One-Way Railway: Ch.2

All I gotta say is, that was the last time I take the subway after midnight. Nai Nai and I got into another fight though over my grades (what else is new) and I just had to let off some steam. She just doesn't get what it's like, being from "The Old World" and all; it's the twenty-first century now. I've got other stuff to worry about besides acing AP Calc! Or... I guess it's more accurate to say I had more important stuff to worry about. All that stuff seems way unimportant right now. Truth be told, I'd give anything to go back to our crummy apartment on the lower East Side and just tell her I'm sorry. I got a wicked temper, see, and...well, I said some things I didn't mean. I guess I'm like my mom that way. I wish I could remember more about her besides just that.

Ayway, long story short, I hopped aboard the A-Train madder than ever, not even caring where I was going just...away. All I remember is the lights going out and the train suddenly lurching to a stop. I think I might have hit my head or something, I don't know. The next thing I did know I was waking up in this funky old-timey steam train. Don't ask me how I got there, because I am just as confused as you. My phone wasn't working at all (lousy Verizon) and the doors were all locked from the outside. I tried to stop the train, as we seemed to be going way, way too fast, but I couldn't move the brake at all. It seemed rusted in place almost - kind of like the doors - and all I wound up doing was burning the shitake mushrooms out of my hands. So, in the face of uncertainty and imminent danger, I did what I do best: sat down and gave up. Yeah, yeah, I know, I can hear the backlash I'm getting already. Honestly, like you wouldn't have done the same in that exact situation?!

Sorry... I told you, I have a temper.

So, I was just sitting there, waiting for the train to crash or...something to happen, I guess (and wishing I'd brought my earbuds) when the door opened up on its own. I swear to God, it did. And then... there was Georgie. It's weird, see, because it felt like I had known her all my life, but at the same time I knew that wasn't true. For starters, there weren't any girls at my school or work who had eyes like that. They were this deep aquamarine blue, bluer than any eyes I'd ever seen. Her blonde hair hung loose all the way down past her rear, and looked blown all over the place like she'd been standing in front of a wind turbine for the last hour. She was short and thin, but carried herself with such purpose... She was intense, and honestly kinda hot. The only weird thing about her was her clothes: she didn't have on any shoes, or really much of anything at all. Just these funny baggy capri pants and a lacy white blouse. I don't know much about fashion, honestly (shocker), but the get up looked like sleepwear to me. I had never seen anyone sleep in a corset before though. Maybe it was some new trend I didn't know about?

After a bit of banter, miracle of miracles we managed to stop the train together...and subsequently crashed it. Don't look at me, I barely know how to drive a car. How the heck was I supposed to drive a freaking train from like the Old West?! I gave Georgie my hoodie when we managed to crawl out of the mangled wreckage because she looked cold (and was saying some junk about being "indecent" earlier), and then we walked together toward the only sign of civilization in sight. It was trippy, honestly; I don't know how I managed to get from New York City to a ghost town in the middle of Nowheresville, USA, but here we were. Seriously, the place was a dump, and there was nothing else around for miles and miles. Where were we, anyway? It had to be somewhere like Arizona or New Mexico, as cold and desert-ish as it was. It was dark out though, which made distinguishing any landmarks impossible (not that it would help me pinpoint my location any better). I was still wondering if the A-Train even ran this far when I feel Georgie squeeze my hand, and I follow her eyes up to the creaky old sign hanging in front of us. My blood turns to ice and my mouth runs dry as she reads it out loud: "Welcome to Purgatory."

"I knew it," I mumble, suddenly feeling my legs wobble like Jell-o, "we're dead... I mean, of course we're dead! How else do you explain all this weird stuff that's been going on?!" My heart starts pounding as I feel an anxiety attack coming on, "Oh God... Nai Nai's gonna be so upset! I was so angry when we last spoke, and-...OW!" I stare at Georgie, flummoxed and a little angry honestly, as I rub my sore arm where she just rabbit punched me, "What the hell was that for?!"

She just stares at me flatly, "That hurt, right? If ya still feel pain, that means you ain't dead. Pull yourself together now, you hear?!" Those intense aquamarine eyes scan the sign again and the nearby buildings, searching for some kind of answers. "I know it's late," she says, "but there's gotta be somebody around here we can talk to, to make sense out of all this fiddle faddle!"

I couldn't help it. I snorted a laugh, "Fiddle faddle? Do people still say that where you're from?" Georgie just gives me a look, and I flinch just in case she decides to hit me again. But, she doesn't. Instead, she turns toward one of the shabby wooden structures - the only one with lights on inside - and starts walking. This place is creepy and I don't want to be alone, so I follow her. Her cheeks redden as I take her hand again. It's surprisingly soft, but there are a few small callouses I can feel across her palm and fingertips that tell a history of hard work. As small as it is in mine, I'm oddly comforted by the warmth, strength and gentleness in that hand. She doesn't say anything though as we climb the sagging porch of the building together, but lets go of my hand before walking inside.

From the sign hanging over the door, the building is some kind of old hotel, like from one of those Wild West movies Ye Ye and my uncles used to watch on TV. As crummy as it looked on the outside, it's actually pretty nice inside: there's a funny round couch in the middle made of tufted red velvet, and a brass chandelier hanging from the ceiling. There's lots of arm chairs and sofas in every kind of color and fabric you can imagine lining the walls, and a small but sadly empty buffet table at the back. At seeing it, I feel my stomach growl and wonder when the last time I ate was. That's a good sign, right? You don't get hungry if your dead, do you? There's a grand mahogany staircase leading up to where I assume the rooms are, and right beside it is a huge old desk. There's a man standing behind it, with a tiny round pair of glasses perched on the end of his hooked nose, and a large book in front of him. On the desk is also a clunky computer monitor I thought went extinct around the mid-nineties, and a keyboard that the old timer is slowly tapping on.

As I look around, I realize there are other people here in the lobby. They seem different from us though; pale, sad and empty in a way. I realize that while many are adults, there are a handful of older people too and a few people about my age. Some, I notice, - and it chills my bones for some reason - are kids. They look lost and scared, but some of the adults seem to be looking out for them. What's weird too is that a lot of people here seem to be dressed up in costumes. There's one lady in a huge, frilly hoop skirt and bonnet, and a man with her in a uniform that I recognized from the Civil War chapter in my history text book. Next to them is a middle-aged guy in a hideous yellow and brown leisure suit with side burns for days, and sitting beside him is a little boy in a crisp white and blue sailor suit and cap. Against the far wall is a guy about my age in a breastplate and what looks to be a toga; he's talking to a dude in cropped pants, wool stockings and a powdered wig, and an older woman in a glitzy high-waisted evening gown and opera gloves. I turn to ask Georgie if she thinks there's some kind of weird convention going on here, but she's gone. She's already at the desk, talking to the man behind it. I notice some of the people are starting to stare at me, with what I can only describe as a kind of hunger in their eyes. It freaks me out, so I hurry to join Georgie at the desk.

"There must be some kind of mistake," she was saying, her face flushed and hot with anger. The old man taps a few more keys painfully slowly, then lets out a whispery sigh.

"Georgia Louise Barnes," he reads off the screen, "Aged sixteen and seven months... Born in Savannah, Georgia, USA, February ninth, 1883... It's all here, my Dear. I am truly sorry. I understand it may be a difficult concept to grasp." He turns to me next, but I don't say anything. My head is spinning a little as I try to process the information he just read off about Georgie. "Born February ninth, 1883..." That couldn't be right. That would have to mean Georgie was almost a hundred and forty years old...but he said she was sixteen, a year younger than me. How was that even possible? "Matthew Zhao..." the old clerk sighs, "Aged seventeen and four days... Born August twenty-fifth, 2005... in New York City, New York, USA. Welcome to Pugatory." Georgie's head snaps towards me, her eyes wide with shock and confusion. Her jaw works for a few seconds, then she shakes her head and turns back to the old man.

"I...- we ain't dead!" she barks, angry tears welling in her eyes, "I'm tellin' you, there's been a mistake! Whatever that...funny thingamajig is sayin' is wrong!" The old man turns his pale, sleepy eyes to look into hers directly, just staring at her for a moment. He then seems to glide backwards to the set of tiny cubbies built into the wall behind him and comes back with two small iron keys.

He drops them on the desk, almost apologetically so, and points toward the stairs. "Rooms 319 and 321," he wheezes, "you may take the stairs or elevator. I hope you'll find your lodgings suitable, for you may be in them quite a long while...unfortunately. My sympathies." Georgie is just standing there, dumbstruck. She starts sputtering after a moment, but I see the other guests in the lobby have taken a strong interest in us and are quickly moving in closer. I don't know what they want, but I have a feeling it's not to give us a warm welcome. In a mild panic, I grab her by the arm and start dragging her toward the stairs. I blink as I see a cage-style elevator standing open on the other side of the staircase that I am positive wasn't there before. I don't question it though as I hop inside and drag Georgie along with me. Inside is a short chubby man not much older than us in a red and gold uniform and matching, perfectly round cap sitting on the back of his head. "What floor?" He drones.

Hesitantly, I look at the pair of keys in my hand and study the small copper tags hanging off the ends. "Uh... three?" I guess, and the guy pulls the brass lever in front of him. The doors zip shut and suddenly we're moving again. I'm reminded of the train ride by the jostling, creaky old elevator as it zooms up to presumeably the third floor, but thankfully it's a short trip. As soon as it lurches to a stop and the doors fly open, I yank Georgie out and start walking down the hall before I lose my lunch. In the hall, I find another surprise; while downstairs looked like an old fashioned hotel, upstairs looks like the hallway of your basic bog-standard Holiday Inn. Nothing fancy, but it's clean and well-lit. Georgie pauses for a moment, studying one of the clamshell-shaped wall sconces in awe.

"They've got electric lights here," she gasps, a hint of excitement in her voice, "I've never seen these anywhere 'cept that one time we visited my great aunt in Atlanta. This place must be real fancy to afford so many." She looks at me then, suddenly a little nervous, "I hope they don't charge too much for the rooms. I don't have any money on me. Do you?" I palm my back pocket to feel for my wallet, and to my relief it's still there. Out of habit I check it's contents to make sure everything is accounted for: my student ID, driver's permit, subway pass, a handful of crinkled bills and loose change, and my debit card. I don't use the card much except for emergencies, as I don't make all that much working three afternoons a week at the electronics store on 39th, but I know it's got at least a few hundred dollars on it.

I run my thumb over the raised numbers on it a moment, then stuff my wallet back into my pocket with a shrug. "Do you really think it matters?" I ask. "The guy downstairs didn't say anything about a bill for starters, and I'm not exactly sure if dead people even use money."

Georgie stops walking again and turns to me sharply with a scowl, "We ain't dead, so stop sayin' that!! Listen: I haven't the faintest idea where we are, but I cain't believe this is the real, actual Purgatory like from the Bible." She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, smoothing the wrinkles out of my hoodie, which looks like a dress on her. Did I mention she was tiny? "We'll stay here for the night," she announces, plucking one of the keys from my hand, "...but first thing tomorrow, we're gonna find the first train out of here and get right on it. Deal?"

I let out an involuntary groan as my stomach flips over at the thought, "Another train... Great. Sounds awesome." We walk in silence the rest of the way down the seemingly endless hall (did the set designer from The Shining make this place?) until we reach our rooms. I pause when I notice they have plates above them with our names on them. That gives me goosebumps, but at this point nothing much surprises me anymore. Georgie swiftly unlocks her door and zips inside, and as usual I follow her example. Much like the hallway, it seems like a basic, regular hotel room with a bed, nightstand and dresser and a small bathroom attached. It's nothing special and the furnishings seem a bit dated, like a roadside motel that's stuck in the early 2000s, but at least it's clean. I kick off my shoes and flop on the bed with a sigh, just now aware of how tired I am. I feel like I could fall asleep just by closing my eyes, but then there's a soft knock on the door connecting my room to Georgie's. I get up and open it, mildly astonished to see her in an old timey blue gingham skirt and white button-up blouse.

"I found these in the wardrobe," she explains, picking at her skirt. "It's funny: if I didn't know any better, I'd say they're the exact same clothes I was wearin' when I got on the train." She then holds out my hoodie, which had been folded more neatly than it probably ever had since I got it, and her cheeks glow with a soft blush. "Thank you again for the cloak," she murmurs, "I would've died of shame walkin' in front of all those people downstairs in my underthings." I take it back with a shrug and pop it on over my head. For a moment, I'm caught off guard by a mild flowery scent clinging to the fabric. Gardenias, I think, even though I'm not really sure what Gardenias smell like.

Once I have my hoodie back on (which is still slightly warm from her wearing it), I nod toward my room, "No problem. Do...you wanna come in? Maybe hang out for a while? Not like we have anything better to do." Georgie suddenly looks at me like she just swallowed a live roach, and her face goes completely red. After a few moments she manages to choke out a "no, thank you," then turns on her heel and rushes back into her room. I watch her speed walk back to her bed, which is an old brass model unlike mine which looks straight out of an Ikea catalog, completely confused. She sits down on her bed, still totally red-faced, and starts finger-combing her long hair nervously. "Did I say something wrong?" I ask, and an edge slips into my voice without meaning to.

Georgie startles, apparently not realizing that she was so flustered she forgot to close her door, then narrows those bright aquamarine eyes at me in a scowl. "What kind of woman d'you think I am?!" she snaps, pulling her hair back and starting to twist it into a bun on the top of her head, "Imagine: bein' asked into a man's bedroom like that, as if I were nothin' but a cheap harlot! I may not be rich, but I got brains at least...an' a sense of decency!"

When it hits me finally what she was talking about, I lose it again. Before I know it, I'm doubled over with giggles until my ribs hurt. Georgie gives me a shocked, dangerous look, which slowly sends my giggles crawling weakly back down my throat. "Sorry," I say, trying to be serious but barely able to contain a grin, "but that is not at all what I had in mind. Not even close, actually! All I wanted was to sit and talk for a bit, maybe watch some TV...if you wanted to, I mean. I didn't mean to offend your, uh...'decency'." Georgie softens a little, but she still seems skeptical at the invite.

After a few minutes, when her hair is once more neatly coifed on top of her head and secured with a shocking number of pins, she shifts on her bed nervously. "What's...'TV'?" she asks. For a second I'm thrown for a loop, but then I remember how old she is. When I think about it, Georgie probably hasn't even heard of radio yet, so how the heck was I going to explain this? While I'm still thinking about the best way to describe it, I hear a low grumble. Georgie blushes then, and presses a hand to her stomach, "Sorry... I haven't eaten since breakfast. I surely could go for a hot meal right about now."

I nod, "me too. I feel like I could eat a horse and still have room for dessert." Georgie gives me a little smile (gosh, she's pretty), then her eyes fall on the stack of pamphlets neatly arranged on her bedside table. I had noticed similar fliers on mine, but was too tired to look at them myself. She picks up the one on top, which looks to be an ad for a 1950s-style diner. "The Halfway House Cafe," she reads pensively, stumbling a little over the last word which she pronounces "KAY-fee", then looks up at me, "I don't know what a 'cafe' is, but it looks like they sell food from the pictures. Shall we give it a gander?"

I walk over and take the pamphlet from her, reading it over quickly, then hand it back with a grin, "At this point, I'd eat an old shoe...but, yeah, this place looks pretty good." I offer my arm in the most gentlemanly manner I can, and she takes it with a shy smile. I can't really explain this feeling, as she walks beside me down the hall with her cheek resting gently on my arm. I've had crushes before and gone on exactly two dates in my lifetime, but this... this feels different. This girl was unlike any other girl I'd ever met, and not just because she was from a different era. She was so sure of herself and direct, and she didn't play those mind-numbing little games every other girl I knew seemed to. At the same time though, I can sense a vulnerability there beneath the surface. Deep down, I just know that she needs me as much as I need her. We're the same: lost, alone and scared, and stuck together in a strange, unfamiliar territory. There's some comfort in that, I think.