhead. Someday I hope to have a son- someone to play with, to show just how forgiving life can really be, to teach that it will hurt too, but that I will always be there to listen. The man to my left puts a steady hand on my shoulder.

“How are you doing? Sleep well?”

I nod and the corners of my mouth turn upwards slightly. How caring strangers can be. I will teach my son that too, the unbridled forgiveness of it all. I exhale a rattling breath and cough. God, do I sound terrible. Must be getting sick.

I look up and she is gorgeous, with short white hair and a little touch of lipstick, like she knew (not in a self-absorbed way, certainly) that nothing could improve upon her loveliness. Where are we going? I’m too nervous to smile. A tune follows the man pushing his cart …There never was a prayer for us…Someday our paths may cross again. I smile to myself. How wonderful Dusty Springfield is. I look at her again. She is still reading. The Giver, my favorite book. I can vividly picture how she cries, that determined upset in her eyes. My heart softens towards her. Some strangers we were just meant to know. I feel our stories rushing by, on parallel planes, never intersecting; how this hurts. I must say something, force our lives to make contact, however briefly. She is already looking at me when I begin to speak:

“Hey miss, how’re you doing on this fine day?”

She grins.

“Oh, Arnold, you seem to be forgetting again.”

I can picture our wedding in the summertime, the newfound glee of it all. I smile at the comfort of settled life together. Where are we going? “Where are we going?” I ask. She just smiles at me, a curious grief dancing across her face.

“Arnold, do you really need me to spell it out for you? We’re married, okay. Just let me read my book, alright?”

I look to the stranger to my left

“Did you hear that? I’m one lucky guy!” He smiles at me, and I see myself. I see her. “You sure are, dad!”

Tears stream down my face. The blue sky blurs above the vivid green of the landscape.

“Of course, Dan. And this must be your wife, and my lovely grandson…Brian?”

Dan beams. He pats my wrist. I realize I love them all, and have for some time now; they are not strangers to me anymore. They are speaking to one another now with the glow of family. I wipe my eyes. The train rushes forward. I drift off to sleep

I wake slowly and then all at once, looking around frantically to see the fields going by. I am scared, but she grounds me, the woman across from me. She is beautiful, with cropped white hair and just a touch of lipstick, like she knew (not in a conceited way, of course) that nothing could possibly be added to her loveliness. A song floats from the middle of the train car… And maybe we’ll find the kind of love we lost again…But now, I’ll set you free to choose again ....It's your life to win or lose again… I open my mouth to speak to her. The train pushes ever onwards.