The Long Way Home

Matthew Jakobs wakes and peers out a foggy window. A van pulls down the alley and he sits up. He’s alone in the car. He rubs his face and opens the glove box to feel around and finds nothing. He shuts it again. He feels underneath the seat and looks behind him. Charred remnants of rubber sits like a gooey mass behind him on the floor. Junk sprawls the pungent mound.

He looks down the alley shaking from the cold. He tries to open the door but it has been crushed in and mangled and it won’t budge. He sees his breath and he stiffly pulls himself up onto the open sun roof and climbs down to the alley. Ahead of him is a cluster of cars through the foggy haze. A murky and pale parade of car lights float pass. He shoves his hands deep inside his pockets searching for change. His shoulders hunch and he walks down the cracked alleyway concrete towards the grey streets. 

A bum tightly bundled in a blanket humps over a cardboard sign asking for money. Matthew has nothing to offer and moves on. Another blind beggar plagued by the cold sits in the vacuous street humming a melody while holding out a tin cup for whatever might fall inside. Matthew eyeballs the hobo. He thinks he recognizes him from the other night but pays him no mind. 

His eyes are drawn to a small unclaimed trolley token next to a filthy gutter and he bends over to pick it up. He crosses the street and steps into an open door of a standing trolley. He eases himself into the cold leather seat and looks out the window as lights come on from the surrounding shops. The doors of the train clatter shut and the it lurches forward. 

Pastel dome lights adorning the boxcar’s ceiling emit a yellow glow. The seats in the front of the street car are vacant and he passes a couple hanging on to the sidebars of the car while gently swaying with the trolley’s gathering speed. With the heel of his hand he clears a small window and peers out the frosted glass. 

He sees passing signs of icy neon that warms his sad countenance. He leans his head against the cold pain watching pedestrians walk from pool to pool of lamplight with trailing wisps of vapor from their breath. He can smell the old metal of the window panes and his head jostles against the cold glass as the trolly slows and moves again.

Cars pass beside with the rumbling sound of tires over cracked concrete. Under billboard ladders there are small clusters of illuminated domes. Light wires run pole to pole and look like sagging black rubber bands. 

His loneliness rolls around his stomach like a ball of gum that won’t digest. A bell rings and the train slowly grinds to a halt. People shuffle out through the folding doors. After they exit, a wet pneumatic hiss clanks into motion and the car moves once again. 

Matthew blinks at houses and domestic scenery. They look like half empty frames set about in a repetitive cycle. Beyond is a house with two faces peering out. Matthew thinks of his family and how his mother’s death hurts his heart. The train swings past a deserted park. He glimpses a shiny mudflat sprinkled with fossilized dog tracks. The trolley goes about rattling down another alleyway. The car pulls to a stop with dimming lights. 

“End of the line,” the driver calls back. 

“That’s fine, I’ll just ride back into town with you.”

“You’ll need to drop another token,” the driver says.

“I thought you could ride as far as you wanted with one token? I already paid you.”

“You’ve already gone as far as the line will take you on this street car,” says the driver.

Matthew rises and makes his way down the aisle. His eyes study the floor for the off chance he finds some change or unspent token amongst the sticky gum wrappers and crumbs of dirt. 

“Listen,” he says, “can’t I just ride on back with you? I’ve got a holiday celebration to attend on sixth street.”

“Looks like you got turned around, that’s where we just came from. But anyway, mister, ride is one way,” says the driver.

“I don’t have another token.”

“You can always throw in a quarter.”

“I ain’t got any money,” says Matthew.

“It’d be a great world if everybody could just ride for free.”

The driver stands up and takes his brown leather bag. He descends the steps of the terminal and crosses the dim weather gloom towards the dispatch office. Matthew sees a few car lights approaching him owl-like through the darkness. He stands beneath a street lamp with his thumb out. In his worn coat he is cold again within moments. With one foot in the gutter the trolley car screeches past and draws away into the cold night.

Matthew grips his thighs through his threadbare pockets and sets along the weedy walkway. The lights of the city glaring in a faint penumbra. With miles to go he keeps his eyes to the ground. He endures the chill under the lonely lamplights. 

He walks out onto a cinder path. He sets out on the road and across a viaduct towards the city. Sprinkles fall from the sky. A dozen or more crows spook and flail above him with a faint rasping sound as their wings clap. He looks down at a black watered creek swirling below. Shards of ice gather in veiny white clusters. 

Matthew moves on towards the city. A colorless winter evening. All things bear the subtle look of old photographs. He moves onto the main road with his shoulders slumped and his hands coddled deep inside his pockets. 

He sees them seated in stools facing out towards the window. They are looking at him and laughing and taking shots. An empty feeling of a loathsome life keeps him from accepting their Holiday invitation. Shame swells in his brain like a bad headache. He fidgets and paces mindlessly without the courage to go in and face them.

“No mistaking you for looking like hell,” says a familiar voice.

Matthew turns towards his jovial brother who reaches in to hug Matthew.

“Look, I’ll skip the pleasantries and ignore judgment,” says John. “Why don’t you come on in? We saw you walking past. Let’s get you some food.”

Matthew trembles from John’s touch and a tear drops from a weary duct. He looks to catch his brother’s concerned glance.

“I just can’t John. You have no idea what I’m going through.”

John draws nearer and once again embraces him. His breath smells of Whiskey and stale cigarettes.

“It’s the holidays brother. We all miss her too. We all understand.”

Matthew begins to cry.

“Hey man, it’s going to be okay. We’ve all missed you. Come on now. Let’s turn this sad battleship of a life around. Now give me some love.”

With tears in his eyes, he has none to offer and he enters the bar. He breathes in his cupped hands and takes a stool, wiping his wet frozen cheeks. They are silent for a moment until John raises a glass.

“Back together again,” John says.

Matthew cracks a faint smile.

“Better late than never,” he says. 

They set their glasses down and rally around Matthew with a big welcoming hug.