"Oh, where these old shoes have lead me!"-- Peter S. Beagle
Baltimore, Maryland, Train station October 1, 2003
Train tracks... They evoke the image of destiny, of purpose, of longing whenever you see train tracks. At least, that's how I've always felt. You know, when you see people in the movies walking down the railroad or following a river, heading to some far off place, maybe even starting some journey, you might feel compelled to take a look at your own shoes and see where they've been, where they might have taken you.
Rachel Tyler felt very much the same way about that sort of thing.
She looked down. Her boots were big and black. They laced up all the way past her ankles and stopped in the middle of her calves. She liked them that way.
Sturdy. Strong. Dependable. So the very opposite of herself. And there was comfort in owning something like that. Something that wouldn't break down or die on you.
"I've been lots of places with these shoes," whispered Rachel, speaking to nobody in particular but herself. The ground beneath her feet was hard and made of concrete. She felt lost and slight amongst the crowd of people waiting for the train to arrive. But the railroad was just a few feet in front of her, and it smelled like iron. She knew the smell very well, and there was comfort in that, too.
In the distance, a giant headlight appeared on the gloomy, gray horizon. Rachel could hear a whistling shriek, the warning that the conductor gave to tell anyone with enough sense not to want their guts plastered to the dining car to move their ass out of the way. Coming from further down the tracks, heading in a straight line now, the sound of rotating wheels, metal grinding against metal, seemed to come nearer and nearer, until it was so close that she could feel a rumbling deep from within the earth. Immense, and completely engulfing her in it's own shadow, the train, big and black and covered with graffiti, came to a agonizingly slow stop, the momentum still pulling it forward, almost tractor-beam like, then spitting it back out, as if the taste of rust and oil wasn't very pleasant. To Rachel, the train looked like a giant monster that had come to eat her up for what seemed like the hundredth time. She had always been running from one thing or another, and this always evoked the image of what a train might look like if it were picking up the lost souls in Limbo, and heading straight toward Heaven or Hell.
"ALLLLLL AAAAAABBBBOOOAAAARRRRRDDDD!"
A series of men flung open a door, one for every car . Same suit, same speech, same old thing. Rachel had been through this before.
A sea of human beings, all different colors, some big or small, short or fat, young or old; they all rushed past her, urgent to get to where they were going, pushing past her and shoving her aside, totally unconcerned with how small she was, how tired she looked, how hungry and afraid she appeared...
She felt so lost amongst the throng, small and windswept in her thick, black coat and pink, button up dress. It was like the movies. So alone here, in the eye of the storm, it seemed, suddenly she was aware of a mixture of envy and yearning while she watched all the busy people rush by, spilling from the station like water bursting from a dam. Some of them had families, others were by themselves. Many even were mothers with little children, scolding them for leaving their parent's sight, urging them to follow.
I wish I had somebody to tell me to keep up right now... I feel like my feet have been bolted in place. I'm so tired of travelling...
A raindrop splattered her nose. The sky had grown dark and cloudy, and she realized that she had quickly become the only person left that wasn't aboard the train. It was just that everyone seemed to have a point they were heading to, a home, a destination. To her, this was just another train ride, an escapist's route, a method of getting from one place to another.
"Hey, lady!"
Lost in thought, one of the ticket holders on the boxcar brought her back to earth.
"You comin' or what, eh?" His voice was gruff and northeastern, and he seemed to assume that she was crazy, judging by the puzzled expression he wore on his craggy face. What was this chick doing, just standing there?
She inhaled deeply and for a long time. Now was not the time to chicken out.
She shuddered, smothering the memories of the man in the flowing, red cape. Looking down at her boots again, wiggling her toes out of nervousness, she mustered up what little strength she had.
At that moment, seemingly from out of nowhere, a little boy emerged from the train, red-faced and crying.
"Can someone help me? I can't find my Mother!"
In his panic, the six year old tripped himself up on one of the steps and fell, hitting his knee on the railing.
Quickly, without even thinking, and being a motherly person at heart, Rachel lifted the child to his feet and pointed toward one of the boxcar windows. There was a woman mouthing her son's name from behind the glass.
"Is that your Momma, there? The one waving at you?"
For an instant, the boy stared into his rescuers eyes as something he could not identify happened, something outlandish and fantastic... His eyes were suddenly dry, and there was no pain in his leg. Then she smiled at him, and he smiled right back.
The ticket holder's eyes bulged out of their bony sockets as the bloody, angry looking abrasion on the child's kneecap melted away. The boy nearly stumbled again, dumbfounded, yet too young to understand the stereotypes his heroine would have be labled with. To him, this was magic.
"Thanks, lady!"
And as fast as he had appeared, the boy got up and boarded the boxcar, looking back one more time, head resting over his shoulder longingly, an expression of pure adoration on his face. He waved good-bye with one chubby, little hand.
I
She squeezed her eyes shut, locked her knees. With another lungful of air, she boarded her ride to safety. She found a window seat, pulled out an apple from her coat, and took a dainty bite, savoring the sweetness of it.
"Holy shit..." The ticket holder gawked at the young woman in disbelief. Had that little boy's knee healed the moment she touched it?
He gulped, and rubbed his eyes.
"Damn... I really must need more sleep."
He laughed at the absurdity of it all, and shut the door. Just as the train began to stir, he heard a voice, a child's voice.
"Momma! There was an ANGEL on the train! She SAVED me!"
The boy displayed his knee like a huntsman would his trophy.
"See there?" He pointed to a barely visible scar, "She made it DISAPPEAR!"
"Whatever you say, dear... But don't you EVER go exploring the train again or I won't take you to your Grandmother's anymore!"
"But Mom, I swear..."
The ticket holder swallowed the lump in his throat. He stole another glance at the supposed "angel" that sat at the very back of the train. She was grinning to herself as she chewed the remains of her apple, licking the juice off her fingers.
He wiped his the sweat off his brow.
"Oh man, I'm seein' shit..." he muttered, then reached in his pocket. "I need a drink."
Baltimore, Maryland, Train station October 1, 2003
Train tracks... They evoke the image of destiny, of purpose, of longing whenever you see train tracks. At least, that's how I've always felt. You know, when you see people in the movies walking down the railroad or following a river, heading to some far off place, maybe even starting some journey, you might feel compelled to take a look at your own shoes and see where they've been, where they might have taken you.
Rachel Tyler felt very much the same way about that sort of thing.
She looked down. Her boots were big and black. They laced up all the way past her ankles and stopped in the middle of her calves. She liked them that way.
Sturdy. Strong. Dependable. So the very opposite of herself. And there was comfort in owning something like that. Something that wouldn't break down or die on you.
"I've been lots of places with these shoes," whispered Rachel, speaking to nobody in particular but herself. The ground beneath her feet was hard and made of concrete. She felt lost and slight amongst the crowd of people waiting for the train to arrive. But the railroad was just a few feet in front of her, and it smelled like iron. She knew the smell very well, and there was comfort in that, too.
In the distance, a giant headlight appeared on the gloomy, gray horizon. Rachel could hear a whistling shriek, the warning that the conductor gave to tell anyone with enough sense not to want their guts plastered to the dining car to move their ass out of the way. Coming from further down the tracks, heading in a straight line now, the sound of rotating wheels, metal grinding against metal, seemed to come nearer and nearer, until it was so close that she could feel a rumbling deep from within the earth. Immense, and completely engulfing her in it's own shadow, the train, big and black and covered with graffiti, came to a agonizingly slow stop, the momentum still pulling it forward, almost tractor-beam like, then spitting it back out, as if the taste of rust and oil wasn't very pleasant. To Rachel, the train looked like a giant monster that had come to eat her up for what seemed like the hundredth time. She had always been running from one thing or another, and this always evoked the image of what a train might look like if it were picking up the lost souls in Limbo, and heading straight toward Heaven or Hell.
"ALLLLLL AAAAAABBBBOOOAAAARRRRRDDDD!"
A series of men flung open a door, one for every car . Same suit, same speech, same old thing. Rachel had been through this before.
A sea of human beings, all different colors, some big or small, short or fat, young or old; they all rushed past her, urgent to get to where they were going, pushing past her and shoving her aside, totally unconcerned with how small she was, how tired she looked, how hungry and afraid she appeared...
She felt so lost amongst the throng, small and windswept in her thick, black coat and pink, button up dress. It was like the movies. So alone here, in the eye of the storm, it seemed, suddenly she was aware of a mixture of envy and yearning while she watched all the busy people rush by, spilling from the station like water bursting from a dam. Some of them had families, others were by themselves. Many even were mothers with little children, scolding them for leaving their parent's sight, urging them to follow.
I wish I had somebody to tell me to keep up right now... I feel like my feet have been bolted in place. I'm so tired of travelling...
A raindrop splattered her nose. The sky had grown dark and cloudy, and she realized that she had quickly become the only person left that wasn't aboard the train. It was just that everyone seemed to have a point they were heading to, a home, a destination. To her, this was just another train ride, an escapist's route, a method of getting from one place to another.
"Hey, lady!"
Lost in thought, one of the ticket holders on the boxcar brought her back to earth.
"You comin' or what, eh?" His voice was gruff and northeastern, and he seemed to assume that she was crazy, judging by the puzzled expression he wore on his craggy face. What was this chick doing, just standing there?
She inhaled deeply and for a long time. Now was not the time to chicken out.
She shuddered, smothering the memories of the man in the flowing, red cape. Looking down at her boots again, wiggling her toes out of nervousness, she mustered up what little strength she had.
At that moment, seemingly from out of nowhere, a little boy emerged from the train, red-faced and crying.
"Can someone help me? I can't find my Mother!"
In his panic, the six year old tripped himself up on one of the steps and fell, hitting his knee on the railing.
Quickly, without even thinking, and being a motherly person at heart, Rachel lifted the child to his feet and pointed toward one of the boxcar windows. There was a woman mouthing her son's name from behind the glass.
"Is that your Momma, there? The one waving at you?"
For an instant, the boy stared into his rescuers eyes as something he could not identify happened, something outlandish and fantastic... His eyes were suddenly dry, and there was no pain in his leg. Then she smiled at him, and he smiled right back.
The ticket holder's eyes bulged out of their bony sockets as the bloody, angry looking abrasion on the child's kneecap melted away. The boy nearly stumbled again, dumbfounded, yet too young to understand the stereotypes his heroine would have be labled with. To him, this was magic.
"Thanks, lady!"
And as fast as he had appeared, the boy got up and boarded the boxcar, looking back one more time, head resting over his shoulder longingly, an expression of pure adoration on his face. He waved good-bye with one chubby, little hand.
I
She squeezed her eyes shut, locked her knees. With another lungful of air, she boarded her ride to safety. She found a window seat, pulled out an apple from her coat, and took a dainty bite, savoring the sweetness of it.
"Holy shit..." The ticket holder gawked at the young woman in disbelief. Had that little boy's knee healed the moment she touched it?
He gulped, and rubbed his eyes.
"Damn... I really must need more sleep."
He laughed at the absurdity of it all, and shut the door. Just as the train began to stir, he heard a voice, a child's voice.
"Momma! There was an ANGEL on the train! She SAVED me!"
The boy displayed his knee like a huntsman would his trophy.
"See there?" He pointed to a barely visible scar, "She made it DISAPPEAR!"
"Whatever you say, dear... But don't you EVER go exploring the train again or I won't take you to your Grandmother's anymore!"
"But Mom, I swear..."
The ticket holder swallowed the lump in his throat. He stole another glance at the supposed "angel" that sat at the very back of the train. She was grinning to herself as she chewed the remains of her apple, licking the juice off her fingers.
He wiped his the sweat off his brow.
"Oh man, I'm seein' shit..." he muttered, then reached in his pocket. "I need a drink."
