Traveling by the Hour Train

EVERY DAY, I walk a couple miles from my house to the train station. I live out in the country, but I hear there is a new big city opening up. I’ve seen it on my small TV with my family. They suggest that I go because I desperately need a job outside of my family’s ranch. I’ve been too remote, they tell me. But why should it matter if I prefer it that way? They pay me a good amount at the ranch. Coming here is a waste. There’s nothing out here but people. So many people. It’s gross.

I glance around as my black boots come in contact with the pavement. I tuck my hands in my pockets, and I keep my head down. I adjust my cowboy hat to obscure my face. My foot taps as I wait for the train. I pull my right hand out of my back pocket to check my watch. Quarter till 3:00. My pa taught me at a young age when you’re learning how to tell time, always count backwards.

The days are blurry, coming back to bite and leave you crippled in the dust. Old age will consume you—if you let it. My grandpa sure doesn’t. The proof is written all over his face. He hardens while others stay soft. Others try to soften him too. Doesn’t work out well for them. My grandma was one of them. And now…she’s underground.

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. This is taking too long. Four hours of waiting here. It’s absurd. Might as well cancel the schedule entirely. I spin briefly on my heel, catching a glimpse of mostly red rectangular boxes. My eyes scan down to the last line. A green rectangular box. I nod vaguely. Good news. I don’t need to turn around.

An older man, dressed in a tuxedo, comes up next to me. He looks as impatient as I do. He keeps rechecking his watch and he’s holding his briefcase handle so tightly, I can see the imprint slowly form on his palm. He turns to look at me, his face bleak. I tip my hat at him, but he faces forward, completely ignoring me. I shrug. Any kind of disrespect doesn’t faze me anymore. I learn to cope with it from rude customers. Those kinds of people aren’t worth my time.

I begin to whistle to keep myself entertained, shifting my focus from one little point to another. As I do that, I become more self aware. I notice how boring the scenery is. It’s mostly plains. My pa calls it a farmer’s treasure. But I don’t agree. A farmer’s treasure would be making bank from their crops. Or owning a decent car. One that isn’t so beaten down that every time I crank the engine, it sputters. One where the tires don’t make skid marks while riding in it. One where it doesn’t creak and squeak from the smallest movement.

My ma found a kitten trapped under our tractor once. She told me it’s a calico. It was pretty. I would keep it if I could. But the moment it made eye contact with me, it ran away. I shrugged that off, too. My ma told me I was thinking too much about it. Kittens are always scared of strangers. I get it. I’m the same. Except I’m not scared of them. They just annoy me.

Public school taught me to be picky with my friends. I made that mistake of taking who I could get. They all loathed me for whatever reason. Guess I was too good for them. One guy squirted water on me with his water bottle, and I grabbed it from him and squirted him back. And when I told you he got mad, I ain’t lying. I’ve never seen someone look so upset over a dribble of water on them. I mean seriously, dude threw all his stuff at me, and told me how stupid I am.

I meant it as a light joke. I don’t know what was going through his head but it wasn’t anything good. I’m glad I haven’t seen him since. That would be rough. That was in middle school. I can’t believe some people carry grudges like that with them. I sigh again. Only this time, it’s much louder.

My tapping gets more aggressive as I stand here, but I don’t want to sit down. Not when I’m about to sit down on the train anyway. Suddenly, I hear a slight scratching sound. It gets louder and louder until the view of the train finally comes in. When it approaches, it comes to an abrupt halt. I cringe. I don’t understand how it’s this new, and yet, it struggles to make a smooth stop.

People around these parts were getting all excited over this train. But I ain’t see anything cool about it. It’s pure white with blue tint windows and automatic doors. If anything, it looks ugly out here. It stands out like a sore thumb. I like the older models much better. The ones everyone grew up with. Not this garbage.

I go in after the sophisticated older man, who looks like he would burn his shoe if it were to ever get dirty. As I enter, I realize that two people come out, and a few people stay in. They look tired. I can see the eyebags forming. One middle aged woman nods her head to stay awake, but her eyes are still closed. I take a seat in the corner, away from everyone. I stare out the window as the train begins to chug off into the unknown.