Train Spirits

She comes in twice a week, always wearing the same uniform. A white blouse with a red collar, a grey skirt with a red floral at the lower hem. Her cheeks are softly powdered and her lips are painted red or pink, which I believe blends well with her clothes. Was this train to Pasadena her only transport?

She likes to sit in the third row, almost upfront, where she can gaze at the sleeping city. Sometimes she scribbles things on the wet window pane, last week she drew a little girl with a question sign over her head.

Sometimes the little girl is walking a dog, flying a kite, or even running beside a brook but always with that question sign over her head.

I have resisted the urge to read her thoughts for many months now, mostly fearing that I might not like what I find, I know I won’t stop until I return a smile to her face.

She doesn’t notice him, sitting across from her, on the other row. He likes her body and her face, but most of all he likes her eyes. They remind him of his Lyza. He wished he could help her, just say hello, then perhaps have a coffee together.

How he looks forward to seeing her every day, and his dying heart craves for one moment with her.

She wiped a teardrop from her cheek, and I struggled once more with the temptation to move forward and see what was inside.

She wiped the other cheek and pulled out a grey hand towel and softly sapped her eyes. I noticed for the first time that her nails were very dirty. Why is that? Where did she work? Why the tears today? Have I seen her cry before, I can’t recall.

Train to Pasadena – Early Evening Train Spirit

The old man notices her tears and his heart saddens.  He wanted to slip in beside her, place her head on his shoulder, and just sit for a while. He does not have much time left. He has smoked one too many cigarettes and there is a small hole opening in his left lung. Soon it would give way, like a dam holding back the waters of a rushing stream.

Yet, he is very strong. He has fought a long battle, and now that he is trying to quit, might just hold out. That is more my desire than his.

She glanced over her shoulders as if she could feel his gaze or sympathy. Her eyes roamed the seats behind her; the twins sitting to her left, one row behind her, hugging and listening to music on a smartphone, a single pair of wireless earphones.

The fat lady filing her nails and chewing away on a gum; the slim lad at the far corner reading a book, so uncommon, but he was reading away through the thick lens that made him look more like a nutty professor. Finally, she came to him.

She lingered there, straightened up, dried her eyes again, then looked at him directly. She seems to read his thoughts, just like I do, but more deliberately. The man looked up and met her eyes, he froze for a second, then lit up his face with a smile.

The white teeth lined smoothly against black, burnt lips. The eyes sparkled blue, even though they were really dark grey, and his brow, the only part of him that remained young, opened with small beads of sweat.

Train Spirits – New Free Short Story

She smiled back.  Her dimples formed slowly and her eyes closed into a wink. She allowed him to bathe a bit longer in her beauty before returning her gaze to the image on the window pane.

There are times when I wish that I could do more than read the minds of the innocents, tonight is one of them. I wanted to prod him, even forced him to go over, greet her, ease her burden for tonight. Make her laugh.

And even as I watched her again, I knew my thoughts and desires were selfish, ego-centric at best. I know that sooner or later I would have to read her thoughts and solve this mystery, and then all hell would break loose, and I would become death again.

The train pulled into the Cross Creek station, and people got up and got off, some, just three, boarded. None of them was on my list and I returned to my angel and her knight.  He got up and went to the bathroom. She watched him from the window pane, now a mirror.

Her pane was still clean, with no image painted yet. The tears have receded and her cheek, once powdered grey, was not stained with a lousy watermark.

He stayed too long in the bathroom. I roamed the cabin with my mind. No pulse. I expanded to the next trailer, no signal. I felt a dry wind bursting from my heart, and I swallowed hard. Did he jump?

I roamed the three carts forward, still empty. This couldn’t be happening. Phil? What have you done? I lowered my head; how could I be so careless?

A lump formed in my throat sending weird sensations to my mind and body. I shivered at the thought of him jumping and my hand closed slowly into an open, unclenched fist. The air grew cold and snowflakes were appearing on the windowsill.

The doorman pulled his cloak about him, shook his head, and wandered off to the next freight. A little girl reached her hand up and touched an almost-formed snowflake.  She is amazed by them. Young, innocent, and beautiful. How long will she remain so? Will I have to defend her one day from perverse men and addicts? How will she face her world?

I took a long breath lowered my hand, and watched as the snow vanished from the windows. Poor, Phil. I will search for him later.  Sometimes I wonder,  just what kind of a spectre am I anyway? Am I just an ordinary train spirit or a mighty angel of death?

I sat down beside her as she started drawing on the windowpane. The hat was always first, then she would add the face, with two beautiful eyes, just like hers. What were the real colors?

Slowly she formed the soft, tiny lips with two tiny dots that represented the nose. Then the shoulders. The blouse would always have an upper collar, but today there was a necklace around her neck, hidden partly by the blouse itself.

Tonight she painted it on the little girl’s chest. There are no signs of breasts in any of the paintings. The child was about nine years old. The necklace had a heart-shaped avatar. There were only four letters I L P B.

What did they mean? I wish I had the talent to connect myself to a computer and search like a machine, but I am limited that way.

She was drawing the tiny hands when we both paused. Phil came over with a bouquet of red roses, he handed it to her, and she smiled and accepted. He almost sat down on me as he accepted her offer to sit down.

I watched as they chattered away like children on their first dates, pointing and blushing and eye-diving the night away. She made him laugh, and they laughed together. I felt good for her.

She had ten miles left to enjoy her night and future romance. She would get off in Pasadena, but tonight, she would leave my train with a smile and I would find some more peace for a while.

She touched his forehead where a firefly had landed, and he smilingly brushed it away. But the fly came back again. It sat on his shoulder this time. She brushed it off and her lips brushed against his.

He warmed into longing and she shivered slightly.  For a moment they eyed each other, then unable to fight the urge, kissed each other.

The train sounded the arriving horn, then repeated it and began to slow down.  He let her and exchanged telephone numbers. She lingered again, looking at him, then at the incomplete painting on the window pane. She bade him goodbye and walked onto the platform, where her taxi was waiting.

I returned to Phil. I reached out my hand and gently touched him. The lady had made him laugh and for all that’s worth it, he was now ready. I felt his spirit warming on the tip of my hand then raising slowly upward. I caressed his painful lungs and helped him let go.

He breathed long and softly, looked at me, and managed a smile. ‘What took you so long? I saw you earlier. Will she be all right?’

I wished I could assure him that she would crossover just as he did, peacefully and smiling. Knowing that there was no grudge, no debt unpaid, and no strings attached that needed loosening. I wished I could. I nodded, and he breathed one last time.

I waved goodbye to his body, still wearing his last smile, carved into his last memory.  I shot upwards guiding his spirit into the Orion belt, where like all free souls, he would meet his maker.

Tomorrow I will be on my train, even though I have no clue where it will lead me. Would I become death, or a friendly guardian, helping the innocent to crossover?