Last Stop: Madison

Clunk-clunk… clunk-clunk… clunk-clunk…

The train glided over the rails sailing through the darkness like a large metal cloud grazing the grass as it blows by. A young man no older than fifteen lies asleep in a private compartment. He is dressed in a beige and black houndstooth pullover sweater, the white collared shirt underneath is wrinkled and a bit messy, jeans with a rolled-up cuff, and black scuffed-up shoes. He shows no sign of modern devices like cell phones or smartwatches. His hair is neatly groomed, albeit a bit messy from sleeping, but still well-groomed. Outside the window, the sun of dawn is cresting over the horizon line and the young man rustles awake. He sits up slowly, takes in his surroundings and jumps back further into the seat cushions with a startle. He is completely unaware of where he is, where he's going and how he got there. Looking out the window provides no help as there's nothing for miles in any direction. The boy checks his pockets to find nothing but pocket lint. There is no ticket, pamphlet, or anything to indicate where he might be headed or where he’s coming from. With a slight panic and a hint of worry, he pokes his head out of the compartment door and looks down the hallway to find not a soul.

"Maybe everyone is still asleep," He thinks to himself. He heads down the corridor to find compartment after compartment empty. His breathing increases and his pace quickens but each step provides less and less comfort. “Hello! Anyone here?” he yells out. He stands there nervously waiting for a response however he receives nothing but the clunk-clunk sound of the train on the rails. “There must be a conductor. I’ll see if I can get up there and find out what’s going on.” He makes his way through three cars before a series of billboard signs outside the window catches the young man’s attention. “Hello.” The first one reads. “I am here” and lastly “Can you hear me?” He takes notice of his sweaty palms shaking holding his weight up as he leans on the backrest of two seats.

The boy makes his way to the front of the train just to find there is no conductor, barely any controls and there’s no sign of slowing down. The vast openness around the train doesn’t give him an indicator of how fast they are going. “Mr. Roberts. How are you today?” A woman’s voice suddenly comes from behind him startling him. “Oh thank god there’s someone else here. Can you tell me what’s going on?” He says in a panic to the neatly put-together woman about 35 years old. She has her hair done just so, ironed clothes, and has a fresh face of makeup on. For a moment, the sun shines extremely bright through the windows to a point the young man covers his eyes with his outstretched hand and the bright light disappears as fast as it came in. “Do you know what the date is?” the woman asks nonchalantly. “August 3rd, 1951,” the boy says confidently yet questioningly. As he thought about it, that was the only thing he has been confident about since waking up on this runaway train with no destination and no knowledge of how he even got here in the first place. The lack of similar emotion from the strange woman disturbs him. She mumbles to herself as she walks back through the train. Completely confused with what is going on, the boy yells back, “Miss! Can you please tell me what is going on here!?” He receives no answer other than the mumblings of the woman with her back to him as she strolls away.

“There must be more people on here besides us,” He thinks to himself. However, much to his dismay, he finds himself completely alone. He tries to find clues back in the compartment he started in. Within moments, compartment 110 looks as if a tornado struck. The cushions were turned over, doors were left swinging open and the room was a mess. He is no closer to finding out what is going on. He puts his hands into his pockets but this time he finds a surprise. A pocket he has searched through previously turns up a note that wasn’t there before. He unfolds the wrinkled paper and reads, “I am here. I am very much so here.” He stares at the note, unsure what to make of it. What does it mean? First the billboards now the note. With no end in sight, no idea where he came from or where he’s going, there’s no one else on the train, he decides to put the compartment back together and sits back down. He gazes out the window watching the grass sway in the wind from the train until it gets dark and he falls back to sleep.

“There’s movement! Can you hear me?” the woman’s voice yells out. “He’s with me I just know he is. Just give me a sign – give me something,” She holds his hand tightly in hers with their thumbs intertwined. His tired eyes flutter open a crack. He wants to say anything and everything but nothing happens. There’s a knock on the door. A tall man about six feet four inches stands in the doorway dressed professionally in a fine suit as if he would be on his way to a business meeting. With a calm, soothing voice he asks, “110. How are we doing Mr. Roberts?” The woman replies, “He is improving.” She knows she’s lying through her teeth but she’s worried and what the outcome would be in his situation given what is going on. She is hoping he finds the strength to get up but she isn’t seeing much of a point. There’s not much left to live for at the rate things are going. The statuesque man replies, “Let me know if anything changes in his current situation.” When he leaves the room, the woman looks back and her friend is back to sleep.

Later, the young man wakes up in compartment 110. He is still dressed in the beige and grey houndstooth pullover sweater, the white collared shirt underneath is now unbuttoned and a complete mess. The jeans that had a rolled-up cuff yesterday have since rolled back down. The black scuffed-up shoes are on the floor as if he kicked them off in his sleep. He feels relaxed as he hears the clunk-clunk sound of the train gliding over the rails still carving through the empty grasslands around him. He pulls himself up and groggily gazes out the window. The sun has just crested the horizon, nary a cloud in sight, and there is nothing but tall grassland as far as the eye can see. This train ride from hell feels like it just might last forever. Kicking his shoes aside, he decides to stroll down the corridor to see if anything new transpired in his sleep. At first, nothing seems different until he hits the dining car.

Shelves of books line every inch of wall space in the dining car. He reads some of the titles off and he sees The Catcher in the Rye, Invisible Man, Fahrenheit 451, Howl, 1984, Animal Farm and so many, many more. So many books he loves reading, so many he has wanted to read and so many he has never heard of. In the center of the room is a string dangling from the ceiling and a note attached to the string. He reaches up and pulls it down. It’s a lengthier note written on parchment paper that he reads aloud, “It’s getting harder to fight. Days and nights blend together as one. 12x12=144 See I still got it! Things haven’t been the same these after she passed but… I still got it. I’m here. Let them know I’m here… let Miss Kellen… Audrey know I am still here.” He stares at the wobbly handwriting, the dried-out paper, the words. Who is here? Who is Audrey? How do I let her know anything? I’m stuck on this train to nowhere and the only communication I’ve had was with some random woman whom I haven’t seen since yesterday. If I do find her, what do I tell her? Some random words from someone keep appearing in equally random places? To tell anyone any that is asylum-level insane and there is no way to make it sound less crazy. He decides to keep it to himself and make his way to the conductor’s station to see if there’s anything ahead.

Just as it was the day before, the door is swung open but for the first time during this whole nightmarish voyage, there is hope. In the far distance, James spots what looks like a town. He sees the buildings grow as the train gets closer. “Maybe if I blow the horn, someone in the town would be able to help!” He thinks eyeing up the chain for the horn. The train screams closer and closer aiming to pass right through the center of the town. Just as the train approaches the first building, he takes notice of the town sign. It’s a white wooden sign with gold lettering carved into it: “Welcome to Madison”. He immediately pulls on the chain with anticipation and no sound comes out… nothing at all. He takes notice that there are no people, no lights, nothing to indicate it’s a functioning town. All of his hopes were pinned on a ghost town.

Bored, confused and extremely frustrated, he begins making his way back to his room when he hears the familiar woman’s voice. “How are we doing today, James?” Uncertain where the voice came from, he explosively yells out, “Horrible! Really horrible! I want OFF THIS TRAIN!” he screams at the top of his lungs before he collapses in a nearby booth. “I just want off this train. I don’t want to be here anymore. Please… make it stop,” He continues softly with a hint of sadness and exhaustion. As if he hadn’t said a word, “I hear there’s chicken and stuffing for dinner today. I know that’s your favorite.” The flash of bright light fills the train once again just like last time. She crouches down next to James and with a quieter, more comforting tone in her voice, she says, “I know you had a terrible fall, but you will be your old self soon enough, I just know it. I told them how we read together every day and it’s always your favorites: Catcher in the Rye, Invisible Man, Fahrenheit 451. We’ve been going over your math which was always your favorite.” She starts to gently sing to herself as she picks up a book off the floor and puts it back on a shelf. It doesn’t feel like he’s been awake long but he is exhausted. He makes his way back to compartment 110 and falls back to sleep as the windows darken in the night sky.

The tall gentleman’s voice can be heard in a hushed tone speaking to the woman, “He’s not responding any longer. I think it’s time we contact the next of kin.” “They haven’t spoken in years. The only person he has left in his life is…” She pauses for a moment, realizing how sad and downhearted this sounds, “me. We would always do his math together. Oh how loved math. He was a math teacher at the local high school. He loved reading and when he couldn’t do it himself any longer, I would read to him. Sure we read the same books over and over but he loved the stories from when he was a teenager. His favorite was Catcher in the Rye. ‘Ol’ J.D. knew how to write a good story.’ He always used to say to me. When his wife passed, he seemed to lose all will to live, and spending time with me watered that dying plant; he came back to life. He would go through his old pictures and tell me all the stories behind them all. I learned a lifetime's worth of things from this man. I am all he has left Dr. Evans.” She scans the room taking in all the memories that come flooding toward her. She holds back the tears but it’s obvious with her red nose, they aren’t far beneath the surface. Dr. Evans solemnly replies, “I understand Miss Kellen. Take the time you need. I’ll check back in the morning.”

She shuts the door behind Dr. Evans and takes a good long hard look at the man she has taken care of for the past 14 years. Her friend, her patient, lays dying in his bed. His breaths are slow but are still consistent, his liver-spot-covered hands are relaxed across his chest. His once thick golden hair is nothing but light whisps of white however he always commands a neat appearance, so she takes a comb and makes him look presentable. She walks slowly around the room and picks up some photographs he cherished but never went into much detail about. It was as if this was part of him he needed to protect and preserve. The top picture was of a young man about fifteen years old, head of thick golden hair. He was standing alongside a beautiful girl about the same age. He was wearing what looks like a beige and black houndstooth pullover sweater, a white collared shirt underneath, jeans with a rolled-up cuff, and black polished shoes and she had a beautiful light-colored dress on, hair pinned up perfectly. It looked like they were out on a date with the soda shop evident in the background. The picture behind that one was of them both in their mid-twenties standing in front of the Madison High School sign. On the back in neat black ink, it says, “First day! -September 4th 1962”. She puts the photographs away leaving them preserved with Mr. Roberts the way he wanted it. She holds her friend’s hand tightly and says in a whisper, “I’ll let you get some rest. I’ll check back in a couple of hours.” She believes she hears a breathy sound come from her dear friend but he is back to sleep once again. She lowers the lights, stops for a moment as she takes a long hard look at the number 110 on his door knowing she won’t be seeing this room much more in the very near future, and gently closes the door.

Clunk-clunk clunk-clunk

In the darkness, the train glides along the rails, the grass grazing the wheels as it blows by. The sun is no longer on the horizon. Each compartment is dark and empty except for compartment 110 where Mr. James Roberts lay asleep. Slowly, the train stops and James wakes to the sound of an unfamiliar voice bellowing out, "Last stop! Madison." For the first time on this trip, he awoke with a sense of comfort rather than fear or dread. He walks down the familiar corridor and looks out the door. There’s no town, no buildings, nothing familiar that he can see in the darkness, but for the first time in the endless sea of wavy grassy fields, he sees a dirt path. He hears a different yet familiar woman’s voice sweetly say, “How I’ve missed you, James! There’s so much to see and so much for me to show you. Come. Let’s go.” He knows this voice; he feels comfort and solace in hearing that voice once again. He steps off the train onto the dirt path. He looks back at the black train with gold lettering that reads, “J. L. Roberts” and says, “Thank you, Audrey. Thank you for everything.”

He walks out into the darkness leaving the train to fade away in the dark night field.