"There you are!" I now heard a voice say over my shoulder as I continued to enjoy the view from the front pilot of the locomotive. "Trying to get into trouble again?"
"Nope," I said, almost with a smile as I now turned my head and looked up at the Conductor. "Something just led me through the train and up here . . . and I'm now glad I came."
"Well, we do want our passengers to have a pleasant trip — a trip that pleases them," he stated with a degree of officiousness, but yet sincerity, too.
"Hey, is that the North Pole over there?" I asked, now seeing a concentration of light ahead but off to the right, amid a sea of darkness and ice.
"Yes, that's our destination," the Conductor confirmed.
"But where are the brick railroad bridges? And the brick buildings?" I asked as the train seemed to start riding upon a viaduct, a bridge that seemed to be made of little more than light itself.
"Things aren't quite so sure, so solid, for the few grown-up passengers we get," the Conductor replied. "Our route and destination reflect that."
"Will I see Santa? Mr. C?" I asked as I now rose and stood up on the locomotive's pilot.
"You will see what you want to here . . . and what you're ready to," the Conductor mysteriously said. "I would choose wisely."
"But sir," he now said, changing tone, "we do not disembark passengers from the locomotive. So, I would please ask you to return to your car, or to any other coach in the train for disembarkation."
"Sure," I smiled as I stepped up to and walked back along the Fireman's catwalk beside the locomotive's black boiler casing as he followed behind me. I climbed up and onto the cab, and then stopped and turned to the Conductor.
"You know," I said to him, "there is one thing I wanted to do on this train. Something I never did. Would you and the railroad mind terribly if I could do it now? I might never get another chance."
For a change, the Conductor actually smiled at me. I was shocked. He simply gestured with a hand, ushering me down into the locomotive's warm cab.
"Steamer," the Conductor now said to the Engineer, "we have a guest, who would like to do something to help out here on the final leg of this trip as we approach our destination."
The Engineer looked at the Conductor, and then at me. Then, he just gently smiled as he rose out of his seat. Gesturing with a hand, he offered it to me!
With a smile I could barely contain, I now approached and sat myself down — in the Engineer's seat of the Polar Express' dark and mighty 2-8-4 Berkshire steam locomotive.
"Feel free to open up the throttle just a bit more," the Engineer coached, "and let 'em know we're comin'."
I reached up in front of me, squeezed the grip on the throttle, and pushed it further forward slightly. I felt the steam course more powerfully through the locomotive as it picked up a little more speed. I then reached for that cord on my left . . . that magic, all-important cord. I pulled it — both hearing and feeling the deep, sweet chimes of the whistle a few feet ahead of me as I did. I pulled the cord several more times, causing the great whistle to give out long, resonant calls.
Nothing . . . no other moment, had now felt so right, so deeply joyful to me in my life.
For some reason, I now felt the doll in my left overcoat pocket again. I looked down and noticed it was about to fall out. I quickly reached down and tucked it back inside the pocket, hoping no one else in the cab would notice. But my left hand lingered on it for a moment, and I looked down at the doll there in my coat pocket. She seemed to be looking up at me, meeting my gaze with her glass eyes.
Yes, I felt inside, this feeling . . . this combination. I couldn't explain it, or what it meant.
"We're approaching our destination," the Conductor observed to the Engineer as he looked out the Fireman's doorway.
"Right," the Engineer acknowledged. "How about easing off on the throttle now and applying the train brake, just a couple notches. Also keep letting 'em know we're comin'!"
I now squeezed and pulled back on the throttle with my right hand, as my left hand pulled the brake handle as I had been encouraged to. I looked out the window as the train now approached what looked to be not a city of brick . . . but a city of light. Pure, multi-hued light.
Structures, even figures — I don't know if they were people or elves, or even memories or figments of imagination — seemed to both emerge and blend back into the waves and patterns of light that were now beginning to surround the locomotive and train.
"What are those? What is all this?" I asked, gently slowing the train further, while sounding the whistle some more as well, almost like a seasoned railroader now.
"They are what you make them to be," the Conductor enigmatically replied again. "Life, even Christmas, can be a little different for adults than it is for children. You get to choose what form, what meaning, it takes for you now."
"If I choose it to be as I remember . . ." I began to say. Suddenly everything around us transformed into the familiar brick structures and warmly-lit windows of Santa's North Pole city that I recalled from my last trip on the Polar Express — right down to the hundreds, maybe thousands of elves, the Christmas wreaths and garlands all around, and the towering Christmas Tree now ahead of the train.
"I'm back!" I almost tearfully said. "I'm back."
"Yes, you are," the Conductor confirmed with a gentle smile. "But come — once you stop this train. There are things here you should see, things that you should experience."
"Of course," I replied as I braked the train to a smooth stop.
"Give one short blast on the whistle to let everyone know the train is now stopped," the Engineer encouraged.
I gave one short, crisp tug on the whistle cord, and was satisfied to hear the corresponding blast on the locomotive's steam whistle.
"Thank you. Thank you all," I said as I rose out of the Engineer's seat with a sigh of reluctance. "This is practically a wonderful Christmas present right here."
"I hope it's not the only one you will ask for," the Conductor responded.
I gave him a quizzical look, wondering what he had meant by that.
"Why don't we just make an exception, and allow you to disembark via the Engineer's ladder here down from the cab?" The Conductor continued, seeming to dismiss the look I was giving him. "Allow me to precede you," he suggested as he stepped out of the cab and climbed down the ladder first.
I then stopped as I looked out of the doorway from the locomotive's cab for a moment. There it was, in all its rich glory, form, and substance — the North Pole, Christmas Town, Santa's City . . . whatever you might want to call it. Each of the many buildings was fringed, even infused with light. Crowds of elves were jumping and tumbling as they gathered around the sky-high Christmas Tree in the city's central plaza. This time, it all was familiar. A return, even a reunion for me.
I couldn't wait to be a part of it all!
Turning and climbing smoothly down the locomotive's ladder, I looked down nearing the bottom only to see myself plant a foot squarely not just on, but through, an elf! He suddenly disappeared amid a flash, almost a puff of light — not seeming to have even noticed me, or my foot passing through him.
"Wha-What goes on?" I asked almost in shock as I now stepped onto the brick pavement at the bottom of the locomotive's ladder.
"As I said, sir," the Conductor replied, "this is not the same North Pole that you remember. If you'll excuse me though, I have some paperwork to fill out while we're here."
"But what do I do? Where do I go?" I asked, no longer sure of much of anything concerning where I was now.
"Explore, experience, realize," he encouraged. "We don't provide escorted tours for grown-ups on these extra runs. It's not part of the package," he said in his clipped, formal way.
"When do we leave? How do I know when to get back?" I asked.
"You will not miss this train, sir," he replied, just inches from my face again. "Unless you choose to."
That last comment sent a chill down my spine.
The Conductor then turned and swiftly went back down alongside the train, boarding, almost disappearing, into a coach.
Hoards of elves continued to walk past me, around me, and sure enough through me, or at least into me, disappearing in puffs of light as they encountered my legs.
"What do I do now?" I wondered aloud, feeling almost lost in a city that no longer appeared as real as I had felt it to be even a few moments ago.
"You wanna get to the heart of the matter? Why you're here?" a now familiar voice behind me asked.
I turned to see the hobo next to me again. I looked down to see that the elves were going around him, and even bumping into his legs with objections like, "Hey! Out of the way!" and "Move it!"
"Want me to get rid of all this?" he asked, seeming to be somewhat annoyed with the elves, and all the other trappings of what we both now knew was a reality that could be changed, practically at will, to suit our preferences.
"No airship and parachuting or bungee-jumping elves this time?" I asked.
"Sure . . . if you want 'em," he offered as he pointed upwards beyond the giant Christmas Tree.
Suddenly, there it all was — the twin-hulled airship with Santa's giant bag of presents, brushing the star off the Christmas tree with elves first parachuting off to lighten the load, and then bungee-jumping down to catch the falling star. All just as I remembered. I thought I could even see my younger self and my friends, peering out from the top of Santa's bag.
"Are 'ya here just to see all that again?" the hobo asked next to me.
"What am I here for then?" I asked, turning to him.
"Now you're talkin'!" he replied with a smile as everything around us vanished into waves of light that looked like the Northern Lights.
Amid the undulating patterns of white and colored light now, I began to perceive vague impressions, feelings, and occasionally brief images, almost glimpses.
"What are these?" I asked.
"A message," the hobo said. "All this is a note . . . for you. Something that someone has long wanted to tell you, but didn't know if you were really there to tell it to, and didn't know if you would ever be ready to receive, or able to accept it. I'll leave you here now. Just watch, listen, and feel . . ."
The hobo vanished. But strangely, I didn't feel alone.
"Hello . . ." another, different voice called out to me. With just that one word, this voice suddenly gave me the warmest, richest, and most moving sensations I had ever felt. That one word from this single voice echoed, resonated, and filled me melodiously, like nothing else ever had.
"Hello?" the now clearly feminine voice repeated, seeming a little uncertain.
"Answer her," the hobo said, suddenly appearing next to me again.
"I thought you said you were leaving me alone," I remarked to him.
"Just trying to help," he assured as he disappeared again.
"You're not there . . . not real . . . are you?" the feminine voice now said.
"Yes," I finally answered, fearful that the voice would drift away, that I would lose her before I even knew who this sweet-sounding essence was. "I'm here, and I'm real . . . well, I come from a real and solid place, Indiana, anyway. I'm from Grand Rapids, Michigan originally though," I added, trying to sound as real and down-to-earth as possible.
"You're . . . real?" the voice replied, its hope and warmth seeming to return. "Really there?"
"Yes," I replied, now feeling an increasingly strong desire to reassure, even comfort the voice, and the spirit, or whatever or whomever she was behind it. "I'm really here. Can I see you?"
"N-no . . . not yet," the voice hesitated amid the waves of light.
"Why not?" I simply asked.
"Because you could not accept me before," the voice said, "accept or understand what I tried to convey to you as plain as day. Not in words, but in every other way I could — smiles, looks, everything. But really, neither you, nor I, were truly ready for it. I'm not all that sure you could accept me and what I want to convey to you now, actually."
"How do you know," I said, "unless you show me?"
"Let me show you . . . what I desire," the voice suggested.
A tapestry of images, sounds, smells, and sensations — all the things I associated with Christmas — began to surround me. There were presents, both wrapped and opened, around a Christmas tree. But strangely, they seemed like just wispy shadows. What seemed the most solid and real of all though was the warm embrace I was suddenly feeling. It warmed me, even melted me, like nothing else ever had. I noticed a sprig of Mistletoe in front of me . . . or was it above me? Suddenly I felt a warm, passionate, incredibly loving kiss upon my lips. It was so wonderful. It brought tears to my eyes.
"Merry Christmas," the voice said, " . . . my love."
I opened my heart, fully now, to what I was experiencing. I returned the embrace that I was feeling tightly with my mind. I felt an arm wrapped around my neck and shoulder, clothed in the softest and warmest sweater I could ever imagine. I felt a warm, smooth cheek pressed against mine, and sensed that my nose was surrounded by some densely curly or wavy, but wonderful hair that had the sweetest scent about it. It all was like nothing I had ever felt before. It was something though I had long unknowingly, but instinctively wanted . . . even for Christmas. Especially for Christmas.
"Would you like this?" the voice asked, seeming to still embrace me, to embrace all that I was. "Would you like this for Christmas? . . . Always?"
I now couldn't stop the tears of joy beginning to flow from my eyes at all that I was feeling and experiencing.
"Yes," I said, embracing the voice — what or whomever she was — back with my entire being. "I want this . . . for Christmas. For always."
"Then wish it," the voice invited. "Wish it with me for Christmas. Please. I need you to . . ."
"I wish," I said with my eyes closed tight as I relished the ethereal embrace I was sharing, "that I have this — that I experience, know, share, and cherish this — for Christmas, and every other day . . . now and always. This is more real, more wonderful than any other gift I have wished for . . . or could wish for Christmas. Ever."
"Thank you . . . thank you, my love," the voiced said, as I felt myself deeply kissed once more.
I didn't want to let go of this feeling — let go of her now. I wanted to experience this, to experience her, and be with it, even a part of it, of her. Always.
Then I heard a steam whistle off in the distance seemingly behind me. "All aboaaaaard!" I also heard the Conductor call in the distance.
"No. Not now!" I said, still embracing the voice, the spirit, with all that I was.
"Don't you want to embrace me as more than just light and sensations?" the voice asked.
"I don't want to lose you. To lose this," I replied, "now that I've found you."
"I know," the voice empathized. "I didn't when I was here, either."
"Was here?" I asked with surprise.
"Remember, you came here alone this time," the voice reminded, "and so did I . . . on a previous trip, as a grown-up. You and I can only feel each other here — across the gap that's between us. We can't be together fully here, as we are right now."
"All aboaaaaard!" the Conductor called a second time.
"What do I do?" I asked the voice urgently.
"Go, my love," the voice warmly encouraged. "Go. Get back on that train. And then get ready . . . 'cause I'm gonna find you."
"How?" I asked, still not wanting to let go of even her ethereal presence.
"No time now!" the voice said urgently. "You have to get back onboard that train before the Conductor yells 'All Aboard' again. Otherwise this, what we're experiencing now, is all we'll ever share. I want more. I want it all . . . with you. Please go . . . and trust that I will find you. Please . . ."
I cried openly as I gently started to let go of her essence that I was embracing. "No," I said. "I don't want to let go of this."
"What happened after Billy let go of his present, and allowed the elves to put it back in Mr. C's bag?" the voice asked. "Go, please. For me, for us, now . . ."
"I . . . I remember that," I said with a half-smile. I took a sad breath, and let go of the voice, of her essence. Suddenly, I found myself alongside the Polar Express again, with the Conductor right in front of me.
"Thought you might not show up. Almost thought you might stay," he said. "Ticket, please."
"But I want to say goodbye," I replied sadly.
"Are you sure you really need to say goodbye? . . . Or, should you be getting ready to say hello?" he asked as he held out his hand for my ticket.
Smiling as I comprehended his meaning, I then reached into my shirt pocket, the one pocket on me closest to my heart, and produced the ticket again. The conductor once again took my ticket, hiding it behind his back as he punched it.
"Thank you, sir," he said as he produced it and handed it back to me.
I looked at it . . .
ACCEPT
. . . the punch marks now read.
"I have an idea of what this might mean," I said to him.
The Conductor now smiled and nodded approvingly as he gestured for me to reboard the train. I paused, looking around me — at the red bricked, festive, and brightly lit city that had appeared around me once more.
"Hurry sir," the Conductor urged. "We still have to get you back, and then make our regular run. You wouldn't want all those young ones to be deprived of the experience you once had, would you?"
"No. But I'm not seeing Santa, Mr. C, this time, am I?" I sighed, reluctantly stepping up the stairs of the train car.
"Who do you think made sure your someone's Christmas wish was conveyed to you . . . and yours back to her?" a deep voice now asked behind me.
I looked around to find the kindly Mr. C on the red brick plaza just outside the train's door where I was. I almost cried with joy when I saw him.
"I will always be real," Mr. C assured, "as real as you'll let me be, inside your heart. But you're grown now . . . and I need your help, to make Christmas real for others — especially for a someone here on my list who has made a special request, a wish that only you can make come true. Not just for one moment, or one day a year . . . but for a lifetime."
"I will," I assured him as the train whistled and began to move, "and not just for her, but with her. I promise."
"I know you will," Mr. C replied as he extended a hand into the stairwell of the car I was in.
Grabbing a handrail with my left hand, I stepped down to the bottom of the stairwell and shook his hand as I tearfully nodded in acceptance of his commission to me. His handshake was firm, and real . . . as real as any hand I have ever clasped. That memory would stay with me always.
As the train started to pull away, my hand parted from Mr. C's, and we waived at, and almost saluted, each other. A magic, indefinable spirit of Christmas, had passed from him to me. I was one of Santa's helpers now — charged with helping Mr. C to spread the spirit of Christmas however I could.
I wanted my own 'helper', too though. But now, I knew I would find her . . . or rather that she would find me.
"Atta boy!" I suddenly found the hobo saying next to me as I finished climbing the stairs back into the train car. He even gave me a surprisingly firm slap on the back. "Here, let's go back into your Parlor Car and celebrate your 'graduation' with some of the finest Irish Coffee you ever tasted!"
"No," I gently countered. "Let's go up to the roof, and sit around your campfire for a spell . . . and have the tap-dancing waiters deliver some good 'ol hot chocolate, right to us!"
"See 'ya up there," he smiled as he vanished, while I proceeded to find the ladder leading up to the train's roof at the rear platform of the Parlor Car.
— — — — —
"Here it all is," the hobo invited as I soon arrived up on the roof of the Parlor Car at the rear of the train.
Not only did he have a healthy campfire going, but the tap-dancing waiters and chefs were all lined up behind him, with an entire urn of hot chocolate among them, and a steaming cup of it already on a saucer, resting on top of a sitting-box . . . all waiting for me.
"We just had to pull out the stops and celebrate in style, my friend," the hobo continued as I picked up the cup and saucer and sat down on the box. "Consider this not just a graduation party, but maybe a bachelor party, too."
"Don't you think you're being a bit premature?" I asked. "After all, I haven't even really met this someone face-to-face yet."
"What do you think . . . really?" he asked in reply. "She allowed you to see into her heart. Right into her heart! I should know. I was there with her on the other side of the light, when she left her message — several years ago now by your calendar. I even encouraged her some, helped her to take a risk, seize the chance."
"Then . . . thank you, my friend," I said as I extended my hand across his campfire. "I, and she, owe you, more than we can ever say."
"Well, you're welcome," he accepted modestly as he shook my hand. "Glad I could help. Glad 'ta do it."
"But would you mind telling me when she left her message," I then asked, "by my calendar."
"That was the problem, as I recall," he replied. "You couldn't take your nose out of your calendar. We even backed this rattler right up to the back of the Options Exchange tower at La Salle Street Station where you were workin' at the time. 'Sounded the whistle for 'ya a bunch of times to try and get your attention that Christmas Eve. But 'ya didn't come down out of that tower."
I looked down as I remembered that Christmas Eve — how I had just lost the firm I was then with over $1.2 million on a stock index options trade, and was madly studying the charts and technical indicators on those options late into the night to figure out where I had gone wrong. I had even fallen asleep at my desk that night, and thought I'd heard this steam whistle, but dismissed it, figuring it was just a nearby factory or power plant I hadn't heard before. I was too stressed, too worried, too sad, to even look out a nearby window and see what was sounding those whistle blasts. I even remembered now hearing the train go . . . letting it go. I so wished now that I had not.
"She was already on the train?" I asked.
"Practically cryin' in my arms," he replied.
I briefly closed my eyes and cringed with sadness and guilt now. "You convinced her to leave the message?" I followed up.
"I convinced her to open the doorway between you two . . . to say hello, even take a risk at beginning to express the deep and long-held dream she had for you and her," he responded. "Took both me and the Conductor, even the Engineer and Fireman, the whole trip up to convince her to even risk saying hello as she did. Teaching her how to really drive the 'hog helped brighten her spirits a fair amount, though. But after she got up the courage to say hello . . . you, and her, did the rest."
I began to smile somewhat now. "Is there anything about her? Anything else, I need to know."
"What do you think?" he asked. "After all, you're the one, besides her, who's most directly involved."
"No," I decided looking beyond the train as it proceeded south. "I'm ready to meet her . . . out there, back in Chicago."
"She's been ready to meet you again, too, for some time," the hobo replied. "Had some rough spots in her life, she's had. She's tough, even a professional, now. She deserves a reward for all that though . . . someone good."
"Like me?" I asked.
"Like you, kid," the hobo agreed. "Just like you. But drink up! We don't have much time. However, we got a whole lot 'a hot chocolate here to finish!"
I smiled now as I took a healthy swig of hot chocolate. "I wish she was here . . . to share this train ride with me," I sighed afterward, looking into the hobo's campfire.
"Take her for a train ride, kid," the hobo encouraged. "Take her for lots of train rides. Especially on trains like this. Trust me, that'll make up for you missin' her rattler, and her missin' yours. Who knows, she might even wanna drive the hog. If so, let her!"
"I will," I promised as I held up my cup in pledge, even as a waiter now refilled it. I will, I vowed to myself.