Seven

I hated these dreams at first. Falling. The wind filled my ears as a moist dew from the clouds engulfed me one after another. Yet, my eyes were always oddly unaffected. I’d started using this as a tell to determine if I was dreaming instead of freaking out. I’d look to my left, right, above, and below before smiling and taking in the familiar experience.

Of all my reoccurring dreams, this had become my favorite. It was the simplest; I couldn’t even see the ground. The only reason I thought I was falling was because my hair would blow upwards with every entrance into a new cloud.

Peaceful.

Somersaulting onto my back, interlocking my fingers, I look up at the same view I was just looking down at.

I could never remember what I’d previously been thinking or doing. I’d try, and I’d try, or at least I think I had, until I convinced myself at some point to give up on it, accept it. Somehow, I could remember that—just accept it.

I’d fully encompass the relaxation, melting my physical being into the sky. If I didn’t move for long enough, I would lose the ability to know where my body ended, and the world around me began.

Yawning and rolling onto my side, I open my eyes mid-stretch only to catch something out of my periphery.

The ground.

Gasping and sitting straight up, I examine my body with my hands. Everything attached, nothing broken. Looking around, I’m in a room of some kind, and the rumbles below the floorboards suggest I’m moving. Fast. Letting out a grunt as I hoist my way to my feet, ‘I'm too old for this,' I think, fumbling with the curtain string to reveal a blurred countryside flying by.

As the stalks of hay replace a glare on the window, a reflection jumps into view, causing me to fall back onto the floor again. Taking in the three-level bunk beds and casual couch across the room, I push against the hardwood floors again and determine there's no one else here.

It's just me. Looking back out the window, I watch as the 5'9" green-eyed, black-haired gentleman mimics my every move.

"But who the hell am I?" I question myself out loud.

I recognize my inner voice and haven't felt uncertain about myself until now. But, thinking back, I realize I can't describe what I believe I should look like. 'Maybe I fell harder than I thought. Gave myself some sort of amnesia,' I ponder as though it's the only solution.

Feeling around all the pockets, it quickly becomes clear I don't have a scrap piece of paper, a nickel, or even a loose mint anywhere on my person. 'I must have fallen out of the top bunk,' I deduce. But there wasn't a pillow or blanket to be seen. And the two other beds appeared to be unoccupied as well.

Examining my clothes, I struggle to remember how I got here or who I am. The pressed Chinos with the accompanying suit jacket felt right, I knew they were mine, but it didn't feel every day familiar. I was dressed up for something.

No wedding ring, no fillings, no glasses.

‘There has to be someone else on this train. There's probably someone walking down the hallway right now who can help me.’ I conclude.

The door slides open, revealing a red-carpet corridor without access to other compartments. A mountain takes up the full view of the solitary window, with the only other light coming from the dim flicker of a candle posted next to the only door at the opposite end of the car.

The corridor connection creaks when I peek around the door to the other side. Immediately, a waft of humidity and sweat pollutes the air, accompanied by a violin softly playing the Star-Spangled Banner. Then, stepping onto the loose-fitting floorboards, I notice a woman sitting on a metal-wired rack. Her thin, aged lips spread into a smile as she turns to observe me with her whimsical, piercing, oblique-set eyes.

Warmth and knowing fill me as I sit on the uncomfortable bed next to her.

Her chin-length curly hair accentuates her prominent cheekbones, and I'm blown away by her classical beauty. I don't realize she's moving her hand toward mine until it's too late.

Immediately, a cloud surrounds us, and she stands up, forcing me to do the same. Taking a step, guiding me forward as an unseen projector comes to life, transforming the frothy gray clouds into a movie screen.

"What's going on?" I ask. But she continues, proudly watching as a small girl runs in and out of the wisps, growing with every step. We watch as sceneries around her pass by as fast as the view out the train's window before it slows, and she squeezes my hand a little tighter.

The little girl is gone; now, the woman beside me is also standing in front of me. A few years younger, but the same woman, nonetheless. "Is that you?" I ask, noticing a less cheerful expression combined with the pride she's still clung to.

"Reina," a distant voice came from somewhere in the cloud. “Yamada, Reina, please step forward.” A shanty town is forming behind the woman in front of me. And the command is coming from a military officer sitting behind a table.

"You'll be in Barrack Four down on the right."

Even through the fog, it's easy to tell Reina was one of the oldest occupants.

But where is here?

The scenes begin speeding up again, not as fast as earlier, but faster than normal. There are hundreds of people in every direction: kids, teenagers, and adults, all looking rundown. Slowing again, younger Reina makes eye contact with one of the young white military officers. As he eyes her up, she gains her composure and puts a smile on her face.

Turning towards the children, she begins in a soft Asian accent, "There once was a young girl who lived in a faraway place." Her animated storytelling continues and brings smiles to all the children's faces. Officer Doran then sends her a nearly unnoticeable nod before carrying on about his business.

As time speeds back up, the young officer is in view more often until he is the only one left as the cloud slows back to a normal pace.

We watch inside the pitch-black barrack; he bolts to a bed in the back corner and kneels as he bows his head. He was there for no more than a moment before rising, turning on his heel, and hurrying away, not wanting to draw attention from anyone as it was almost midnight.

The fog lifts as Reina's hand lets go of my own. Bewildered, I turn and notice the woman next to me is still composed of the same poise and smile. The floorboards below our feet are tighter, and cucumber mixed with green tea pleasantly fills my nose. A koto has replaced the violin, and the 13-string instrument is providing the intro for a song I can't place.

Reina heads for the short table in the middle of the room. Before taking a seat on her zabuton, she bows to me and raises her arm toward another door I hadn't seen when I walked in.

"Seriously? You're not going to say anything to me?"

With an intriguing twitch of her eyes, I understand I won't be hearing a word come out of her, and I turn the knob on the newest door.

"Oh, hey there, honey!" a woman says, getting up from the side of her queen-sized four-poster bed. Startled by her voice and obvious beauty, I shuffle forward-looking over my shoulder, staring at a now solid wall.

"It's alright; Reina has confused us all. For some reason, she just doesn't want to speak. Which is fine, you know, but given the circumstances, it sure wouldn't hurt on your side. But!" the bubbly woman continues examining her loose sitting updo in a chestnut Queen Anne mirror, "Then I would miss out on the opportunity, and I say I've come to enjoy it."

As she turns toward me, it's hard not to find familiarity in her defined sleek jawline and soft, calming pools of honey eyes. But I can't place it.

It wasn't until she sat down, ready for the interview, that I realized I hadn't spoken a word since arriving.

"So, what's your first question?" She inquires. "I'm not able to disclose some things; it's not my place," she continues, flicking her head forward and holding up one finger to emphasize her dignity in the process, "but I'll tell you what I can," she finishes with a wink.

"Where am I" came blurting out.

"This is Sutratma, but I've taken to referring to her as Sue." She ends with a small chuckle.

"Alright, Sue," I say involuntarily, shifting my eyes across the interior again like it's adding some clarity. "Well, I guess, who am I?"

"Interesting that wasn't your first question. It was mine. But alas," she exclaims, clapping her hands together, "that is one of the questions I cannot answer. Just like Reina wouldn't have told me, even if she spoke to anyone," she explains, accompanied by a slight eye roll.

"So, I'm on a train you call Sue." I continue, "And who are you?"

Smiling proudly, she introduces herself, "Anika Doran," adding in a small head bow. "But you can call me Ann; everyone always did."

"So, you have memories before you were on this train?"

"Certainly, yours will come back too. You just have to make it to the end first."

"And what's at the end? Where are we going?" I ask back-to-back, gaining traction from her answers.

"Well, I can't answer where we are going. No one knows until it's decided. As for what's at the end," she pauses, trying to find the words, "I'm afraid that will be up to you."

"Now, are you ready?" she continues.

"Ready for what?"

"We'll watch my life, just like you did with Reina. It'll all make sense in the end, honey, I promise."

Having been moving closer to me this whole time, she is now beside me, outstretching her hand, ready to place it on me.

And just like that, Blue Lu Barker's 'A Little Bird Told Me' fades to the distance taking the salty seaside town smell with it, only to be replaced by the mirroring clouds I'd become familiar with.

Since this was Ann's life, we blasted into 1946. She was born with a smile to a woman alone. The coos and giggles of the nurses and friends got quickly replaced by a military officer bursting breathlessly into the room. "I'm sorry I'm late, my dear. She's gone," he says somberly before replacing his demeanor with excitement while reaching for his new daughter.

We watch Anika dance through life with speed, growing up, frolicking in fields, and soaking up the California sun. It wasn't all sunshine and roses, though. Her darker complexion made her a target at points throughout her life. It was hard not to feel angry for her. But when I looked over, I saw the definition of strength.

Slowing down, we watched her pack for a one-way journey. Landing in Ontario, we witness her stumble upon a novice farm. The farmer seems nice enough, and it's obvious he's a native French Canadian by the way he talks.

She used those entrancing eyes to calm the frantic man and encouraged patience and courage to take risks as he built the farm from the ground up. We fast-forward through defeat and failure before the entire cloud begins to shine an alluring shade of gold when the farmer's face turns from loss to celebration.

He's running towards her, waving something in his hand. Then, roughly five steps away, he lobs the contents in Ann's direction. Snatching it out of the air with one hand, beaming from ear to ear, she takes a crispy bite of his perfectly grown winter pear.

Not long afterward, Ann waves goodbye after writing down the address of her destination in Victoria, BC.

As we watch together, she embraces me with one arm from the side as we continue walking past her kids graduating and going on to give her grandchildren. It's as if she's trying to give them one last hug even though she knows they're no more than vapor, and any touch would force the cloud to dissipate.

Starting to slow her pace next to me, I realize we're coming to the end of her life. She lies in a bed, surrounded by crying family members. The clouds begin to part, and the beeping machines become replaced by Wave singing, "I'm going to California, I'm gonna live the life…." And as the last cloud strand disappears, the smell of apple pie wraps itself around us.

Reopening my eyes from a deep inhale, Ann is no longer holding my hand or even beside me. Instead, I'm again standing in front of a door that didn't previously exist. The wooden floors are replaced by carpet, and I'm watching from the outskirts as Anika finds a seat on a floral-printed couch in front of a brick fireplace.

"Until we meet again," she winks, shooing me away with an encouraging smile.

As I step through the next door, I'm shocked to find myself surrounded by mirrors lining every inch of the car except for the two windows allowing in natural light.

"Hey Owen," jerking my head, I'm unable to locate the voice. "Over here."

Edging into the center of the room, I'm only seeing myself. A scared and confused expression is plastered on every face looking back at me, except one. Stepping towards my face wearing a small smirk, I reach out to touch the glass.

With a wink, my rogue reflection reaches up to grab my arm and pulls me into the glass. Without time to defend myself, I brace for impact, only opening my eyes when it never comes.

"Sorry, I thought that would be funny," Mirror Me says, patting me on the back. "It’s alright, though; we’re going to get through this part together,” he chuckles. The voice is all-encompassing, which is comforting and disorienting at the same time.

“Who am I?” I reiterate the question Anika wouldn’t answer.

“We were Owen Poirier,” he replies with a faint smile.

It’s only now I realize we’re walking through someone’s life. My life. Our life.

“That’s the farmer Anika lived with for a couple of years,” I say, astonished as this man walks right past me and finds a seat next to a woman holding a newborn baby.

“That’s your dad, Tiergan, and your mom, Naomi.” Mirror Owen continues, “This is your family; this was our life.” With those words, the scenes begin to speed up, memories fly past, and it’s as if I remember them instead of watching them for the first time.

The pear farm, working with my dad, and my mom’s death when I was a teenager.

“But why are we here?” I speculate towards my mirror self.

“There was an accident,” he replies with a slight head bow. The scenes begin to fly past until we’re now watching a man who looks just like us. “This was us five and a half minutes ago.”

Bewildered, I look around the memory, taking in everything happening. Memory Me climbs into my 2022 Chevy Silverado. Turning over the ignition and shifting into drive, I wave out the window towards my dad. He watches me take off, standing on the porch, looking proud.

“I was going to my first business meeting without him. I was taking over the farm since he’s aging,” I say as it enters my memory.

Mirror Owen nods.

Noticing panic in my father’s eyes, I whip my head back around in time to see Memory Owen trying to slam on brakes that don’t seem to be engaging. His only options are to stay on course and run into the front gate or swerve and try to come to a stop slowly.

He swerved, but could not avoid the short drop-off into the small creek. His tires bounced, and he fishtailed in the opposite direction, right into a tree.

The memory begins to fade when Tiergan takes off on foot down the road, and everything wisps away into a cloud of black smoke engulfing my vision.

“Yeah, definitely not how I’d ever seen it happening,” Mirror Owen says with some amusement, "but there you have it."

“What happens now?” I ask acceptingly. “And what do Anika and Reina have to do with this?”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve been here. You first awoke on this train on February 21st, 1946, as Reina.” He pauses, letting me take it in. “Then again as Anika on October 5th, 2010, and here today as Owen on January 3rd, 2042. You are as much Reina and Anika as you are Owen.”

As he talks, all surprise is gone; it’s as if he’s now reminding me of something I’ve known since first laying eyes on Reina.

“Wait, you said Anika came here October 5th, 2010? Like she, we, died that day?”

“Correct.”

“But that’s my birthday.”

“That’s also correct. What’s going to happen now is what has already happened before.” He explains, “You’ve lived a life and are preparing for your next one. This train is the connection between all previous lifetimes. During the seven minutes between death and birth, you experience your lessons again. You can easily recall anything you want from us right now. With these lessons, you will decide where, or who, you should come back as next.”

“I get to choose?”

Shaking his head Mirror Owen replies, “Not exactly. Once you leave this room, you’ll find a seat and a steering wheel. You’ll place your hands on the wheel, and it will emit a download of what you’ve learned. Then you’ll be on your way. You will have some connection to Owen, which will give you a connection to Anika and Reina. The distance of the connection won’t be known until you’re back here again.”

I was transfixed by what Mirror Owen was telling me; I didn’t even notice I was back in the room on the train while he was speaking to me from the other side of the mirror. Once again, there was another door. The last door.

With more confidence in my step, I took off. Everything was exactly how Mirror Owen said. Taking a seat and evaluating the wheel, it was obvious where my hands needed to go by the translucent receptors on both sides.

Gripping the wheel, my fingertips complete the connection before warmth washes over, and my whole body feels like it’s gone to sleep. As the sensation takes over, the blank wall in front begins to open, revealing one large glass window spanning the width and height of the front of the train. Feeling physically lighter and lighter, the transfer continues as the train speeds on around the mountain.

Finally, approaching the top, but with no decrease in speed, the train suddenly leaps from the peak and takes off across tracks now formed in the clouds, heading towards the breaking dawn.