The Train

“Alright, folks. The train is pulling in now. We will open the doors momentarily. You will all go to your right and form a line at the end of the train. The last two cars are 10 and 11. Your conductors will guide you from there.” I sigh and haul my bags onto my back and replace my facemask. The group in front of me leads the way out onto the train, and I follow. We make our way to the back and are greeted by the not-so-friendly face of our conductor. He snatches each of our tickets from our hands and gives us a new one.

“Final stop, young lady?” I cringe. I hate when people call me that, but I smile widely beneath my mask and nod. “Seat 58.” He hands me the ticket without another word. I hold back a grunt as I lift my bag with my only free hand and step onto the train. I struggle to wiggle my way up the narrow stairs and start to head to my seat. 48, 50, 52, 54, 56 . . . finally. Great. Someone’s stuff is in the other seat, and they don’t get off until the final stop as well. Hopefully, they are one of those train nerds who enjoy the scenes way too much and they stay in the observation car most of the time. I struggle to shove my overly full bag into the overhead and settle into my seat.

I pull out my phone to text someone I’m on the train and will be leaving soon, but who? My family is back in Arizona, and God knows when I’ll hear from them again. I left my roommates on less than good terms. They weren’t exactly thrilled when I up and left, leaving them with a new roommate who took over my lease. It’s apparently not a great fit personality-wise. Though, it’s not like I was either. That’s why I left. I was sick of pretending to be someone I’m not, so I packed a few bags, leaving the rest of my things for the new roommate, and booked the next train out of that small western town. The California Zephyr runs from San Fransico to Chicago. I have no idea what I’ll do when I get to Chicago. I have no job or money, and I don’t know anyone there, but that’s the point.

A few minutes go by, and the conductors make the usual overhead announcements as passengers continue to get settled when I’m interrupted from my thoughts by a man standing over me. “My stuff is there.” He says in a short tone. I look up and force a smile on my face despite the mask preventing him from seeing it and keep my tone light as I start to move my things so he can get to his seat.

“Oh, sorry about that.” He rolls his eyes and sighs.

“I’ll just move my stuff.” I’m taken back by his tone, but I recover quickly, struggling to keep my tone civil.

“Oh, no it’s fine you can still sit here! I can just scoot over for you to get in. All good!”

“No, I’ve been sitting there the whole trip, it’s my seat.” He snaps. I take a deep breath to calm myself before I explain again.

“Yes, I understand that, but this is my assigned seat. You are still more than welcome to sit there.” And required to as it’s your assigned seat, I add to myself, but he doesn’t seem to be listening. He starts reaching over me to grab his belongings and moves to a different seat.

“Whatever.” I sigh under my breath. Maybe we don’t have an assigned seat. Am I wrong? I see the conductor coming down the aisle, and when he gets to my seat, I get his attention. “Excuse me. We do have assigned seats, don’t we?” He sighs deeply and replies,

“Yes ma’am. We are expecting a full train and ask that all passengers comply with the seats they are assigned.” I nod and add,

“Oh, okay. I just wanted to double-check.” The conductor nods shortly and starts to walk away, then he sees the man that moved from my original seat.

“Sir! Get your things and your ticket and return to your seat. We have a full train and assign you a seat for a reason. We’ve already discussed this.” I sigh. Shit. The guy comes back, looking angry, but his tone is much nicer than it was before.

“I wasn’t rude to you or anything. I just moved my things because you sat here. I don’t see what your issue is.” I’m shocked when I realize he is talking to me. Before I can reply, the conductor starts explaining the seating policy again, but I can hardly hear him over the ringing of anger in my ears. I stare up at the man in disbelief.

“I sat here,” I say slowly, pointing at my seat and speaking like I would speak to a small child “Because this is my assigned seat. This,” I point to the seat next to me “Is yours, and I didn’t sit there. I sat here because this is the seat I was assigned.” The man looks back and forth between the conductor and me but proceeds to sit down when he realizes he’s lost. I immediately cross my arms and put in my headphones. He and I both sit in brooding silence for the next few minutes, until he starts to gather his things again.

“I’m moving.” He stands without waiting for me to reply and shoves his way out of the seat and into the row next to me. Does this guy not learn? He’s a 40-something-year-old man who is pouting because he has to share his seat on a packed train. I roll my eyes in disbelief. I put my headphones back in and dig through my bag for a book. I can’t even remember what books I packed for myself. Hopefully, something to get my mind off of how badly I want to punch this man-baby in the face. I sigh as I pull out the only book in my bag. “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass” By Lewis Carroll. I would rather have “Fahrenheit 451”, but this will do. I never got around to reading “Through the Looking-Glass”. We read the first book in my Children’s Literature class during my first semester of college. It seems so long ago. I suppose it was 4 years ago. Back when I still thought I wanted to teach elementary. I still can’t believe I made it through the secondary education program considering it was right in the midst of our family meltdown.

Mom and dad, well mostly mom, had decided that I was too much of a disappointment compared to my sister who was going to medical school, so despite me being on the verge of starvation, with no money, and no car, they decided they would no longer be helping me with food, and were moving to Arizona because mom was tired of working and dad and Tim (my dad’s longtime friend and recent business partner) had struck it big in the hay industry, so they no longer needed to live in Colorado. My sister was surviving off of loans in grad school, so despite her wanting to help, she was unable to. She offered for me to go live with her husband back home when I told her I was leaving Junction, but they just moved into their new house, and I knew he wasn’t really on board with the idea. He has enough on his plate, I wasn’t going to add to it, but she wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so I lied and told her I was just going to tough it out in Junction and keep trying to find a teaching job there. “One of the old hags in the English department is bound to retire soon, and I’ll be there to take over.” I’d said, but that was over six months ago, and still, no one had retired, and my roommates could only spot me rent for one more month. So, I cut my losses, paid them back with all the money I had left, and took the train.

I open the book and begin to read the story, letting it pull me into its magical world of talking flowers and battling chess pieces when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I look up and see a guy around my age, who is heartbreakingly handsome, and tall. Despite his face mask, I can tell he’s smiling at me. “Do you mind if I sit with you? Jackass took my seat, and I don’t want to start another World War over it.” I huff out a laugh and nod shyly, moving my legs to the side and letting him slide smoothly into the seat next to me. “I’m Timothy, but you can call me Timmy. It’s nice to meet you.” I smile back mutely, and he laughs. “This is typically where you would tell me your name,” he says sarcastically. I snap out of whatever haze I was in and feel my face heat with embarrassment.

“I’m Alaina. It’s nice to meet you too.” I mumble. He smirks at me.

“So, I saw you’re getting off at the last stop. Do you live there?” I shake my head “I see, so you’re visiting for fun?” I shake my head again and he raises his brows, confused. I laugh awkwardly and explain,

“It’s a complicated question, but in short, no I don’t live there and I’m not visiting. I’m hoping to move there.” He nods and adds,

“Well, then what’s your plan?”

“Don’t have one,” I reply simply.

“Don’t have one?” he repeats.

“Nope. I finished college, couldn’t get a job, my family abandoned me, and the ones who didn’t can’t help me. So, I packed a few bags and bought a train ticket, I’ll figure it out from there. What about you? Where are you going?” He smiles again,

“I’m riding it to the end too, then I don’t know. I’m in a similar situation. I mean, I know that I’ll be staying in the hotel near the station when I get off until I can find a house, or maybe I’ll get on another train and ride it somewhere. I’m not sure.”

“This is about to be a very inappropriate question, but all of that sounds,” I pause, searching for the words. “Expensive. How are you paying for all of this?” He sighs, sort of sadly, sort of with boredom.

“My parents passed away last year and left me a lot of money. Like, a lot. So, I’ve been traveling around since then, just trying to figure out what I want to do with my life.” I bite my lip awkwardly and look back down at my book.

“I’m sorry,” I say simply. He shrugs.

“They weren’t exactly parents of the year. I didn’t even live with them. I was just their only next of kin, they didn’t even have wills.” He states matter-of-factly. He nods to my book. “What are you reading?” I hold up the battered copy and laugh, almost embarrassed. He smiles “You’re an English teacher, aren’t you?” I raise my brows and laugh in shock.

“What gives you that impression?” He gestures to me, and I laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He laughs again.

“You’re wearing a t-shirt with a cardigan and ripped jeans with sneakers. You have glasses and your hair is up in one of those clippie things. I was gonna guess therapist, but you’re so young, and then you showed me the book. That’s what gave it away.” I guess I do dress the part even though I never got to actually teach in my own classroom. “So how old are you?” I narrow my eyes at him.

“How old do you think I am?” He sighs again and starts to study me closely. I blush under his stare. He smirks.

“I’d say 16 with how hard you’re blushing under that mask just from me looking at you,” I blush even deeper, and he laughs again. “But you said you finished college, so I’m gonna say 24.” I try to gather my thoughts and form a sentence and when I finally manage, I sound pretty confident shockingly.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I’m just shy. Anyone can make me blush, but you’re close, I’m 23. What about you?” He smirks.

“Guess.” I laugh and start to study him the same way he did me, but his stare doesn’t falter. I look him up and down, taking in his haircut, which puts him in his early 20s along with his attire of skinny khaki jeans and a button-down shirt with vans. His nails are painted with black, chipping nail polish and a few of his fingers are adorned with silver jewelry. He wears a matching silver, dangling earring in his right ear. I smile and say,

“Well with the way you’re dressed, I’d guess 23, but your nails and jewelry make me want to say 15.” He laughs and puts his hand over his chest in mock offense.

“So, what’s your final answer?” He says teasingly.

“22.” He laughs and shakes his head.

“I’m 33.” I raise my brows and shake my head.

“No way. You’re lying.” Without another word, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his license. Sure Enough. Timothy Martin was born in 1995. I laugh. “Sheesh, gramps.” He rolls his eyes.

“I’m not the one reading a Lewis Carroll book.”

“Hey now, Carroll is a genius. Don’t be hating on him.”

“He’s a genius on drugs, or maybe suffering from some severe mental illnesses.”

“What geniuses aren’t one or the other.” He gives me a touché look, then proceeds to turn his head and look out the window. I take that as my cue to go back to reading and allow myself to slip back into that wonderful world of curiosities.