The Suitcase

It’s 2:48 AM and you realize that you arrived at the station over two and a half hours ago. Running away from home always looked easier in the movies, romantic even. A free-spirit, suitcase in hand, ready to head somewhere exotic… or maybe a small close-knit town where you can endear yourself to the locals. Anyway, you don’t have a suitcase and just barely had enough money for the ticket to Sheridan Street. “Not a lot of planning went into this huh,” you say to no one. The air is frigid and the breeze doesn’t make it easier as other trains blow right past and kick soot off the rusty tracks. “Who even catches a train this late?” Just you it seems.

As a joke, you started referring to your knapsack as The Suitcase, even though it has half the space, and none of the stuff you need to actually run away from home. Truth be told, there are only two things in there and they aren’t very pleasant to think about. A chill rattles your spine and The Suitcase suddenly feels ten times heavier, the weight of secrets and cloth nearly forcing your shoulders to surrender. The train can’t seem to get here fast enough.

Thirty more minutes pass by and every exhaled breath has visible air swirling towards the sky as if a portion of your soul is leaving with it. Maybe you’ve drifted off about two or three times on the most uncomfortable bench you have ever sat on, but who’s counting. It’s an architectural affront with its cold metal rungs held together so tight there’s not even enough room to lay on. “It’s probably to keep the homeless people away,” you think resentfully. Of course, it hardly matters though until the turbulent wind picks up to announce the arrival of the last train. The lights gleam in the distance and for some reason, it sounds like the engine is purposefully quiet out of respect for the people sleeping in their homes nearby. “Well, that’s odd…” You leave the thought unfinished because the train is going so fast it can’t possibly stop. It almost seems as if it’s going to tip over the tracks and fall straight into the platform. Without a screeching halt or roar across the train tracks, somehow it elegantly reaches the exact end of the platform as if the suspense was a part of the fanfare.

“Last train, all aboard!” The sound of someone else’s voice is both comfortable and somehow unsettling because it’s the only one. No one gets on or off the train. The voice is distant and you purposefully head to the last car to avoid whoever it came from. Immediately, there’s a scent of pinecones and the sound of soft piano music tinkling over the speakers. The light is so bright against the world outside that you’re almost blinded for a moment and do a double-take to adjust. Something feels strange about all this.

There’s no one else in the car with you which doesn’t make any sense because no one got off either. Nervously, you try to rationalize that no one was probably on this car in the first place because it was so late, but after exploring through the other sections, it dawns on you that it’s just… well… you. The seats are made of red fabric and honestly, it would have been very pretty were it not for the lack of people sitting on them. Eventually, one of the seats looks comfortable enough and twenty minutes of trying to keep your eyes plastered open proves futile.

You’re surrounded. There’s fire all around the house and smoke billowing out the window as the flames lick at your heels. There’s a desperation in your sprint down the stairs and the dampness on your cheeks can be either sweat or tears but it’s too hard to tell right now. The doorknob and the clock are both melting, so you begin to run in any other direction looking for an exit. A quick scan shows there isn’t one, but as you begin to run anyway, you fall over nothing and to your horror, see that your legs have melted off too. The dirt and grime in the air drown out any cries for help, or are you screaming?

“Ticket please sir. Ticket please.” A soft tap on your shoulder pulls you out of the hellish nightmare, but that also means The Suitcase isn’t there. The conductor is obviously surprised by your frantic awakening as you scramble to the floor anxiously trying to find it. To your relief, it fell under the seat and now you’re clutching it close to your chest as if it holds gold.

“Ticket please sir.” Surprisingly, the conductor doesn’t look annoyed, but that’s also hard to tell. White hairs tumble down his chin and cover the rest of his face. Laugh-lines exaggerate his dark eyes, but it looks as though he doesn’t have much of a sense of humor. Grasping inside your worn-out pocket, you magically produce a crumpled up ticket that the conductor briefly inspects.

“Here’s my ticket, sorry for the trouble.”

“Thank you. Are you finding everything alright this morning.”

“Sure, but can I just ask why there’s no one else here?

You realize immediately that’s a dumb question and not something anyone could viably answer.

“I couldn’t say. It’s a bit late for a trip and I didn’t expect anyone except myself tonight. You’re the only person that has got on thus far.”

The conductor, having no noticeable name tag, leans forward and examines The Suitcase inquisitively. It feels as though he’s also judging the owner.

           “Anything in there I should be made aware of” as he points to the bundle.

           “No, these are just some personal things.”

           “I gathered as much. Where are you headed off too?”

“I’m heading towards Sheridan Street and from there, hopefully, a connection to somewhere far."

           “I see. This train goes fairly far itself.” And he takes a seat in front of you.

There are no words for a moment between the only two people on the train before the conductor asks about The Suitcase again.

           “It’s just personal stuff. I’d rather not get into it.”

         “Unfortunately, that answer won’t suffice. I’ll have to take a closer look according to safety protocol. It’s not exactly a sealed bag or case.”

           “Right, of course.” For a split second, you consider running before realizing there are only so many places to escape to on a moving train. Still, a nervous sweat sets in that you figure is impossible not to notice.

           “Here. There’s not much to look at so I’d appreciate it if you were brief.”

He reaches for The Suitcase while still sitting across from you, giving you no reaction the entire time he unstrings the knapsack. Inside, there are only two things: a frayed photo and a metal thermos with a scratched engraving.

           “Hmmm, how peculiar.”

           “I told you it’s nothing much. Can I have it back?”

Either the conductor doesn’t hear this or he simply chooses to ignore you. Looking closer, you recognize a look of deep sadness that flashes across his face. 

           “Is this your family in the photo?”

Most people would be taken aback by such a personal question, but your first instinct is to lie even though it’s innocuous.

           “I’d rather not speak about it Mr. Conductor.”

“You know, I can’t really remember my family either. I’ve spent so long on this train that I can hardly remember what they look like, if I have any left that is. No, I’ve been serving my post for a long time now and haven’t thought about much else. Try as hard as I can to remember but it’s all useless, my earliest memory has only been this train.”

Piano music continues to play over the loudspeaker and becomes especially noticeable as no one talks for a few moments. A feeling of unease slowly ebbs and flows. The train is moving rapidly and you wonder how long it’ll take to get to your stop, realizing sleep won’t be setting in any time soon.

           “Yeah, the picture is of my family,” you say to break the silence.

           “They seem very kind.”

           “They were.”

           “Where are they now?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. They were caught in a fire a few months ago and I have no idea where people go when they die.”

Mr. Conductor doesn’t flinch upon hearing this. The sadness in his eyes flickers away before he carefully considers his next words.

           “Well, then it’s not really running away from home if you have no home to run away from.” It seems like a bit of a dark joke and an especially strange time to add levity. Still, there’s no sense of fear or apprehension in the conductor as he lets the last sentence ring before continuing.

  “I see. Well… that is unfortunate but it doesn’t answer how it happened. And now you’re running away.

Eternity seems to pass on the train and it’s hard to tell how long you’ve been sitting there having this conversation. Somehow, the train hasn’t stopped once and there are no extra passengers. The sun peeks out of the horizon but it couldn’t have been more than two hours since getting on. Sunrise shouldn’t be for at least three more hours.

“To tell you the truth, I can’t really remember how it happened anymore. I just remember being in my home and then sitting in the ashes of it the next.”

“It must have been a long time ago then I presume.”

“I think I said it was just a few months ago didn’t I?”

“I don’t remember you saying that.”

“I’m sorry, do you know where my stop is again?”

“It should be on the ticket.”

Grasping at the red fabric of the next seat, you find that there are only wisps of old paper. Mr. Conductor is still holding The Suitcase, but the items seem unrecognizable now. The engraving on the metal thermos is unreadable. The photograph looks scuffed and scratched more than it was just a few moments ago. Rubbing your eyes, you move down to your chin and feel a new growth of hair. The conductor looks much older than he was when you started talking too. But when did you start talking? It seems like ages ago. The piano music hasn’t skipped a beat.

“I find it hard to remember things here too. Then again, I’ve been here for a long time and I’m an old man now. The only nice thing to do now is to relax at the front of the train and enjoy the view. Would you like to see the front of the train with me?”

“Sure, let’s do that.” You hardly recognize the sound of your own voice with its deeper, yet brittle tone. Looking over at the conductor again, you didn’t even notice that he rewrapped The Suitcase and is handing it over to you again. As you grasp it, it feels like there’s something else in it. Slowly, the conductor stands up and you follow, forgetting about the thermos and photo. The only important thing now is whatever strange item is still left inside.

The walk towards the front of the train feels just as eternal as the ride. Where the sun was just a few hours ago, the moon resides in a pitch black sky.

“Mr. Conductor, how long have we been on this train?”

“I believe it’s only been a few minutes since I awoke you. Then again, maybe I’ve just been caught up in our nice conversation.”

Of course, the conversation wasn’t very nice but you can’t seem to pinpoint what exactly it was about. As the conductor picks up speed halfway along the train, you imagine it was about a fire. In the middle of a brisk jog along the train, the conductor shouts to you but you can’t make out what he says. Immediately after finishing his sentence, he breaks off into a full sprint and you cannot believe how fast a man his age can run. You try as hard as your brittle bones allow but he’s out of sight. Reflections in the windows of the train appear to show a different person running too. The reflection looks older, with a long black beard, and The Suitcase strung over the shoulder. It feels incredibly heavy at this point but the size of the thing inside it feels the same. Heaving from the stitches on your side, you dare not stop because you smell something burning behind you.

Somehow, you’ve managed to carry yourself to the last section of the train where there’s a large brown door with a rusty lock at the end of the aisle. You approach slowly and try the doorknob to no avail. Smoke seems to be coming from the last section and it’s coursing through aged lungs. Meanwhile, the train is heading forward at breakneck speed. Tears are welling up in your eyes as you take a seat and try to unfurl The Suitcase. A red glint catches your eye and you reach for what turns out to be a rusty key. Over the loudspeaker, the piano music stops playing and you hear the sound of the conductor’s voice.

“If you wanted to run away, you’ve chosen the right place.”

The rusty key barely fits inside the rusty lock, and yet it turns smoothly as you consider the different ways in which a fire could start. It feels so long ago but the images of a lit match being innocently thrown into a fireplace keep invading your thoughts.

           “Everything accelerates on the train” the loudspeaker shouts.

The smoke can’t penetrate the inside of the last room. There is sweat or tears or both dampening your cheeks as you peer out the train. It’s moving so fast and doesn’t seem intent on stopping. The reflection in the mirror only confirms what a quick feel of the face does. There’s a beard on this face and its starting to gray. No other memories come to mind and for some reason, you find that a bit relieving as if there are things best left unremembered. There’s a strange knapsack on the floor that looks like it was important at some point. In the reflection, you notice a flicker of sadness before deciding to start collecting tickets for the day.