Off the Tracks
We get off the train because there’s something going on in the station—nobody will tell us what, we just go up the stairs and into blinking light, where police cars are waiting at the curb. A cluster of fifty of us (former) passengers hang out on the sidewalk and watch the blue lights. Folks get out cell phones to call family. There are so many people to tell we’re okay, we’ve just been delayed for some reason.
I think about calling you, or texting, but you might still be mad at me and I’m trying to find better words to explain myself. I don’t want you to worry more than necessary.
I’m not worried, just frustrated and anxious because we don’t know what’s going on. Does someone have a gun? I hear it could be a bomb threat. Is it connected to that shooting yesterday in some other state across the country? Something needs to be cleared, cleaned up, but it’s stopping us mid-life on our way home from work.
There are many reasons why people get stopped mid-life, and it’s usually not their fault.
I was going to start making dinner when I got home, but you might need to do that now.
The ambulance shows up and we still don’t know what’s happened. We’re tired, this guy keeps sneezing, and a bunch of us bless him repeatedly. We all need a blessing. I feel bad for the lady wearing high heels who teeters around and looks pained. We’re a confederacy of stranded folks having a Monday, but I want to get home to you and confront the current crisis since I was thinking about what to say on the train before we were stopped.
I have nothing to write my thoughts on save the back of a receipt which isn’t good for anything confessional, just “I’m sorry,” which doesn’t say much. I want you to know this is heartfelt.
We still don’t know what’s wrong with the train, so we keep murmuring about bombs and guns and things that have occurred on subways elsewhere. Could they happen here, too? I want to think not. I don’t live in a bubble, but with probabilities. This probably isn’t anything that bad. But what if it is that bad? When will we know? And what should I write on the back of this receipt? I don’t know if I should be sorry, and how to explain that to you. I’m sorry enough for the back of a receipt and maybe more. How much sorry do I need to fit into my body? There are many kinds of sorry, like sorry to be standing outside the train station when I should be getting home and starting dinner.
Outside the station we hear a flitting rumor that someone is on the train tracks.
I imagine that someone is a dragon. It might as well be for all the police that have collected and the stations that have closed across the line. Why do I want there to be a dragon on the tracks? That is better than a sad person. How do you make a sad person on the tracks not sad? How do you remove a dragon from the tracks? My answer to each would be the same. I don’t know. How would you counsel a dragon? Would it depend on the size of the dragon?
Is the dragon sorry for something, or is it tired of being in the world like maybe this person on the tracks is tired of being in the world, like sometimes I am tired of being in the world and want to evaporate. Wanting to evaporate is not the same as actively stopping myself from being in the world. It is evaporating, which is different.
I want you to understand the difference, since you’re upset with me. Evaporating is not the same as leaving you. Haven’t you ever wanted to evaporate, like this dragon that is sitting on the tracks? I should walk down to the tracks and sit by the dragon so we can share our problems. The dragon might have a better idea about what to write on the back of a receipt besides I’m sorry, since I need to apologize for making you upset. I didn’t mean to do that.
I don’t know how to live with a sad person. I don’t know how to live with my sad self. I imagine walking back into the station, down the steps, and lowering myself to the tracks so I can talk with the dragon. I’ve always imagined dragons as being a bit insecure and anxious. They pillage towns, burn people and houses, collect gold, then go sit on the gold forever. There’s something wrong with that. I could make analogies to CEOs and capitalism, but that’s a different story. This is about sadness.
Remember the song “Puff the Magic Dragon”? It’s a children’s song but quite sad, about a dragon who loses his only friend when the kid grows up. A lonely existence, being a dragon. People don’t believe in you, or they’re scared of you, and you spend all your time sitting on your gold. Fucking boring.
I don’t blame the dragon for sitting on the tracks. Maybe they hope they would disappear before the train ran into them. Puff, the magic dragon. No more dragon or sadness or anxiety or what to do tomorrow or how to solve problems. No feeling overwhelmed when you read the headlines. No anger or disbelief, just puff into nothing. Maybe nothing is soft and dark and warm.
Hello, I say to the dragon.
I didn’t mean for them to stop the train. I’m sorry. I don’t want to disturb people, says the dragon.
I was trying to figure out what I’d do when I got home, I say. This gives me extra time.
I don’t want to go home, says the dragon
Me neither, I say. I don’t know what to say to the person I love the most in the world.
This is true, and I should probably tell you and not the dragon.
They think I don’t love them, I add.
But you do? says the dragon
Very much, I say, but sometimes I get sad and snippy and quiet. You can love people and feel despair at the same time. Sometimes, on good days, I’m so hopeful for the world. That keeps me going for a while, but it fades and I get sad again. I think about disappearing.
We pause and sigh.
Are there people who would miss you? I say.
Are you asking you or me?
Both of us, I say. We can’t be here forever. The train must run. We must go up the stairs and back to the platform.
I know, says the dragon, who takes my hand as we walk along the tracks.
Sometimes it’s good when I can focus on my tiny life and my tiny job and not feel so sad, I say, but there’s so much I leave out so I can keep going.
If your tiny life gets you through the days, sometimes that’s okay, says the dragon.
I’m sorry for scaring you.
I love you.
Is that enough for the back of a receipt?
I still don’t know, but I squeeze the dragon’s hand once more as it lifts me off the tracks.
END
Teresa Milbrodt is the author of three short story collections: Instances of Head-Switching, Bearded Women: Stories, and Work Opportunities. She has also published a novel, The Patron Saint of Unattractive People, and a flash fiction collection, Larissa Takes Flight: Stories. She is addicted to coffee, long walks with her MP3 player, and writes the occasional haiku.