The Train to Nowhere

The Train to Nowhere

         The train car must have been at least twenty years old, and in all those years it had never once been cleaned. Some old trash here, a stain of coffee on the blue, worn carpet there. It had the look of an over used car that was ready to die.  Half of the lights did not work, so the passengers were forced to sit in the dark.  For the most part, they looked like average travelers.  Dull colored coats with a bag or two, just like the other faceless hundreds that had sat in the same places. 
         However, ask them why they are here, or where they were going and the best answer you would get is a shrug and a sigh.  A teenage boy slouched in one seat, a mother with a small boy across from him.  An old man who looked like the times had passed him by.  And there were others, doing what they did to pass the time.  A book, a paper and pen, a pillow; whatever kept their minds busy.
         The teen boy had sat in this seat for a reason, a girl his age in the seat next to his.  Of course they would talk; it was the board talk of two people with nothing better to do.  "So what’s your name?" he asked "angelica" she said, the formalities went on, they used the same dull tome, nothing special, just talk.  "So why are you here?" Angelica asked.  Well, his story, this would be a long one, but they had time, they had all the time in the world.

         His name was John.  He was eighteen, he thought.  He was not sure about his exact birth date, It depended on witch parent he talked to, His father said he was born in January, his mother said he was born in July.  He usually went with his mothers date because it made him older.  So he was eighteen, or close enough anyway.  His parents had always fought over everything. First the mail, then money, then he wasn't working enough or she was sleeping with too many men.  They broke up when he was five.  And then came the courts and the weekend schedules, and the police.  That was the first time he had ridden in a cop car, not to be the last for sure. 
         Sometimes he lived with his dad, until his drinking problem got too bad, then he just lived with his mom.  But she was always in jail.  But she had to make money, right?  I mean, we needed to eat, and she wanted me in school.  I tried real hard for her.  But then the police came again.  I was so tired of moving, I hit one of them and he hit me real hard.  Then to my grandparents’ house, they didn’t like me and I didn’t like them.  I was the offspring of the "problem child", just another problem to deal with. 
         In high school I was angry all the time, angry and sad.  I hid it well but there were times when it was all too much.  I stopped going to school and no one cared.  One day my grandma caught me smoking out back, she got real mad.  Of course she didn't listen, or understand.  I needed to relieve the stress, you know?  And it made everything seem so much better. 
         Then the cops came again, this time there was court for me, and a few weeks in an institution.  Then my moms again, she had a real job now.  I saw my dad on the weekends; he got so old so fast.  I guess that's what is dose to you.  I stopped seeing him after he went to prison though, I haven’t seen him since. 
         I got a break after that, one of the first bits of good luck I’d ever had.  It was a job that paid on commission, and of course not really legal.  I didn't know where the drugs came from; I got 'em and sold 'em.  I didn't need to know more.  I was able to keep some of the drugs or the money, as long as they got their share. 
         That was the best time of my life, me and my mom...  She had got bumped up to a better bar downtown and was making enough money to buy a small house.  It wasn't much, but we were happy.  The day I turned eighteen, with my help, she finished paying off the house.  I was making almost as much as she was.  I had a girlfriend and a '94 prelude. 

It was the best and worst day of my life.

 
         That night she did not come home.  I didn't worry too much, I had never really thought about anyone but myself anyway.  Then I got the call later that morning.  They had found her in an alley, I guess he drug her there, some drunk with a bat.  The same day I was ratted out, what could have been the best investment of my life turned out to be a disaster.  The police arrived just as I was pulling a few kilos out of a stuffed animal.  I got away, of course, but I didn't know where to go.  My whole life fell apart around me.  So I bought a ticket and here I am.          
         They both looked out the window into the darkness.  Streetlights passed periodically like a tick on a metronome.  A city came and went a few lights on, but mostly asleep.  John sat back, he was tired, and he felt worn to the bone.  He looked down on himself, an old black element T-shirt, torn jeans, dirty shoes.  He had nowhere to go and nothing to fall back on.  He took a pill out of his bag, popped it, and went to sleep.
         
         The woman across the train watched this.  What a dirty wreck of a kid, she thought.  He didn't even appreciate what he had.  Her eyes gazed over each person in her view, giving comments to herself about each.  The only person that she did not pass judgment on was her three-year-old son in the seat next to her.  He was so perfect, with his dark hair and his big brown eyes.  They were perfect because they were like hers. 
         She had always been a good mother to him, gave him whatever he wanted, made sure he was happy every waking hour.  She would make sure he had the perfect life.  Not like his good-for-nothing bastard of a father.  He didn't give a shit about his son.  "Don’t spoil him," he would say or, "he's getting fat” He didn't know what he was talking about.
         And the gambling, he never stopped gambling.  Weather it was cards, races, or fights- he was the master of them all.  Well she didn’t stick around him very long; she knew where that was going. 
         Her son woke in the seat next to her.  He stared out into the night and then turned towards her, "why it so dark?" he said, and then before she could answer, "I want cookie!"  She pulled out a bag of Oreos and handed it to him.  She watched lovingly as he devoured all of them, then he yawned again.  Rubbing his face with a pudgy little hand, he curled up and went back to sleep. 

She vowed that she would make a new life for her son, the best he could have.

 
         Unseen, in the very back, an old man read his book.  He knew the pages by heart, but he read it anyway.  It was Stephen Coveys, "The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People” A good book, and one to live by.  He had an old grey suit, one that had seen better days, and his favorite hat.  It had gone with him to many parts of the country, and the world for that matter. 
         What was the world coming to?  It was not like the old days, people had pride in their country then, He looked up and saw some kid slouched in his seat.  Kids these days!  He sighed, this fashion of looking dirty and unkempt.  And no respect, no respect at all. 
         He continued reading, it was about paradigms, or the way you view the universe around you.  These kids would change their ways eventually, he knew it.  And the young woman with the baby, she had more luggage for that kid than he had ever owned in his whole life. 
         Sometimes he just wanted to stand up and tell everyone where their life was heading, but they would not listen to him, no one ever did, but they would see, they would see.

         The train worker sat back and watched.  She sometimes wondered about the people she saw, who they were, and where they were going.  She had a chance to talk to some of them, but soon they were gone, to be replaced by a new set of faces.  She looked out the window, it would b morning soon and in the next few stops everyone would get off.  She got up to go to the back of the train and start making breakfast. 

In the first glow of mornings light the train rolled on, a hundred faceless travelers on a track to Nowhere.