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Stop 115
I smelled the coal smoke before I opened my eyes. For a moment, I was eight again, in the shop where my grandfather repaired motors. I used to sit by his old stove and watch him work.
“Hannah, what’s the piston firing order of a small block Chevrolet?” he’d ask, and I’d recite, “1, 8, 4, 3, 6, 5, 7, 2.”
He’d laugh and toss me one of the snack-size Hershey bars he kept in his toolbox.
But the lurching and pitching… where was I?
Opening my eyes took more effort than it should’ve. My head felt leaden, leaning against something cool and smooth. Finally, I cracked my eyelids. Scenery whizzed by outside. Lush, green mountains, a clear blue sky… where was I? I couldn’t think. I struggled to raise my head, but it immediately fell back against my seat. Was I on a train?
“I want my mama,” a little voice whimpered and I managed to raise my head to look at the seat across from me. A girl of about four lay on it, sucking her thumb. She seemed as lethargic as I felt. She also looked familiar, but I couldn’t think. My head throbbed, and I felt queasy.
Someone moved swiftly down the aisle. A lady in a bright blue uniform. She knelt beside the girl. “It’s okay, sweetie. You’ll see your mama soon.”
I tried to get her attention. She whipped her head around and I cried out. Her eyes were black as coal.
But I blinked and it was gone. She looked at me with concern in her sky-blue eyes.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“My… head.”
“It’s probably the smoke from the train,” she said.
Then she walked away.
Someone groaned to my right. A blond guy about my age slumped forward. He turned and squinted at me.
“Jake,” I whispered.
“I am Jake,” he said, as if it had just occurred to him. “What–”
“I don’t know.”
He closed his eyes. I remembered him, somehow. A #7 on a black jersey. I pictured him at a locker. Helping me open mine. And I knew without being able to see it clearly that the baseball cap he wore backwards had a Red Sox symbol on it.
Looking beyond him, out his window, I tried to recall where I’d been just before the train.
“I’m gonna be sick,” he said, and struggled to his feet.
He made it halfway down the aisle before the lady in blue stopped him.
“Please return to your seat,” she said.
“Restroom,” he muttered. “I’m sick.”
“It will pass,” she said cheerfully, and tried to pull him back. He shook her hand off and lurched down the aisle. At the end, he disappeared into a door to his left. The lady in blue looked anxious. She glanced at the other passengers, but no one else seemed strong enough to stand. Lips pursed, she waited for him.
Finally, the door opened and he staggered out, pale and red-eyed. He looked annoyed to see the lady in blue waiting. He turned as if to go through the door to another car and she freaked out.
“Stop!” she cried. “You can’t go in there.”
She almost shoved him down in her attempts to get between him and the door. He lifted his eyebrows and held up his hands in surrender. Then he headed back down the aisle. Instead of taking his...
“Hannah, what’s the piston firing order of a small block Chevrolet?” he’d ask, and I’d recite, “1, 8, 4, 3, 6, 5, 7, 2.”
He’d laugh and toss me one of the snack-size Hershey bars he kept in his toolbox.
But the lurching and pitching… where was I?
Opening my eyes took more effort than it should’ve. My head felt leaden, leaning against something cool and smooth. Finally, I cracked my eyelids. Scenery whizzed by outside. Lush, green mountains, a clear blue sky… where was I? I couldn’t think. I struggled to raise my head, but it immediately fell back against my seat. Was I on a train?
“I want my mama,” a little voice whimpered and I managed to raise my head to look at the seat across from me. A girl of about four lay on it, sucking her thumb. She seemed as lethargic as I felt. She also looked familiar, but I couldn’t think. My head throbbed, and I felt queasy.
Someone moved swiftly down the aisle. A lady in a bright blue uniform. She knelt beside the girl. “It’s okay, sweetie. You’ll see your mama soon.”
I tried to get her attention. She whipped her head around and I cried out. Her eyes were black as coal.
But I blinked and it was gone. She looked at me with concern in her sky-blue eyes.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“My… head.”
“It’s probably the smoke from the train,” she said.
Then she walked away.
Someone groaned to my right. A blond guy about my age slumped forward. He turned and squinted at me.
“Jake,” I whispered.
“I am Jake,” he said, as if it had just occurred to him. “What–”
“I don’t know.”
He closed his eyes. I remembered him, somehow. A #7 on a black jersey. I pictured him at a locker. Helping me open mine. And I knew without being able to see it clearly that the baseball cap he wore backwards had a Red Sox symbol on it.
Looking beyond him, out his window, I tried to recall where I’d been just before the train.
“I’m gonna be sick,” he said, and struggled to his feet.
He made it halfway down the aisle before the lady in blue stopped him.
“Please return to your seat,” she said.
“Restroom,” he muttered. “I’m sick.”
“It will pass,” she said cheerfully, and tried to pull him back. He shook her hand off and lurched down the aisle. At the end, he disappeared into a door to his left. The lady in blue looked anxious. She glanced at the other passengers, but no one else seemed strong enough to stand. Lips pursed, she waited for him.
Finally, the door opened and he staggered out, pale and red-eyed. He looked annoyed to see the lady in blue waiting. He turned as if to go through the door to another car and she freaked out.
“Stop!” she cried. “You can’t go in there.”
She almost shoved him down in her attempts to get between him and the door. He lifted his eyebrows and held up his hands in surrender. Then he headed back down the aisle. Instead of taking his...
