The Waiting Train

As Thomas Whitley slowly came to consciousness, he was immediately unsettled by the brightness of his surroundings. His eyelids fluttered open and closed, willing himself back into peaceful sleep and away from this disturbance. Though he couldn't remember exactly what he had dreamed, his mind faintly flashed images of a calm lake, the sun just behind distant mountains, painting the skies a soft gold.

If there’s one thing Tom knew the world had gotten wrong, it was the artificial lighting. It seemed to get worse as he got older. The fluorescent overhead lights of his school days quickly turned into ceiling-wide ACR (Anti-Circadian Rhythm) bulbs in the office. He swore to his coworkers that he could hear them emitting some sort of stimulating frequency, though his co-workers blamed it on tinnitus.

By the time he retired in 2039, he vowed to never buy into the schemes of new technology. He had moved from bustling Chicago back to his childhood town in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, purchasing the oldest and least technology-touched cabin he could find.

Finally after realizing his sleep would not return, he gave in to the bright light’s demands and forced himself out of bed. Only he wasn’t in bed, he was lying flat on a rough carpet, staring directly into the ceiling-wide lights he despised. In his peripheral vision, he saw the underneath of blue armrests to his left and right side.

Tom shot up as quickly as his seventy-nine year old body would allow.

“Oh great, Big Brother mastered teleportation now too?” He grunted with aggravation.

He began to fully take in his surroundings. There were about a dozen rows of chairs in front of and behind him, each seating two per side. Perfectly curved windows stretched the entirety of the outer walls, meeting with the ceiling lights and constructing a long tube that ended with chrome windowless doors. Though he’d never been inside one, he’d immediately recognized the structure as one of the New Green trains he’d read about in an article back in the late 20s. The high-efficiency trains were aimed at reducing emissions from the standard airplanes. They were one of the few advancements Tom appreciated, not necessarily for the environmental benefits, but for the idea of working with what we have rather than constantly thrusting a new mode of transportation on the general public. He hoped it felt a bit like a slap in the face to the big technology companies taking over every aspect of life.

The train cut swiftly through the air, giving no sensation of movement beneath his feet. He could see through the windows that it hovered about thirty feet in the air, he suspected over a track. To his right was an endless soft blue ocean without a sign of humanity in sight. To his left, he could make out a hilly coastline of rich green forest. Wherever he was, Tom had never been there before. He had never seen the ocean but, in awe of its beauty, was suddenly desperate to smell the salty air and float on the surface of its gentle waves.

The ringing in his ear–tinnitus, or the lights–brought him back to reality.

Perhaps fifty years ago Tom would have panicked. However, after living through a pandemic, the climate crisis, and the Last World War, nothing really surprised him anymore. Last night he was sleeping in his rickety queen-size bed in the UP, and then he woke up on a train that probably sold tickets for twice his house payment. If he were the blissfully ignorant type, he probably would’ve sat back and enjoyed the view. But the reason Tom kept his corporate career until age 60 (when most of the older folks had long been replaced with their younger, more ‘visionary’ counterparts) was not ignorance.

“Well,” He said aloud, slightly startled by his own voice breaking through the quiet hum. “There is only one explanation here. I have completely lost my mind.”

Even as he said it, he didn’t believe his own words. An episode of amnesia didn’t align with his family history, and he hadn't been suffering any symptoms–that he knew of.

“Okay, two explanations. I am dead.”

Tom had never been the religious type. He attended church every Sunday as a boy, and though he admired the steadfast faith of his parents, never quite felt a connection to God. However, he did have a passion for science fiction. He’d much rather have spent his weekends growing up watching reruns of Star Trek or reading about parallel universes. Those stories felt more fitting to the current predicament. After all, there’s nothing in the Bible about the afterlife taking place on a train.

Tom chose a window seat and watched the miles of ocean pass by. He pressed his palm into the cool glass, imagining what the water might feel like. When he pulled it away, his fingers left no prints in the glass, probably some auto-cleaning feature to avoid hiring an on-board cleaning staff.

He hadn’t felt a passage of time because the sun’s position in the upper right of the sky never wavered. Though he contemplated the destination of the train for a short while, he quickly lost motivation: From the dawn of man to the current year of 2058, none of the world’s greatest thinkers had conclusively solved the mystery of the afterlife.

Instead, he spent the seemingly-endless train ride looking into his past, willing for something in his memory to give him a clue to why he was alone in this foreign place. Though he wracked his brain for any significant moments involving a train (whether he’d been on one, or even the subject brought up in conversation?), any reflection on his life always took him back to one person: Maria Laska.

1999

While attending Michigan State University (third year, degree… undecided), Thomas was not searching for love. He never had. Sure there were fleeting romances, and even one girl he brought home to Thanksgiving that his mother rather liked, but those always seemed to fizzle away and he never had the motivation to hold things together.

He sat in the courtyard on a peculiarly warm autumn day, the trees only holding on to bits of green washed over with rich oranges and yellows. Many students brought blankets to curl up on in the grass and study, but Tom was only looking at one girl, laying in the shade of the trees. From afar, he could tell that her hair was deep brown, but with some of its wavy strands appearing reddish in the light peaking through the leaves. She dressed in cutoff jean shorts and a baggy white blouse, a book in the air above her chest as she rested on her back.

Without realizing it, he’d already started to make his way towards her. Whether that meant she was extremely approachable or he just had a burst of confidence, he wasn’t sure.

“What’s that you're reading?” He asked softly, then clearing his voice to hide that it’d just gone up a few octaves.

She sat up slightly, squinting due to no longer being shaded from the sun. Tom couldn’t help staring, in instant awe of her features: heart-shaped face, large rounded eyes, and a sharpened jaw and cheekbones that somehow did not take away from the softness she exuded.

“Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, it’s a children’s series. Just picked up this latest one,” She replied. He must’ve accidentally made a face at her saying ‘children’s series’, because her expression got defensive. “What, think you’re above this kinda book? If you do, I’d challenge you to consider that preferring to spend your time reading the works of nihilistic philosophers does not in fact make you ‘different’ from everyone else. It actually makes you exactly the same.”

Tom’s mouth slightly fell open, but then he recovered.

“Not at all! Sounds great… That’s actually why I came over here, I was intrigued by the cover. It’s a nice change from all these bulky textbooks people lug out here.” Tom said.

She narrowed her eyes and gave a half-smile, like she was thinking ‘nice save’.

Then, she laid back down and covered her face again with the book.

“Nothing wrong with some light reading. I think everyone could get something from this book.” Then, she pulled the book slightly downward, so that the two made direct eye contact. Then she raised an eyebrow, testing him, as she continued, “Besides, I want to start familiarizing myself more with children’s literature. I certainly don’t want ‘lack of bedtime stories’ as a stress on top of all the other challenges I’ll be facing once this baby comes.”

At that, Tom couldn’t help but smile slightly, not because he was laughing at her, but because he couldn’t believe that she went from chastising him in one moment to then revealing such a personal detail in the next. If she was pregnant, she wasn’t far along enough for the random guy coming up to her to wonder about it.

In any other circumstance, Tom may have politely taken this conversation as his cue to go, but for this girl he felt a strong urge to stay right where he was. Of course she was beautiful–and possibly insane–but something deeper told him that it was worth it to not walk away.

Present

Tom smiled as he remembered his first interaction with Maria. From the beginning, she was a flame, beckoning him to stay close for warmth. She was also the tide, sometimes appearing in gentle waves and others crashing passionately against the shore, but always moving in and out of his reach. He hadn’t asked her out, thinking it might be improper without knowing the circumstances of her pregnancy, but looking back he knew from that moment that he wanted to be with her.

Maria never divulged to Tom who the father was, and Tom never asked. The two were inseparable, though platonic, spending every moment not being spent in class or at doctor’s appointments together. When the baby came, a girl named Lila, Maria became more distant for obvious reasons, but Tom never pressed her and was always eager to help when asked.

He got up from the seat of the train to stretch his legs, now blissfully comforted by the memories of the best years of his life. He didn’t mind his lack of control of the current environment. He was along for the ride now.

But the problem with remembering those happy days was always the thought of the painful ones that followed.

A sick child, not even ten years old. A grief-stricken mother. And a now thirty-year-old Tom watching the woman he secretly loved, the woman he would do absolutely anything for, completely lose herself.

He couldn’t bear to let those memories take over. Even if there was some clue to his current predicament in those deeply suppressed times, he would rather never leave this train than to watch a woman without fault suffer the worst tragedy life could inflict.

Eventually, Maria had moved back to Port Huron to be with her family, and Tom searched for work in Chicago. He continued to write her letters, though only a handful were answered, not because he was desperate for a connection with her but simply so she knew he was always there.

At this point, Tom was at least able to confirm that there was no teleportation going on. The sun never changed its position, continuing to reflect off the ocean in the same patterns. He hadn’t taken any of his regular morning medications, not a sip of coffee, and yet he felt completely enlivened. In fact, he felt well enough to walk down the aisle of the train, looking at the constant landscape from different vantage points. When he chose a new seat, this time on the left facing the greenery, he remembered the folded notebook paper he always kept with him.

Maria’s Last Letter:

09/03/2039

My Dearest Thomas,

I must say, I’m grateful everytime I see your name in my mailbox. I was just thinking how pleasantly surprising it is that we can still send handwritten letters in times like these, perhaps for nostalgia’s sake. Or perhaps to give us a false sense of security like they aren’t tracking every pen stroke…

Then I thought, I’m starting to sound like Tom.

I feel somewhat responsible for your lack of romantic success in Chicago. It’s a big city, surely there was someone who could stand to be in your presence? Jokes aside, I’m touched by your offer to come stay in your new home in the UP. I’m so happy you were able to escape the city and get back to the place you call home. The pictures are breathtaking.

Truthfully, every part of me wishes I could meet you up there. Unfortunately, I have become ill and need to be in the vicinity of the University of Michigan doctors (Ironic, isn’t it? I guess I’m no longer a spartan).

If I’m being honest, after all this time… When I picture you on that beach, reading, and looking out at the lake, I can’t picture myself there. It’s always been right, you and I, yet everytime I think we have the timing down, life steps in and laughs!

Something went wrong in my timeline when Lila passed, and ever since I have been out of step. I know this is not the life that was meant for me. So I need you to understand that I am OK with this ending. In a way, it’s a perfect ending to an imperfect life.

Yours,

Maria

Thomas crumpled the already-worn out paper into his fist, angry for letting the emotions come over him yet again. He had written back to her, begging to see her, but never received another letter. Maria hadn’t made it, maybe never even read his last letter.

The comfort of the train started to dissipate. Now he was beginning to feel trapped, the view out the windows starting to feel like a projected facade.

Thomas was completely broken down, and allowed himself to truly feel the pain of his loss. The pain of never truly having her in the first place. The pain of waiting for someone his whole life that would never come.

Suddenly, he felt another presence. A light hand on his shoulder. He quickly turned, and stared right into those familiar brown eyes.

“Now I know I am dead,” Thomas said, attempting to regain composure but having no luck.

Her soft features were impossible not to recognize, even with the pronounced signs of aging. Even with the soft wrinkles along her eyes and the wavy silver hair, he felt the same love for her he always had. The love that was sparked with a simple conversation between an angsty college student and a young mother over a book.

Maria embraced him. It had been so many years since he was able to feel the comfort of that embrace.

After what felt like an eternity, he reluctantly pulled back. “...How? Do you… understand this?” He asked shakily.

“The last thing I can remember is sitting in the hospital bed, and now I’m here with you. And I can now say with complete certainty that all of the pain I faced in the physical world was worth it, to be rejoined with you here.” She replied, putting a hand on his cheek.

“But then…” Thomas tried to put the puzzle pieces together. “That means I died before you?”

“I heard of your death two months ago Thomas, and I truly think that was my sign to stop fighting. My daughter and the love of my life were waiting for me. And now I am happy.” She closed her eyes and smiled. Then, with a sigh, she said “I did get your last letter Thomas and I’m so sorry for not responding… I just have always carried this guilt that me being in your life has caused it to go totally off course. You never found love, never had children of your own. I wanted to give you the chance to mourn me and find happiness in a new place.”

“I would do it again. I would wait another lifetime if I had to,” Tom replied. “But it doesn’t matter now. We’re here together, wherever this train is taking us.”

“I know that wherever we’re going, I’ll see Lila again.”

They sat together, Maria’s head rested on Thomas’s shoulder, as the landscape out the train’s window finally began to shift. The greenery dissipated until water was surrounding them on both sides. The water reflected the sun’s golden rays so brightly until they couldn't tell where the horizon ended and sky began.

“One thing I don’t understand about this…” Thomas whispered. “Why a train? Surely any form of transportation would've fit the… symbolism?”

Maria’s eyes brightened, clearly an idea on the mind.

“Don’t say it,” Thomas chuckled.

“Could it be… a Harry Potter reference?” She glowed.

“God, I hated the remake.”