The Train Ride Past Home

I took the train in the middle of December to visit my parents. The snow began to fall as the train employees were shouting, “Prepare your tickets when boarding! Watch your steps! Find a buddy to sit next to for the duration of the ride!” I climbed the steps into the train, escaping the impending cold, and settled on an empty seat towards the back. I put my pack underneath the seat and leaned against the chair, turning to watch the assembly of passengers make their way onto the train. 

 

          One by one, passengers filled the rows: parents, children, students, elderly, all of them shyly asked strangers to sit together. People laughed and scooted over, adjusting until everyone was seated. The seat next to me was the only one untouched. Soon, the train began to move, slowly churning forward. The train conductor announced loudly, “the train is leaving South Bend, Indiana. Watch for your stops. It is going to be a long ride, so get comfortable.” 

 

          It took about ten minutes to reach Elkhart, a nearby station. Only one individual worked her way up; an elderly woman with plastic tubes running from her nose and into the purse she clutched with quivering hands. She looked left and right for empty seats, becoming more anxious as she passed by pairs upon pairs of people. By the time she reached my seat, she appeared pale and clammy. I gave her a warm smile and offered her a hand. I took her surprisingly heavy purse and caught a glimpse of a tall container of oxygen nestled inside, with smaller pockets on the outside holding her phone, wallet, and ticket. She clutched a grocery bag filled with chips and half a sandwich. “Thank you. I hope I won’t be much of a bother to you,” she said. 

 

          She slowly lowered herself, her voice shaky as she sat down, holding onto the seat for an easy descent. She let out a sigh of relief at having a place to sit, but jolted forward when the train groaned into motion once more. She tightly grasped the armrest, her purple veins showing through her rather fair skin. After she relaxed, she said her name was Lauren. 

 

          She asked, “Where are you heading? I’m taking the train to Utica to see my eldest daughter. She’s promised to show me around New York while I’m there.” 

 

          I told her I was going to Erie, Pennsylvania, to see my family. It had been a while since I last saw them; work and school were taking too much of my time to visit. “My daughter had a roommate who was from Erie, what was her name?” 

 

          She pondered this for a few minutes until when the train conductor came to check our tickets. After everything was checked, he took an orange sheet of paper and labeled our stops, stamping it above us. When he left, Lauren turned to me and asked, “Where are you headed? I’m going to see my eldest daughter in New York.” 

 

          I repeated to her, confused, that I was going to Erie, which she then repeated with how her daughter had a roommate in Erie, and that her name was Emily. She was studying to become an officer, but she couldn’t remember for what reason. “Hey, speaking of occupations, what are you working up to be?” 

 

          I answered that I was a writer. “Really? That’s astounding. I used to be a writer! I was a journalist in London—a lovely city, that place. So full of beauty around every corner. Journalism was such a respected art then, but now, it’s dying. All art is dying, now. I used to take the train—sort of like this train, actually—back in London. A lovely city, that place. We called it the Tube, riding it underground. Day and night, I took the Tube to work and I loved it. London was an incredible time.” 

 

          I asked what it was like in London and her journalism. “It was such a time. I remember there was daily gossip. Someone would lean over their office space to whisper their findings and it would spread until everyone knew what was going on in the office. I was the one who wrote these rumors down. I knew all the dirty secrets the stars of London were wishing they could hide, but alas, they couldn’t hide from me!” 

 

          There was a faint fire in her eyes when she spoke, as if her passion for the craft was still cindering inside. She was looking right at me, but she was in an entirely different place than the train. She smiled brightly when she recalled this, the wrinkles on her face parting to make room for her expression. It went from ear to ear, her smile. 

 

          The train jutted, snapping her out of her memory. The conductor announced we had reached Elyria, Ohio. Her smile quickly melted, replaced with a thin-lipped frown, her eyes now scanning her bag for her ticket. I pointed it out for her, and she unfolded her ticket, examining the location. “New York, I’m going to New York,” she muttered.

 

          It seemed as if she tried to convince herself that that was where she was going. I reminded her she was going to see her daughter, in which she nodded in agreement. “Yes, she’s there. I hope she knows I’m coming.” 

 

          I asked Lauren if she texted her or called her earlier to make sure her daughter knows. “No, no she knows. We had talked about this months ago. She’ll be waiting for me.” 

         

          We rode in silence. I watched the train slip by rows of trees, the snow falling steadily now. I heard whispers of frustrations coming from her, and after a while, she tugged on my shirt. “Dear, I need some help. I don’t remember my daughter’s phone number.” 

 

          I scrolled through her phone for any means to contact her daughter, with remnants of texts dating back months with text messages that read ‘delete’ and ‘how to buy train ticket.’ When I found her daughter’s contact, there were somber messages referring to a man named Clark. I handed the phone back to her and told her to message her daughter. She quietly read her previous messages and her eyes glistened. I asked her what was wrong. “Oh, it’s nothing. It’s just my late husband, Clark. It slipped my mind that he passed away not too long ago. He was a lovely man, and I miss him dearly. You even look like him, too.”

 

          Lauren shook her head, staring at her phone. She whispered, “I could never forget him, really. No matter what happens, I won’t forget him.” 

 

          The conductor announced, “Erie is coming up! Please prepare your bags for the next stop at Erie, Pennsylvania.”

 

          I told her that my stop was coming up, and that I would be leaving soon. She turned to me in a rush, shocked. She looked disappointed, eyes gazing at the ground and muttered, “I didn’t think you were going to get off so soon.” 

 

          I did my best to reassure her that she would be okay, and I grabbed my pack. I got up to head to the end of the cart when she grabbed my wrist and held me back. I turned to her to see that her eyes were watery. “Don’t go, please. I can’t go on my own, Clark. I just can’t.” 

 

          I was caught off-guard. Outside I could see my parent’s car parked, waiting. The sun was setting, and the snow was falling even heavier. Lauren held onto my wrist as tightly as she could, which was admittedly not very tight. The train employee had his back turned, helping people down the train. My eyes darted back and forth from the car to Lauren. She was scared, fear creeping into every nook of her face. I went to tell her that I had to go, but the look of terror in her eyes cut me short. Looking at the locations stamped above the chairs, I swapped our stops with an empty seat and sat back down, with both our stops now being noted for New York. Lauren held my hand and whispered her gratitude several times. I watched with a heavy heart as my mother stepped out of the car in confusion, scanning the departed passengers as the train began moving forward with me on it. 

 

          The employees did their rounds as we headed towards New York. One recognized me and asked if I was headed to New York or Erie. Lauren answered, “Oh, he’s traveling with me. He’s taking me to New York, this one. Don’t worry about us, we won’t cause any trouble.”

 

          The employee shrugged and walked away, and Lauren beamed at me, thrilled with her deception. She took her grocery bag and handed me a bag of chips. We ate quietly, with Lauren happily smiling. She occasionally peered into her purse but said nothing. We watched as the sky became cloudy, the horizon losing light. She leaned forward and remarked, “When did it become so dark? What time did we board?” 

 

          I told her I boarded around the afternoon, and that she boarded shortly after. “Has it really been such a long time since we boarded? The Tube used to be faster than this. Why, I would get from my station to London in a matter of twenty minutes. How close are we to London, dear?” 

 

          I reminded her that we were heading to New York, and that we weren’t on the Tube. “But my ticket,” she said.

She grabbed her ticket, staining the paper orange with cheese dust. She went quiet for a little, before squeezing her eyes shut and muttering, “My ticket is going to New York. My stop is New York.” 

 

          Once we arrived in Buffalo, I reminded her that her stop would be coming next. “Ah, yes, my stop.” 

 

          She waved her ticket, saying “Utica, I stop at Utica. Yes, Utica.” 

 

          She turned to me and smiled. “Remember London? Remember when we first met?” 

 

          I answered that we met here, on the train. “Yes, the Tube. We were heading to work, and I sat next to you. You had this dapper suit on with the cutest bowtie. I was nervous sitting next to you. We became Tube buddies after that.” 

 

          Lauren peeked into her bag and glanced at her oxygen tank. “I’m glad you came along with me. I don’t know what I would do without you, Clark. I feel so lonely sometimes, but we’re still standing, together.” 

 

          She would talk about many things as Utica came closer, memories she shared with Clark. When they shared a thermos of coffee when the winter came, when spring rolled around, and Clark asked if they could meet up at a coffee shop. She spoke of picnics on the hills of London, their small apartment in Paris, after she was promoted at her work. She went on, going through their wedding, the flowers and their attractive scents, the sound of rain pattering against the windows of their first house, and when their first child was born. She asked each time, “Do you remember, Clark?”

 

          I always answered yes. When I watched her weave her memories again, she held such an air of happiness that I didn’t want to break. I smiled and listened to her speak more of Clark. The more she spoke, the paler she became. Her breaths became shorter the longer she went on, and she checked her bag multiple times before closing it and removing her tubes from her nose. “To hell with the thing, it was always uncomfortable. I hated it ever since I needed it, to hell with it!” 

 

          She continued her tale with otherworldly vigor, taking short pauses in-between to catch her breath, asking me “Do you remember?” 

 

          Eventually the train conductor came on over the mic, announcing, “We will be arriving in Utica in 10 minutes! Utica in 10 minutes!” 

 

          Lauren checked her ticket once more, noting that Utica was indeed the place she was headed. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, and she gladly stepped aside. “Don’t stay away for too long!” she called. 

 

          I locked the door and waited until the train was nearing Utica. I checked my phone and noticed there were several missed calls from my parents, messages of concern and fear. I didn’t respond. When I returned, she was chatting to the window, as if someone were sitting in my seat. I tapped her on the shoulder, and she yelped in excitement. “Oh, it’s you! I was wondering where you went. Have you met my husband, Clark? We’re heading to Utica together!” 

 

          Lauren gestured to the seat next to her, which was empty. She put both of her hands on the arm rest in-between the seats and sighed happily. 

 

          I nodded, saying hello to Clark, complimenting how lucky he is to have Lauren as his wife. She giggled, hiding her face away from Clark and I. She turned to me and said, “Thank you for staying with me, but I think Clark will guide me the rest of the way. I’m going to rest now, he’ll let me know when we arrive. Thank you again for helping me.”

         

          I nodded and gathered my things while Lauren leaned her head against the side of her chair. She had a small smile painted across her face, and she fell asleep. I sat across from Lauren and waited until the train had reached Utica. The train conductor was making his way towards us, and I nudged Lauren to wake her up. She was still asleep, resting on Clark’s shoulder, smiling peacefully. The conductor told me, “Get off, I’ll assist her.” 

 

          I protested, saying she was traveling with me. 

 

          “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she gets off fine. However, as train policy goes, I need you to leave the train. You can wait for her outside.” 

 

          I told him that I was her buddy for the ride, that I couldn’t sit outside, my voice growing desperate. I told him she needed me to stay with her. “Sir, I need you to get off. She’s going to be okay. Please, I need you to exit.” 

 

          I went to protest, but I stayed silent. He watched me step off the train and into Utica. 

 

          The street lamps were lit, highlighting the thick, pale snow that was falling from the sky. I sat on the station bench and watched the window as the train conductor was gently nudging Lauren to wake her up. He continued this for another minute before looking deeply concerned. He gently lifted her wrist and lightly pressed against it with two fingers. His face became long and he gently laid her arm back down. He called for more employees to come over for assistance. I watched helplessly as employees quickly rushed down the cart and leaned over her, circling her. There were passengers who looked back into the cart, muttering worries and soft prayers, all stepping aside to leave the train. 

 

          It wasn’t long until the train screeched loudly, releasing steam from up front. The train had made a complete stop, and more passengers stepped off the train and into the cold. I stood outside until an ambulance came by, the emergency lights painting the clumps of snow red and blue. The paramedics rushed into the train cart with various equipment in their hands. One leaned her forward, holding her forehead and her chest. He grabbed a pair of scissors and cut her shirt, grabbing a stethoscope and calling for the others to grab a stretcher. They rushed off, grabbed it, and came running back inside, lifting her abruptly and placing her onto the stretcher. They strapped her down and raised it so she’d be sitting and brought her down, kicking out wheels to transport her. 

As they carted her off, I got up with them, asking if she’s okay and what’s going on. They began strapping tubes back into her nose, and one paramedic began squeezing a large bag rapidly. The other, without turning, said, “The woman had heart failure and requires resuscitation. Are you a close friend or family member?” 

 

          I told the paramedic that I was her Tube buddy, and that I sat with her for the duration of the train ride. They pulled her inside the ambulance and began hooking her up to machines. I reached for a handlebar to climb on, but the paramedic put a hand on my chest and pushed me back. “Sorry, family or friends only.” 

 

          He banged twice on the side of the ambulance and shut the doors, with it now broadcasting its siren and driving away as quickly as they came. 

 

          I watched as it steered through rows of parted cars and red lights until I could no longer see it. The alarms rang in my ears long after they went away from the train station. I felt my nose go numb from the cold, but I remained still on the road, staring at the empty space the ambulance once was. Then, the train screeched again, blaring its horns as a sign for passengers to get on or to get off. I rushed to get back on, but the train conductor stopped me, saying, “This is your stop. No reentry.”

 

          The train bellowed once more and lurched forward without me. I sat on the station bench of Utica, watching the snow cover the ground. The ringing of the ambulance still resounded in my ears. 

 

          The area around me, while decorated in New York graffiti, felt to me as if a spot of London. The streetlamps, glowing softly within the snowfall, lit the empty tracks with melancholy. All I could focus on was Lauren’s soft-painted smile, her life story of London enveloping me, transporting me to a moment in her life. It was impossibly quiet in New York. I could have sworn I heard a youthful laugh echo softly from the train tracks, as if a couple were stepping off. Faintly, fading, I heard “I love you, Clark” in the wind.

 

          I stayed sitting on the Utica bench for a while in this state, letting the snow drift and the silence speak. It was late now. Eventually I signaled my parents to come to Utica, that something happened that made me take the train ride past home. Something profound, something that needed me to see it to the end.