Kaleidoscope

The rhythmic rocking was oddly comforting, despite the mechanical hum and the persistent clunk, clunk, clunk of heavy machinery. Dreams came into view on the beat of this canvas. Dreams of roller coasters and long car rides at night. Train rides as a child to visit her grandmother in the country. Some dreams came with heightened sensory accompaniment, like the smell of rosemary and chicken emanating from the fine dining cars as couples strolled to dinner. The men were well-groomed and dressed in crisp suits. The women wore silk or taffeta sheath dresses, accented with short pearl necklaces and sequined evening bags. Trying to follow them proved impossible somehow. In time, these images gave way to dusty railyards scattered with rusting equipment and dirty men in ragged clothes, permeated by the smell of burning coal.

The desolate scene drew the woman to stir. As these forms dissolved, she slowly became aware of the scent of lavender, too strong for her liking, mixed with the smells of coffee and a smokiness like smoldering oak. She noted that her neck was sore, and she presumed the rough material against her left cheek was a crumpled coat, as she reached up and felt a chunky zipper scratch the back of her hand. Opening her eyes, she found herself in complete darkness, as the rocking and mechanical sounds continued. She reached beside her to search for a table, certain to find her glasses, but there was no table and no glasses. As she turned to sit up, she felt a tug at the skirt of her dress. Reaching down, she found her glasses in the right front pocket of her dress, and she put them on.

She could now confirm that she was on a train, apparently alone, which she found strange but not alarming, and that dawn was breaking. She had fallen asleep on a coach seat at the back of her train car. She didn’t really remember getting on the train or where she was going, but train travel itself seemed somewhat familiar. She sat up, stretched, and took a deep breath. She coughed a few times, then noticed the movement of another passenger at the front of the car who had turned to look at her. She had resolved to move up and talk to the stranger when there was a sudden noise behind her.

The rear car door had opened, and the conductor abruptly entered. He was a few feet from her, and they regarded each other with some interest. He had a pleasant but not jolly face, older middle-aged, she guessed, well-groomed, with a graying mustache and round gold-rimmed glasses. He was wearing a light blue short-sleeved dress shirt with navy epaulets, navy pants, and a navy tie, as well as the standard navy pillbox hat with the bold emblem on the front to identify the railway operator. She looked closely at the emblem, but couldn’t make out the company logo. She noticed he was also observing her, summing her up.

“Where…,” they both spoke at the same time, then stopped.

“Where is your ticket, ma’am?” the conductor began again.

“Oh! Of course. Let me get it,” she replied.

She checked her dress pockets. They were empty. Looking around, she began to feel a little frustrated. She picked up her coat, realizing for the first time that she did not recognize it as her own. She rifled through the pockets anyway in search of a ticket. There was none. All the pockets were empty. She looked around for her purse or luggage, but she didn’t have either.

“I guess I don’t have a ticket,” she answered finally, now starting to feel a little anxious.

“Not to worry,” the conductor said, speaking calmly, sensing her anxiety. “You can purchase one now.”

“I don’t know where my wallet is,” she replied, her brow furrowed and her lips pursed. She was determined not to cry.

“What is your name?” the conductor asked gently.

The woman hesitated. Her name didn’t come to her immediately, and she began to panic. She quickly ran through her mind for what she did know about herself, and finally, like an echo, she found it.

“Marta,” she replied. “I was named after my grandmother.”

“That’s nice,” said the conductor. “Well, Marta, you can contact someone at the next station to purchase your ticket.”

Marta gave a shy smile of relief. The conductor gave her a short courteous bow and walked forward in the train car. Marta watched as he walked through to the next car. She scanned the car again. Evidently the passenger at the front of her car had moved on, and she was alone.

Marta thought as she walked to the bathroom. Why was she on the train, and where was she going? Why didn’t she know? She looked in the mirror and was a little dismayed. She looked tired, older than she knew herself to be, a little gray even, and with no comb and no make-up, she could not improve the situation. She wondered briefly when she had gotten new glasses, but dismissed the thought. She found a tube of rose-scented hand lotion on the sink. It was her favorite, so she was sure its owner wouldn’t mind if she took just a little. She smiled as she rubbed the lotion gently into her dry, aching hands. Rose had been her grandmother’s favorite, too. Marta looked down at the delicate ancient gold-toned watch she wore as a bracelet. It didn’t work anymore, but she remembered the day her grandmother gave it to her, not long before she died. Marta still loved it.

She went back to her seat and looked out the window. She watched the little towns pass by, seeming lonely and abandoned in the early morning hours. Marta put her hand up against the window. It was cold, and her hand left an imprint in the fog created by her breath. She studied the careworn houses and imagined families getting up and beginning their day. As her mind wandered, she began to wonder if she had any family. She was perplexed that she couldn’t recall important details like that.

Maybe she had amnesia, she thought. No, if she had amnesia, she would not remember her name and her grandmother’s watch. And she did not have any apparent injuries or other signs of trauma. Maybe she had been drugged, or had drunk a lot of alcohol. Did she ever drink alcohol? She could not recall. Maybe she was still dreaming. That, she surmised, was a distinct possibility. She had heard of lucid dreams, although she did not recall ever having had one.

Marta could not explain why she knew about lucid dreams, but the concept felt viscerally familiar, as did the idea that lucid dreams were in part defined by competing, dissonant, or incongruous realities. To prove her dream theory, Marta tried to think of the parts of her present experience that were mismatched. The window was cold, and she had a winter coat with her. That fit. She looked at her shoes and noticed she was wearing sheepskin ankle booties.

“Well, that’s incongruous,” she said aloud, wincing disconcertedly. Although they were warm and were designed to not fall off easily, she was sure she would never choose to wear them with a dress as an outside shoe, much less travel in them.

The abrupt sound of the door opening behind her startled her, derailing her thought process. It was the conductor again. Marta smiled weakly at him, wondering if he could tell she was having cognitive difficulty, but he took no notice.

“Ticket, please,” he said evenly.

“I…I don’t have a ticket,” Marta stammered. She did not know how much time had passed since he had last asked her for a ticket, but she was sure they had not stopped at a station.

“Not to worry. You can purchase one now,” he said.

“I, uh, don’t have a wallet,” Marta said. She suddenly noticed another discordant detail. It was cold outside, but the conductor was wearing a short-sleeved summer uniform.

“Not to worry,” the conductor said brightly. “You can contact someone at the next station to purchase your ticket.”

“And when do we arrive at the next station?” Marta asked.

“Soon enough,” the conductor replied. “Not to worry.” Then he gave a short courteous bow as before and walked to the front of the train car and through the door.

Marta looked out the window again. She could not recall what she had done yesterday. Reflecting on her day so far, she began to run through a list of her current challenges. She was on a train that passed through towns and did not stop. She did not know how she got on the train or why. She did not know where the train was going. She had no wallet or luggage; no means to buy food; no idea how to find her way home because she did not know where she was.

A tremor of anxiety passed through her. Now that she thought of it, she didn’t even really know where home was. She couldn’t recall if she had a family–a husband, children. She didn’t think she was sick. At least, she didn’t feel ill. She couldn’t recall what work she did or if she worked at all. She was sure that she had gone to college, recalling vague images of late nights at a computer, surrounded by stacks of books, although she had no specific memories of attending a university. Without any more knowledge of her life, it would be difficult when the train stopped for her to ensure her own safety. It occurred to her that she should feel quite worried, even panicked, about her circumstance, and yet she couldn’t muster the emotion.

Marta took a deep breath and sighed, turning her attention to the scene outside the window. The towns were gone and the train had sped up. Although it was past noon, the train had still not made a stop. Marta surveyed the vast expanses of gray-green and brown rolling hills punctuated by clusters of leafless trees. There was no snow on the ground, so she guessed it must be November. She loved watching the countryside go by, and she lost herself in the rhythm of the undulating terrain. She found a strange comfort in the lonely landscape.

Sometime later, the rear car door opened again. Marta had fallen asleep, but the sound didn’t startle her this time. She turned, expecting to find the conductor, but this time a young woman stood beside her. Marta estimated her to be in her late 20’s with a slim build and average height, as well as soft brown eyes and dark brown hair. Something about her seemed familiar.

“Hi,” said the young woman. “My name is Ellie. May I sit with you?”

“Of course,” Marta gestured to the seat beside her.

Ellie sat down. She was confident and unhurried. She moved with purpose and poise. She didn’t fidget. Marta noticed that her smile came easily. She trusted Ellie instantly.

“How are you doing today?” Ellie asked.

“Fine,” Marta answered.

“That’s good to hear,” Ellie responded. “Where are you going?”

Marta hesitated. She wasn’t sure she could, or should, explain.

“Well, to be honest,” she said, “I don’t really know.”

“Hmm,” Ellie mused. “And is that a problem?”

Well, it could be,” Marta replied. “I awoke this morning in the dark on this train, without a ticket or any personal belongings that I recognize…except for my grandmother’s watch. I can remember that I love the smell of roses, but not lavender. Things like that. You know, the conductor has been by several times. He’s a little stilted in his conversation, but he seems very kind and told me not to worry.”

“Yes, he is kind. His name is Tom, and he is always here. Is someone waiting for you to arrive?” Ellie asked, more curious than worried. “Your family, or perhaps a colleague?”

“Well, that’s just it,” Marta said. “I’ve been thinking through this, but I’m a little puzzled. I don’t know who, if anyone, is waiting for me. I thought I might have amnesia, but that doesn’t make sense. I thought maybe I was drugged or ill, but I feel fine.”

“So, it sounds as if you are working through possible scenarios,” Ellie said. “That’s good. Any other thoughts?”

“Well, I thought that I might be dreaming,” Marta hoped she didn’t sound silly. “You’ve heard of lucid dreams?”

“Yes, I have,” Ellie answered, a faint smile at the corner of her mouth. “And what did you surmise?”

“Well, I’ve noticed several things in my experience today that don’t fit,” Marta admitted. “That would, I believe, support this being a lucid dream. But if so, it is a very long and detailed dream. One can never be sure.”

Ellie slowly nodded and raised her eyebrows gently, considering her response. She sat silently for a few minutes. Marta wondered if Ellie thought she was crazy. Marta had begun to retreat into her own thoughts when Ellie stirred again, repositioning herself in her seat.

“What kind of work do you do?” Ellie asked, the question seeming to have a little more urgency.

“I don’t know,” Marta conceded. “I think I might be a teacher or work helping people, but I’m not sure.”

“Hmm,” Ellie began. “I think you may be on the right track. Perhaps this is a version of a lucid dream, and when you awake, the train will have stopped and things will seem clearer. Either way, Marta, I think you are going to be fine.”

Ellie rose to leave. Her train ticket slipped from her hand and fell to the floor, though Ellie didn’t seem to notice. Marta got up, intending to pick it up for her. Then she paused.

“How do you know my name?” Marta asked.

As she waited for an answer, Marta bent forward to pick up the ticket. The train lurched suddenly, and her glasses fell off. She found herself in pitch blackness.

We must be going through a tunnel, she thought, now on all fours, groping for her glasses. When she found them and put them back on, she was in daylight again. The ticket and the young woman were gone.

Marta sat down, staring out the window, wondering about Ellie. She had looked familiar, and Ellie had known her. She wondered if it had been the real Ellie on the train, or just a dream image. She wondered if it mattered.

The door behind her opened, and Tom, the conductor, entered.

“Ticket, please,” he said.

“I don’t have a ticket,” Marta responded.

“You can purchase one now,” he replied.

“I don’t have a wallet,” Marta said.

“Not to worry. You can contact someone at the next station to purchase your ticket,” said the conductor.

“And when do we arrive at the next station?” Marta asked.

“Soon enough,” the conductor replied. “Not to worry.” He gave a courteous bow and walked forward and into the next train car.

Marta’s mind drifted, wandering through the day’s events. She closed her eyes and began to breathe deeply. Abruptly, her eyes flickered open. If this is a lucid dream, she considered, I should be able to control my behavior and some events. At least partly. She did not know why she knew that. She just did. Let’s test that, she thought.

She got up and walked to the front of the train car, through the door into the next car. There were no passengers here. She kept walking and went to the next car. Again, nobody there, not even the conductor. This was the farthest forward car, and she saw no access to the coal car or engine room, so she turned around. She passed through the three front cars again, then on to the next car and the next. Nobody. She walked into the next car. It was the dining car, set up with tables and chairs, vending machines with snacks, and a kitchen but no cook and no pantry stock. She walked through to the last car, the observation car, and there she saw a handsome young man in his early 30s sitting with both hands on his thighs, looking out the west window at the orange sun hanging late in the sky. Marta approached and slowly sat down beside him. She stared out the window, following his gaze.

“Hi, Thomas,” she said quietly.

“Hi, Mom,” Thomas almost whispered.

“When did you get here?” Marta asked.

“Just now,” Thomas replied. “I hear you’ve had a long day.”

“Yeah,” Marta said. “I’m kind of tired. But you’re here now, so it was worth it.” She reached over and held his hand.

They sat there quietly for a long time, watching the sun set. Tears occasionally fell down Thomas’ cheek, and he let them dry there. He didn’t want to disturb the magic of this moment. He couldn’t be sure it would ever come again.

Finally, Marta spoke. “You know the train conductor has been here all day, too. His name is Tom, like yours. He’s been really nice to me. He told me not to worry, that I could buy a ticket at the next stop, but the train never stopped.”

Thomas softly laughed, then sniffed, more tears on his cheek. “Yeah, the conductor is a really nice man.”

After a few minutes, Thomas said, “You know, Mom, you’ve really helped a lot of people with your research.”

“My research?” Marta mirrored. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve proven that the extended dissociative effects of Mixed Reality, holograms and props combining AR and VR platforms, can amplify lucid dreaming and improve memory while awake,” Thomas ventured.

“Oh,” said Marta. “Did I?”

“Yes,” Thomas replied.

“So, this is a dream then, this runaway train?” Marta asked, clearly making an effort to understand.

“Not really.” The metaphor not lost on him, Thomas continued slowly, searching for words that would resonate with Marta. “Mixed Reality, also called Hybrid Reality, combines augmented reality and virtual reality to create memory cues for people with cognitive decline, like people with dementia. It pulls details from their intact early memories and connects them with the present reality they are losing. Your work gives families a chance to communicate with loved ones again. It gives us days like this.”

“Oh. Okay. I thought I might have helped people,” Marta said vaguely.

Thomas decided to try a different tack.

“The new HR glasses look good on you,” Thomas said brightly.

Marta didn’t respond. She stared at the setting sun, as if the answers she longed for were hidden inside.

“Today you’ve spoken so much more than usual, and Ellie said you’ve been using deductive reasoning.” Thomas said, becoming impassioned. He looked at Marta, hoping for some acknowledgement. None came. “And…you know me,” he added quietly.

“Who’s Ellie? How does she know me?” Marta asked, missing the emotion in his last comment.

“She’s your PostDoc,” Thomas answered. “She helped you design and study an adaptable Hybrid Reality program that could customize the immersive experience to improve memory. She runs the lab now.”

“Oh. Okay,” Marta said. Then after a moment’s pause, “So, what did we call the study?”

“SHIMMER LINCS. Simulated Holographic Immersive Multi-sensory Mixed Environmental Reality for Lucid Interval Neurocognitive Stimulation,” Thomas told her.

“Wow. That’s a mouthful,” Marta said, awestruck.

Thomas laughed, “Yeah, that’s what I told you at the time.”

“And the train?” Marta was still trying to link the mismatched fragments in her present experience, but it was clear to Thomas that she was struggling.

“It’s a hologram, Mom,” Thomas explained, simplifying his answer. He suspected she would not understand the prop construction, so he stopped at that.

Marta watched the horizon, silently trying to connect the dots, blinking repeatedly with fleeting thoughts of complex variables, as if trying to follow multiple circles of logic. She could not close the loops. She soon lost her train of thought and gave up.

“I’m really glad I helped people,” Marta finally commented.

Thomas could sense the disconnect in her reply but said nothing. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and fell silent.

A few minutes later, the conductor came in. Marta turned to him and smiled.

“Sit down, Tom,” Marta invited.

He sat beside her. Marta reached out and held his hand, too.

“You know, Tom, you’re a really nice man,” she said. “I just wish I remembered you better.”

Tom sniffled and tears began to stream down his face, as they all watched the last bit of red sun disappear below the horizon.

“Not to worry, love,” he said. “Not to worry.”