Train Tracking

It was another cold, rainy afternoon spent at the train station waiting for trains that were constantly being cancelled. My glasses were wet from the rain drops that were dragged upwards by the wind.

It had been like this since the MS had begun to make Mums legs weak. She couldn’t drive anymore, and we didn’t have a car even if she could. I crashed our old station wagon a week into having my license and we couldn’t afford a new one. Between the disability pension and my work at the cafe, we managed but just barely. There was certainly no room for extras.

Mum rode in a wheelchair most of the time and the hospital had suggested we hire a carer for her.

Mum had simply scoffed at this idea.

“I’m an adult Carmen, a little stiff leg won’t stop me from taking care of myself.”

Neither of us mentioned the obvious, that we couldn’t afford it, so we just pretended that mum didn’t need a carer.

So, I sat there every afternoon and caught the train home.

Last week, there was an elderly man sitting in my usual spot on the train, we spoke for the whole ride about our lives and our families and the aching of his bones.

Today there was no man, just a small, black, leather journal resting on the seat. Somebody must have left it behind. I pick it up to check if there's a name or phone number. No such luck.

There was however something very strange, a note, and it was addressed to me...

Dear Carmen

You’ve found me where we may meet,

Upon a railroad seat,

So, take me where the train might end,

And follow me around the river bend.

I looked quickly around the train, half expecting someone to pop out and yell “got ya!” but nobody does.

It has to be somebody that I knew, playing a trick on me. How else would they know my name? That was the only reasonable explanation. I tossed the book out of the way and sat down on my seat. I was not about to be sent on a wild goose chase.

The train continues to bump along like nothing happened, but my mind is churning, trying to make sense of such a strange journal and stranger note. I watched the journal with contempt and curiosity.

The train reached my stop and I stood up but found my feet glued to the ground. I couldn’t leave this damn journal behind, I had to know where it was leading me to.

So with resignation, I decided I’d go and see whatever this book wanted me to see. The train emptied and the sky grew dark as I kept riding all the way to the final stop.

I called my Mum from a payphone at the station to assure her I was okay, and that I’d be home a bit later than usual.

As I walked out of the station and down the deserted country, I heard the rushing of running water out in the distance. A river! That’s what the book was talking about.

Sitting by it was an old wooden rocking chair, its paint flaking from the cold and the rain. Taped to it, was a plastic bag.

I almost ran to it with excitement, gripping my hands around the plastic and untying it, inside was a note.

“Next page” was all it said, I groaned in anger. Somebody really was having me on, there was nothing on the next page at all. How could I be so foolish? There was nothing on the next page. They’d made me walk in the cold rain for no reason, and now I was stuck here until the next train came. I threw the book back down on the floor again in anger, intending to leave it there, but something managed to catch my eye as it flung open.

There was writing, on the second page…

That wasn’t there before… or was it and I just missed it? Something in my gut twinges, that wasn’t there before, I’m almost certain, something really strange was going on.

Dear Carmen

You’ve found my first clue,

It may have seemed obvious to you,

Now walk back to the station,

Take a vacation.

Take a vacation? What the hell does that mean?

I walk back up the road, tired and soaked to the bone from the rain, being driven forward only by curiosity.

In the distance, glowing the way things do in the rain, is a diner. Good, I needed a break, I headed inside. The diner was close to empty too, but they didn’t seem to be closing. Strange that they’d have a diner in such a deserted town.

I sat down in the booth and stared at the note again, trying to make it make sense. What was this clue? It made no sense, my brain hurt.

The tired waitress brings me a menu and as she plops it down in front of me, I nearly gasp.

“The Holiday Diner” and then underneath in swirly writing “Turn the Next Page.”

This is what the clue meant! I turned to the next page, and there it was, plain as day. This journal was so odd, it seemed like the pages seemed to change every time I looked at it like someone was writing in it when I wasn’t paying attention.

“You’ve found me,

But the best way to find what’s to be,

Is to read through the menu,

And look deep inside of you”

What now? Disappointment sets in again as I stare at the menu, tears blur my vision. I’ll never know what they’re leading me to, or who they even are. All I know is whatever this is, isn’t a joke, there’s something powerful behind it.

I consider ordering a coffee to keep my tired brain awake, and as I read the menu, I realize something odd about the menu.

It’s not classed by any subheadings, it's just item after item. Suddenly I realized why.

“Clever girl you are,

Now ask the valet for your car”

Written in the margins of the menu, there it was. Each beginning letter of the items on the menu spelled it out. I turned around and a strange man stood at the door, wearing a black suit and bow tie, in his hand, he held a set of keys.

“You?” I whisper under my breath as I stand up, it was the old man from yesterday.

“Yes, it's me,” he said, he had remarkably good hearing for such an old man. He hands me the key, and his hands brush up against mine. They are freezing cold, I shiver.

He leads me to a car, a brand new, shiny, red car. I was never quite good on the car models, but I knew this one had to have been worth a bit.

“For me?” I ask, and the man nods. I feel like bursting into tears again. No more catching the bus, no more sitting in the rain, I could take mum to her appointments no problem.

“I couldn’t possibly” I whisper, speechless by the kind gesture.

“Open it,” he says, and I obediently do as I’m told. I stick the key in the lock and turn it, opening to the passenger seat, where bundles of cash sit.

“What is this? I really can’t take it… I can’t” I say, my heart racing.

I spin around to hand back the keys and insist “Thank you very much, but it’s too much. I can’t possibly accept this,” but he’s gone.

He’s seemingly vanished into thin air, disappeared as if he never existed at all. My eyes almost pop out of my head, the car, the money, it’s all mine. I can use it to pay for mum’s nurse and maybe even an apartment close to town, near a hospital.

The car was certainly new, with leather seats and a brand-new stereo. I sang at the top of my lungs as I excitedly drummed my finger on the steering wheel.

I pull into the driveway and load my backpack full of the money and the notebook, I run inside to mum who’s on the couch with a blanket pulled over her lap.

“Mum! Guess what?” I say, she listens with interest as I tell her the story, and her eyes nearly pop out of her head as I get to the end.

“What a kind, kind man,” she said, she’s crying too.

I fish out the notebook to show her, and suddenly she stops dead in her tracks.

“Where did you get this?” she asks.

“It’s the notebook mum! The one I found.” I say.

She takes it, and opens it up, inside the clues are gone, the only thing left is the words “James K. Tubb”.

“That’s impossible,” she whispers.

“What is?” I ask, baffled.

“That’s my grandfather's name.”