Mementos

It was the constant rhythmic clacking that roused her, but the knot of uneasiness in her stomach which woke her.

The light above her was dim, cloudy, but even so the immediacy of the light all but blinded her when she opened her eyes. She squinted until they adjusted and was surprised when they finally did. She was on a train. She did not remember getting on a train.

It wasn’t an old train like the ones that were in the movies - it looked more like the light rail minus the trash and the grime, which really, at the end of the day, made it nothing like the light rail at all. Certainly not one that she was used to.

She slowly stood up from the seat and scanned the room that she was in and realized that she was completely alone. It was strange enough that she did not know how she got onto the train, and even stranger that there was no one else there either. Reaching up to her head, she felt around for any injuries but found none, making the only explanation she could have thought of unlikely.

“Hello?” she called out, walking to the back of the car. No people, no trash, no smells, no signs of any life. As she turned to walk the aisle to the other end where the door was, she caught a glimpse of herself in one of the dark windows. She did not recognize herself at all. In fact, she hardly had any defining facial features. She could not tell if she was old or young, the color of her eyes, her hair… In fact, she could not even recall her own name.

Her stomach twisted and the air caught in her throat. She tried to remember anything at all but as hard as she thought, nothing came to her. She had no name, no age, no face. The heat spread up her throat and to her cheeks but she pushed away the tears and instead sat back down and took a breath and held it, just as she was holding herself together.

It felt like hours that she sat there racking her brain for any tidbit of information when she heard the soft chime overhead and a man’s pleasant voice echo through the empty car, “Please bring your tickets to the conductor’s cab.”

“Hello? Hello? Can you hear me? Is anyone there?” she half shouted, standing from her seat. Only the humming of the train on the tracks answered her.

A moment later the chime rang once more and so did the man’s voice, “Please bring your tickets to the conductor’s cab.”

She couldn’t remember how she got there, nonetheless buying a ticket, but she dug into the pockets of the black knit cardigan that she was wearing and surprisingly found a stub of paper.

WHITE LINE, ONE WAY - STANDARD.

She turned the ticket over and saw the words “White-Light Express” but other than that, it had no information and the information she had meant nothing to her anyway.

A loud hiss of machinery startled her but when she looked up she realized that the door at the end of the car had opened and another empty car lay ahead. Treading cautiously, she made her way to the open door and crossed over the threshold.

Her head began spinning with the first step she took into the cab and a white light flashed in front of her.

She gasped.

A room was before her eyes, and not a train car. Old wooden floors covered with a white area rug. A beige couch on her left and a crackling fire to her right. In the center was a dazzling Christmas tree adorned with white lights and silver tinsel that sparkled like the stars in the night sky. A golden star dressed the top of the tree like a beautiful guardian watching over her. Everything was so crammed in the small room making it light up even more.

Boxes wrapped in red and gold and silver paper shined under the lights and beckoned her forward. A blue sleeping bag with her favorite tv character on the front was draped over a small purple bike. Joy spread through her, warming and calming and she felt at ease, like she belonged exactly where she was at exactly that time.

It was her childhood home.

She knew then. She was six years old. It was Christmas morning. She had just woken up and had run to the tree knowing that her mother was still asleep in bed. Excitedly, she ran through the living room and into her mother’s bedroom jumping up and down with excitement so much so that she didn’t even care if her mother would be angry with her for waking her up.

“Mom! Santa came! There are so many presents! Come on!” Her mother sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes but a warm smile showed on her lips. Her eyes were soft and content as she pulled herself from bed and followed her to the room with the tree.

She immediately sat on the floor and looked up hopefully at her mother who gave her a nod that she was allowed to begin opening the toys.

“Merry Christmas, kiddo.”

She picked up a particularly ornate box and pulled away the ribbon and the paper. Inside was a hand mirror with a silver frame, not a gift she remembered receiving, but nonetheless thought it was beautiful. She delicately picked it up from the box and looked at her reflection, just as she knew it to be in those old photos. She was still a child, her skin soft, untouched by age, her eyes bright, untouched by the stress of life.

She ran her fingers across the surface of the mirror where she saw ripples as if she had gently brushed a pond. The reflection changed to something else entirely. It was the cab of the train, the closed door ahead of her. She felt herself falling, but it was a slow fall, not one meant to hurt or injure and suddenly she was back on that speeding, unstopping train.

A scrap of paper on the floor in front of the door to the next cab caught her eye. She leaned down to pick it up. Silver wrapping paper, the same wrapping paper that had been in her hand only moments ago, but also so many years ago. Before she could examine it closely, the door ahead hissed open.

This time, still with hesitancy, she stepped forward across the threshold to be greeted by the same white light as before.

She was 16 years old. She was in the vestibule of the house that she had lived in with her mother’s first husband. It wasn’t a place she would ever call home. She had just arrived home from school. No one was home yet. She made her way through the living room of the condo, its grey walls and grey carpet oppressing. He liked grey, her mother’s ex, her ex stepfather. She walked past the television stand and into the short hallway, right at the end, and walked towards her room at the end of the hall.

It was a little cramped but also comfortable. The large backed TV sat on its small wooden television stand to the right of the doorway and a little, unfinished desk in the corner just next to that. The bookshelf that was bending under the weight of so many books faced her head on. The bed on the next wall, then the small closet where all her clothes sat in wire cubbies, and finally an old dresser that had flaking wood stain and a large mirror atop. She looked at herself, a young woman. Her eyes already knew suffering and loss but she would push through.

She took a seat at the bottom of the bed and ran her hands over the old black and purple comforter. It was soft and cozy and she leaned back, letting herself sink into the mattress. She didn’t know how long she was there but it was then she heard shouting coming from the living room and then a scream. She heard her mother calling her name, “He’s hurting me!” Her heart dropped as she heard her mother yelling for her and she sprinted to her door and flung it open, running to the living room. Her mother was in the middle of the living room, her ex holding onto her arm.

“Get off her!” she yelled, running to put herself between her mother and the monster. She threw something at him, possibly a hair brush. It was whatever she had in her hand when she sprinted to her mother but she wasn’t sure. He let go then, backing away from them. The fire burned inside her and she wanted to hit him, claw at him, but instead her mother gathered her purse and keys and they left through the front door, but sadly not for the last time until years later.

She fell hard on the floor this time. She was back on the train. The adrenaline still pumped through her and she could feel the lump of anger and sadness in her throat. Her mother was a strong woman and raised her to be the same. Even these things happened to strong women, but luckily, eventually, she and her mother left for good. He had assaulted her too, but only with his words. It wasn’t until years later she really knew what her mother had endured and she always regretted having not known, not been able to help.

The cold metal of the floor soothed the fire burning inside her and she pulled herself to her knees, forcing the tears back into her eyes. She took a breath in and held it for a long moment before releasing it back out. It was a long time ago.

Just in front of her hands lay a black hairbrush broken in two. She didn’t want to touch it but knew she had to. She picked it up and the familiar hissing came once again.

She was 27. Life had finally really started. Freshly single and she had just purchased a new home, her second home but it was all hers this time. The excitement she felt when she bought the home still in her mind every time she drove into her neighborhood even though it had already been a year.

But this time she was nervous. She had a date. Her hands were shaky as she applied some makeup, which she never really did and was no good at it. She wiped her face off twice before deciding to stick with something minor. A little mascara and coverup to hide her always-too-red cheeks.

She saw herself in the mirror, tired but hopeful.

Her phone pinged with a new message that read, “Here. I think, haha.” Her heart raced as she tried to steady her breathing as she opened the front door to see the unfamiliar large, white truck parked in her neighbor’s parking spot. She approached and smiled at him through the windshield and he smiled back. He was very handsome.

She climbed into the truck, using the dashboard to pull herself up. She got comfortable in the seat before looking at him. “Hi!”

They went to a Mexican restaurant, her favorite, where, after she explicitly told him how much she hated seafood, he ordered a dish with crab. She found out later that he kicked himself for doing that but that he was just nervous. And that was why he didn’t kiss her goodbye at the end of their first date. He was worried he had crab breath. Even with that, she knew immediately that he was her person.

She opened the living room door and squealed with happiness. She felt content, like in that moment everything was right with the world. She sunk down into the couch.

The clacking of the train on the tracks drew her from her happiness but still the feeling lingered and she couldn’t help but smile to herself. The seat on the train was far less comfortable than her couch but it was good enough.

On the seat opposite of her sat a small scrap of paper but she already knew what it was. It was the paper napkin band that she had ripped from her silverware on that date that changed her life.

Waiting for the expected noise, she heard it and knew the next door was open, the next car was ready for her and she was ready for it.

She was 39. She was at work when she received the call from her mother. Before she picked up, she knew. She had prepared herself for it but it was still a devastating blow.

“Gg passed away today,” her mother choked out the words. It was inevitable. It was coming. She was 97 years old and had lived a full and fruitful life, though not without tragedies of her own. Her health had been in decline for the past four years. It started with a fall and lead to the need for her to be in assisted living (which she did not take kindly to). Her great grandmother had been a wise woman, a firey woman, sharp as a tack until she had to go live away from her home. It was there that she changed.

Her fire diminished and with it so did her health. By the end she wasn’t even speaking. But when she went to visit her for the last time, she saw the recognition in her eyes. Her Gg knew that she was there and she knew she loved her. She placed the old woman’s hand in her own and told her how much she loved her, how much everything she had done for her meant. And it truly did mean the world. Not only was she her great grandmother but she was a second mother.

When her own mother and father had not been able to watch her because they were both working hard as single parents, Gg and her Pop, who had passed away long ago, took her in. She lived with them for a time when she was young. She could remember gardening and running in the yard. She remembered drinking her chocolate milk in the mornings as she sat between her Gg and Pop on their bed as they drank their coffee under their favorite blanket. She remembered the smell of her perfume and the comfort of her warm embrace. Without her, she would not be the woman she was today.

She raced back to her office, calling her boss in tears on the phone. He offered her his condolences and told her to leave early when she got back. She walked through the building, tears running down her cheeks. She was both embarrassed but nonplussed, not caring what anyone else thought of her moment of grief.

She got into her own car, closed her eyes, put her hands over her ears, and screamed until her voice went hoarse.

The cool metal of the floor was apparent and she opened her tear filled eyes. Her throat burned and itched and she tried to cough to make it stop. It didn’t. A scrap of material lay in her lap, and even without touching it she knew what it was. It was Gg’s favorite blanket, the one they always sat with on those lazy mornings. She brought the material to her face and wiped her tear filled eyes and crawled to her feet. The darkness outside the windows continued and the humming of her metal shell sped along. She was convinced that it would never stop. The door, of course, slid open and she slipped quietly into the next cab.

She was 57 years old. Life seemed to go by so quickly once you left your 30s and she felt as if it was speeding by. But she wouldn’t trade it for anything. She walked through the hospital halls, holding her husband’s hand as they passed what seemed like the same white wall for the tenth time. She could feel the anticipation growing as they got closer to her daughter-in-law’s room. She looked over at the love of her life and smiled and he smiled back. She couldn’t help but think how handsome he was. Short and silky dark brown hair with only a few grays to show his age, his almost black eyes always so kind, and his crooked smile that was so endearing.

When they finally reached the room, she rushed inside. Her son was sitting in a chair next to her daughter-in-law’s hospital bed. A small bundle of blankets rested in her arms.

“He just fell asleep,” she smiled, handing the delicate bundle over.

She felt her cheeks flush and her eyes dampen, “He’s beautiful. Did you finally decide on a name?”

“Yeah, we decided on Miguel.”

The baby cooed softly in its sleep and she couldn’t help but remember how she had felt holding her son in her arms for the first time, like there was never anything wrong in the world. They stayed in the hospital room and all talked for hours. Eventually, her eyes closed and she fell into a slumber.

She awoke with a smile on her face laying comfortably on the bench of the cab to find a folded up picture gripped in her hand. It was a picture that she knew well. It was worn at the edges and the creases had faded the ink but the smiles of the people in it were still vibrant as ever. Her husband, her son, her daughter-in-law, and her grandchild. They were older there but she recognized them with no hesitancy. They were her life and her love and her reason for living. She gladly awaited the door in front of her to slide open, hoping for something just as beautiful.

This time it was different. As she stepped through her head ached like a pickaxe was being hammered into her temple, but only for a moment. Then a peacefulness overcame her along with a warmth as if she was laying in the sun on a warm spring day. She floated along as if nothing was under her feet. But this time she wasn’t in a memory, or at least not one that she remembered.

She was still on the train, but something was different. The dark tunnel that sthe train had been traveling through had opened up into gorgeous mountain scenery. On one side was a slowly rising cliff face with autumn trees shedding red and gold and yellow leaves that fell like rain. On the other was the valley, purple mountain peaks in the distance. A river wended its way lazily through the forest below and even though she was so far away and inside the locomotive, she could hear it - the water gently running over the smooth stones that jutted from the river bottom, the wind whispering its way through the golden forest below, the sweet singing of the birds. It was almost like a memory, but not quite. It was more of a compilation of all the beauty she had ever known.

She was surprised when she caught her reflection staring back at her. She was worn and wrinkled… but there was beauty there in the experience of life. The lines from the smiles, the brightness of the eyes that had seen so much, and the fragile skin of the hands that had held and helped and hugged. She was beautiful, if not from her countenance but from the wisdom behind it.

“Hello,” a voice startled her from her stupor and she looked up to see an old man. It was the first time since she had not been alone. He wore old clothing, that of a train conductor in the movies, but his smile was vibrant and peaceful. “You are 83, and have lived such a wonderful and full life.”

She did not know what to say, so she asked, “Where am I?”

“Well you are on the White Line, did you not read your ticket?” He chuckled.

“I did but that didn’t answer any questions. How did I get here?”

His smile turned a little then, a slight sadness overcoming his lips, “Well, my dear, it seems your time among the living has come to an end. This train is to take you to your Beyond.”

“So that means I’m dead?”

“Passed away, yes. Surrounded by the ones you loved most and happy until the very end. Your family loved you so.”

She thought for a minute, “So what happens now?”

“Well now, it’s your choice. You can stay on the train until you’re ready, or you can give your ticket to me and I will bring the train to its final stop.”

“What if I never want to leave?”

“Well, then, I suppose the train will continue on forever.”

She thought for a moment, all of those memories good and bad. She wanted so much to go back to those days of happiness, just to hold her husband’s hand one more time, or to embrace her children and grandchildren in her arms. She glanced back towards the cars that she had already walked through and knew, then, that it was time to leave them behind.

“Here’s my ticket,” she reached into her pocket and handed the small piece of paper away. She paused only to touch the items that rested comfortably in her pocket and smiled to herself.

“Very well,” he smiled and reached for her hand. She placed it in his and let his warmth and calmness wash over her as if they were very old friends.. The door ahead of them hissed open and he led her toward the silver light that shimmered just beyond the door.

She reached into her pocket and held the mementos that had meant so much to her in life, the things that she remembered so vividly and smiled as she disappeared to the Beyond.