"Robert Nesmith?" The conductor asked as Mike stepped into the train.
"Yes, sir," he said quietly, tightening his grip on his guitar case and bag. The conductor smiled at him and punched a few numbers into the machine, causing it to print out a ticket.
"Welcome aboard, Mr. Nesmith," he said warmly, handing it to Mike. "You're in car 5, just keep walking and you'll find it. Four doors down."
"Thank you," Mike sighed and began to try to walk. He was stopped by the conductor placing a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry but you can't bring anything along," he said, gesturing to the guitar case.
"Not even my guitar?" Mike frowned, not ready to give it up.
"I'm afraid so," he nodded. "We can hold onto it if you'd like us to."
"Whatever," Mike sighed, reluctantly handing his things over to him.
The conductor nodded again.
"Welcome aboard."
Mike didn't look up at any point as he began walking to his seat. He knew all the other faces were watching him. "Oh that poor boy," they were probably thinking as he pushed past them, the train beginning to move underneath his feet.
He finally made it to car five and was surprised at what he saw. Three guys, about his age, laughing and playing cards with one another. Nothing like the mournful silence in all the other cars. They all looked up at him and grinned.
"Hi!" One said happily. "Wanna play?"
Mike frowned and walked into the car, taking a seat across from them.
"I thought we weren't allowed to bring any belongings," he muttered, looking at their cards.
"We're not," the blonde one smiled.
"You're not allowed to bring any bags or anything," the first one said with a proud smirk. "They didn't check my pockets so they couldn't stop me from bringing these."
Mike sighed and allowed a small smile of his own to form.
"Why is that?" Mike asked after a while, staring out his window.
"Why's what?" The third asked in a British accent.
"Why can't we bring anything?"
"I think they're worried we'll become too attached to our possessions," the blonde said with a shrug. "I don't know, though."
"'Too attached to our possessions?'" Mike frowned, turning toward them.
"Oh, you missed it!" The first one said happily. "There was a lady in here with us a while ago, they dropped her off and she tried to run back in to grab her bags. They literally had to throw her out!"
"Wow," Mike said, eyes widening.
"Yeah," the Brit agreed. "Some of the people here just don't wanna accept it."
"But some people are allowed to get their stuff," the blonde jumped in. "Sometimes, when it's your stop, they'll let you in the luggage compartment to grab your things before you go. The rest of the time though…"
He looked down.
"You get the idea."
Mike sighed and nodded, pressing his head against the window and looking out. Part of him was expecting to see buildings and trees pass by, but outside was only darkness and a few flashes of light.
"I'm Peter by the way," the blonde said with a slight smile. "And that's Micky and that's Davy." He pointed at the other two who waved when their names were called. Mike didn't answer right away.
"Are you okay?" Peter asked, suddenly concerned.
"Yeah, just…" he sighed. "It's nothing, I'm fine."
"Wanna play?" Micky asked, stacking his cards in a pile and beginning to shuffle them.
Mike sighed and turned his focus back out the window.
"Hey, mate," Davy said, tapping his shoulder to get his attention. "You'll probably end up being here for a long time. Starin' out the window won't do you any good."
Mike looked at them then down with a slight nod. Without saying anything, he sat down beside Micky and was dealt his cards. He didn't know what he was playing and by the looks of it, neither did they. But that didn't matter to them, they were having fun, and all Mike was having was a pain in his heart.
He just wanted to go home.
"Excuse me?" A meek voice said, causing him to look up. Standing in the aisle was a man dressed in a collared shirt and vest, looking rather uncomfortable.
"TOM-MY!" Micky exclaimed happily, jumping up from his seat. The man seemed to loosen up a little but not in a good way.
"Hello, Mr. Dolenz," he said with a sigh, turning his attention to Mike. "I assume you're Mr. Nesmith?"
"Yeah," Mike said, sitting up.
"This is Tommy Matthew," Micky said, draping his arm around the man's shoulders. "He comes in here every now and then to make sure if everything is to our liking."
"Is everything to your liking, Mr. Dolenz?" Tommy asked with a smile.
"No," Micky grinned and Tommy let out a sigh.
"Ah, well, yes. I'll…work on that right away," he said unamused.
"What brings you to car 5?" Davy asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Many people, not even the workers, go to their car often. Mike was the first one in…who knows how long?
"I came here to have a word with Mr. Nesmith," he said. "Am I pronouncing that right? Ness-mith?"
"Yeah, close enough," Mike said, standing. "What do you wanna talk about?"
"I assume you know where you are, yes?"
Mike hesitated. He wanted to confidently say "a train" and move on with it. But he had no idea how he got there. Or where he was going for that matter. He remembered being told that a train was coming to pick him up and he needed to get his things, and then it was there. He looked at all the other faces in the room, and they told him everything he needed to know.
"Yes," he said quietly. Tommy nodded sympathetically.
"The first few days tend to be rough so I came to ask if you needed anything from me right now," he said and Mike squinted at him.
"He's still in shock!" Micky jumped in before he could say anything. "So I can answer for him. He would like large cheese pizza, a dozen root beers, some cookies, a chocolate fountain—"
"And a yogurt parfait!" Peter declared, smiling.
"Yeah," Micky nodded, grinning at Tommy. "And a yogurt parfait."
"I'll see what I can do…" he sighed and made his way out only to stop in his tracks and turn around.
"Mr. Nesmith!" Mike looked up at the sound of his name.
"Do you still have your ticket?" Tommy asked him and Mike pulled it from his pocket.
"Hang onto it for a while," he smiled at Mike. "You see how it says 'departed on' and it's blank?"
Mike looked down at his ticket:
"Robert Michael Nesmith
December 30, 1942
Boarded on: February 12, 1965
Departed on: "
"Someone's gonna fill it out when it's your time to go," Tommy said and Mike nodded, unable to speak.
"Hold onto the ticket, keep it somewhere safe, or else you won't be able to get off. As for you, Micky," he sighed and Micky's grin only grew wider, "I'll see what I can do about the snacks."
"Thank you, Tommy," Micky said. "I love you!" He called out as Tommy walked away, flashing his middle finger at Micky. Mike let out a slight laugh at them.
"In all seriousness, though," Micky sighed, going over to sit beside Mike. "The first few days will be hell, they were for all of us. If you need anything at all, we're here."
"And Tommy can get you stuff from outside if you need that," Peter said with a smile.
"Thank you," Mike whispered, looking down at his ticket. He sighed and pushed it into his pocket, turning to look at Micky. "Think I just need a little shuteye for now."
"Okay," Micky said, standing up and crossing the aisle to the other side. "We'll be quiet so you can rest."
"Thank you…" Mike muttered as he laid down across his seat and closed his eyes, allowing the rocking of the train to put him to sleep.
"SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP US!" A voice screamed, causing Mike to sit up. He looked across the aisle at the others, still playing cards.
"Did you…?" He asked quietly.
"What?" Micky asked with a worried frown.
"N-nothing…" Mike sighed, laying back down and closing his eyes, trying to forget about it.
"Somebody!" The voice sobbed again, and now he could hear footsteps running toward him.
"Is he breathing?" A new voice asked in Mike's head. He groaned and rolled over, squeezing his eyes tighter as he tried to ignore it.
"I-I don't know, it doesn't look like it," she said sadly.
"My friend's going to call an ambulance for you two, in the meantime, I can take care of him."
"Thank you."
Mike could feel hands begin to examine him. He could feel it as someone unbuttoned his shirt and placed something on his back.
He sat up, hissing in pain and rubbing his back. Whatever it was, it stung. Despite the fact he could feel it and knew that someone had taken off his shirt, he was surprised when his hand touched fabric instead of his bare back.
"Just hold on, darling," he could now feel someone squeeze his hand. He frowned and opened his eyes, there was no one there holding his hand, but he still could feel it. "Just hold on for a little bit longer, okay?"
"Phyllis…?" He asked, looking around for her. She was nowhere in sight.
"Hold on," she said, choking up. Then the sound of sirens and running filled his ears. "Help is on the way, Michael," she said. "Just hold on. You'll be okay."
"Where are you? What's going on?" He stood up and wandered around the car. He jumped up nearly ten feet when he felt a hand placed on his shoulder. Mike turned around quickly and saw Micky behind him, smiling.
"You're okay, Nesmith. It's okay," he said comfortingly, leading Mike back to his seat. "Told ya, the first few days are like hell."
"Do you guys hear all that…?" He asked quietly.
"Yeah," Micky sighed. "You learn to get used to it. Besides, most of the noise goes away after the first few days."
"Yeah, they stop talking to ya after a while…" Davy said darkly, looking down.
Mike sighed and brought his knees to his chest. He was still trying to process and take it all in when Peter spoke up.
"But sometimes they stay," he said with a smile, looking out the window. "You'll still hear them every now and then. Like right now…my mom, she's—I can hear her…"
Tears filled his eyes and he put his hand over his mouth.
"She just told me happy birthday…" He said, beginning to sob.
"Oh, Peter!" Micky said, rushing over to comfort him. "It's gonna be alright."
Peter nodded and sniffled, pulling him into a hug.
"I just miss her…" he said with a deep breath. "I don't like hearing her cry…"
"I know you don't," Micky said gently, rubbing his hand on Peter's back. "And it's gonna be okay, you'll see her soon enough. I promise."
"Don't make promises you can't keep," Davy said, looking at them.
"You know, there are times where you really need to shut up, Davy," Micky said, glaring at him. Davy frowned and glared back at him for a moment before letting out a sigh and going toward them.
"Hey, mate," he whispered, putting his hand on Peter's shoulder. "I'm sorry about your mum. Happy birthday."
Peter smiled and wiped his nose on his sleeve.
"Thank you, Davy," he said with a sigh.
"You're gonna be just fine," Micky said. It was directed at Peter, but it was to everyone. "We'll all be home soon enough. Happy birthday, Peter, and welcome to the party, Nesmith."