The Passenger

The Passenger

           This is my first train ride. A year of firsts. The train has a waiting room quality. A faux modern look. It’s not as noisy as I expected. Quiet conversations around me are welcome distractions from my thoughts. I’m glad I don’t know anyone here. I'm shit at waiting room chitchat. The kind that is expected on long journeys in close quarters. I am grateful to be seated alone. I feel slightly nauseous and want the freedom to get up quick if needed. Without tripping over strangers. A group of girls about my age giggle among themselves. Inside jokes. They wear matching blue jackets with basketballs embroidered on the left shoulder. Some of them braid intricate friendship bracelets. This strikes me as childish. Although I did the same thing myself last year. I take a slow sip of coffee from the travel mug my Aunt gave me.  It is tepid, amniotic. I wince. There’s no escaping irony lately. The cartoon bubble print on my mug reads: It’s not the journey. It’s who you travel with. I wonder what the ride back home will be like. Will I read that message and feel guilt? Relief? Emptiness? I mentally kick myself for lacking forethought. Of course, lacking forethought is the whole reason for this trip in the first place.

           Last minute passengers board. A loud voice overhead issues a warning: “Ten minutes until departure. Please find your seats. Thank you.” I wonder if the voice sounds threatening to everyone else, or if that’s just me. A mother and her toddler sit directly in front of me. I see the glossy back of the mother’s head and the crown of the toddlers. The little girl is about three years old. She scoots over, leaving intentional space between herself and her Mother. “That’s a seat for her imaginary friend, Charlotte, in case you’re wondering” the Mother laughs, craning her head back toward me. “Cute,” I smile. I hope my voice doesn’t sound as harsh and wobbly as it does inside my own ears. Shit. This kid is adorable. It would be easier if she were a holy terror. I can’t stop looking at her. The only thing that could possibly make this day worse, would be if someone I knew showed up. But I’m almost home free. Eight minutes to go. I wonder if I can hold my breath for eight minutes. I get to about forty-five seconds. My temples throb. I feel dizzy and look at the floor, away from the toddler. Suddenly I’m staring at a pair of shoes which don’t belong to me.

           I open my mouth, letting breath in too fast. A rush of oxygen. A release of pressure in my head. More dizziness. Someone is talking to me. One of the basketball team girls? No. A girl I vaguely recognize from work. She hangs out at the diner with my boss’s daughter, Serena. I have served her and Serena a large order of fries every day after school for the last year. Damn. “You O.K?” she asks. “Yeah. Just nervous, never done this before,” I say. This is no lie. “No worries. I’ll sit with you. It’ll be over before you know it,” she says taking the inside seat. Somehow, I doubt that. I’ve heard similar promises before. This day couldn’t get any more awkward. I’ve now got a visual reminder of him, right next to me. His daughter’s best friend. “Haven’t seen you at the diner for a few days,” she says. Great. Small talk. Small talk about work. “Uh, yeah. I quit. Moving closer to the university before the school year starts. There’s plenty of diners to work at there,” I mumble.

           “No shit! Small world. I’m moving too. Right on campus. I was supposed to do a road trip with Serena, but she backed out last minute. Typical… Oh well. Who needs her?” With that, the girl pulls out her cell and starts texting at hyper speed. I’ve known her long enough that it seems rude to ask her name now. I can tell she doesn’t know mine either. I’m just the girl who serves her French fries. Pretty much invisible. “Holy crap!” chatty girl says. “Get a load of this.” She holds up her phone screen for me to read. My breath leaves me for the second time this morning. This time it’s involuntary. I’m on the verge of being sick. I play it cool. I Gulp back the pool of warm saliva that’s collected under my tongue. I read the message, letting it sink in: Some asshole stole the money I saved for school out of my car. I hid it in the glove box last night. Dad is going to flip.  “She’s right you know. No offense, but Mr. V. is kind of a dick sometimes. I’m sure you know all about it,” she says. I shrug, keeping a calm front. How does she know this about Mr. V?  The same reason I know? Probably not.

           I grab my backpack straps tightly and move toward the bathroom. It feels like all eyes are fixed on me. I could swear, these people have laser eyes. They can see inside me to the invisible passenger, and to the envelope containing $235.00, buried deep in my satchel. I feel a full-on panic attack threatening to take shape. I fucked up big time. I was sure it was Mr. Vales car. He must have gifted it to Serena for school. That’s what rich people do. Thoughtful. What a stellar Dad. If there is one thing I did right in all this mess, it was not leaving behind the note. I carefully wrote and rewrote that thing. Agonized over the wording. But in the end, I just needed enough for a train ticket and a clinic fee. I didn’t want to give him anything more. Not even an explanation. Imagine if I had. And if Serena had read it… I can’t let my mind go there. My world shrinks exponentially. Like cell growth in reverse. I wish I could go backwards. Back to being invisible. But I can't, the train is in motion. Forward momentum. The note is still in my bag. I think about shredding and flushing it while I’m in the washroom, but I don’t. I can't risk raising suspicions by taking too long. I rinse out my mouth after washing my hands. And practice an innocent face in the mirror. And before I walk back to my seat, past the sea of prying eyes, I whisper to my temporary passenger: “You’re lucky you get to stay invisible. This will all be over soon.” For the next few minutes of the trip, I stare at the imaginary friend seated in front of me. Fascinated by the kid and her friend, Charlotte. Both of them prove to be good, quiet passengers on this long trip.

           On my second return from the train washroom, Serena’s friend finally tells me her name. She is Chloe. “I’m Jenny,” I lie. “Really? Jenny? What’s your deal, Jenny?” she demands. “I don’t follow,” I say. She holds up my envelope. She's been in my bag. “Why were you going through my things?” I ask. I try to come up with explanations in my head. Something other than the truth. “If you must know, I put a note in there for you with my number and new address. Along with a pack of gum, because obviously, you’re hung over. You’re welcome, by the way... Then I found this. Care to explain?” She crows in a haughty voice. “You wouldn’t understand,” I say.  “Try me. ‘cause I’m calling the cops, if you don’t. And, I know your real name. Natalie. THAT lie is strike one. I also know that this is Serena's cash envelope. I gave her the stationary myself.” Chloe crosses her arms, waiting. “Just read this note,” I sigh, giving up. “But please don’t talk.” “Fine,” she mutters. I can’t stand to watch her read. It’s like watching someone’s face as they undress you.

She reads in silence. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. Her face has softened. “It wasn't my business.” “It’s O.K.” I say. “Wait, who are you calling?” Now I panic. She makes a shushing gesture. “Hi. Serena... Listen. Don’t call the cops. I know who took your money. It was a practical joke. Guess who?” “…Yes, dip shit. It was me. I hid it in the cash register at the diner. Later girl.” She laughs. I stare, confused. “How much, exactly?” she whispers to me. “$235.00.” She begins texting Mr. Vale. Apparently, he is familiar with more than one of Serena's peers. Familiar enough to text. He agrees to put $235.00 in a sea shell envelope in the cash register for Serena. He doesn’t want Chloe calling Mrs. Vale. And he doesn’t want people to know what he’s been up to with teenage girls in the back of his own daughter’s car.

           “Thank you,” I say, still processing what happened. She shrugs, nonchalant. The mother of the little girl turns back to me again. I can tell she's respectfully pretending to be oblivious. She hands a business card to both Chloe and I. Each one has a carefully folded $20.00 bill tucked behind it. “You girls will be hungry after the long trip,” she says. “And if you know of anyone looking for work, I have a diner. It’s very close to the University. I’m always looking for part-time employees. Take care, girls.” She gives me a cryptic wink and turns back towards her daughter, before I can even thank her. As the train slows, the little girl reaches out to me. Her limber baby hand gripping a sticky, half-consumed sucker. “Charlotte wants you to have this,” she says. I take it graciously, feeling the gluey spittle on the stick between my finger and thumb. “Tell Charlotte, I said thank you. That's very nice of her.” I say. The little girl smiles impishly showing tiny, spaced apart teeth, tinted red. I pat the head of the imaginary Charlotte. The little girl laughs in a way that guts me. Overhead a familiar voice announces our arrival. It doesn’t sound as scary as before. Just surreal: “We have arrived at our destination. All passengers may disembark. Thank you for traveling with us.”

           I’ve made unlikely friends, including a toddler and invisible Charlotte. My own unseen passenger will not accompany me on the return. It will be lonely for awhile. Us invisible people notice each other, after all. Charlotte has shown me that. I wonder if one day I will have a toddler with an imaginary friend. I hope so. Not now though. Not any time soon. I was wrong to think there was no way to make this less ugly. I was wrong to think I had to be a solo passenger. Wrong to accidentally steal from Serena. According to Chloe, I was also wrong to low-ball myself. “You could have gone for $500, easily,” she says. I was wrong about a lot of things. Chloe is not the kind of person I would normally interact with, except to serve French fries. But today it's O.K. My appointment isn’t for several hours. Chloe invites me to her dorm. I help her unpack. We eat at Charlotte’s diner. And we talk about light things until it’s time. Chloe laughs at my mug. Surprisingly, so do I. She even offers to keep me company in the waiting room, when the time comes. That would be nice. She is good at waiting room chitchat.