The Ticket

East or west, those were my choices.

Only the Korean eatery’s neon sign and its dark windows broke through the harsh fluorescent lights of the train station’s platform, as the surrounding city had long since fallen asleep. The only other souls out this late were two grackles picking over a discarded fast-food bag, their black feathers turning a luminous rainbow of colors. Turning my attention back to the kiosk's glowing screen, asking how it may help me today. Giving a list of possibilities split up by direction, east or west. Shivering, it was cool for a summer night in Texas. The red neon sign buzzed, flickered back to full life, drawing my attention to the row of dark storefront windows. There, lost on the platform, my reflection stared back at me. Slumped shoulders and looking older than I realized. Studying my reflection for a moment before movement to the right of me caught my eye. Freezing in place, studying the warped reflection of a couple sitting together further down the platform. Abandoning the kiosk and settling on the nearest green metal bench, watching the pair out of the corner of my eye, rooting around in my purse, trying to look preoccupied. The worn stuffed unicorn key fob that had lost its horn years ago, now hanging over the edge of my purse, letting me know exactly where my keys were when I was finished with this petty act of rebellion. Finding only a half-empty Tic Tacs dispenser, the car charger for my phone, a cylinder of pepper spray so old the label had worn off, and a lot of little reminders that my purse desperately needed cleaning. I couldn’t reliably use any of it if someone mugged me.

Glancing up, I had gone completely unnoticed by the young couple, still sitting on their bench feeding the birds. The man was wearing a worn-out brown bowler and a suit of equal description. The woman was leaning forward, throwing popcorn to the pair of grackles, her dark hair looked laminated to her head, pulled back into a tight, dull bun. with makeup meant to be seen only from far away. The pair of them looked as if they belonged to a low-end carnival.

Admonishing myself for the judgmental thought and checking my phone. There was only one text from Steve, my husband: ‘Pick up some milk on your way home.’ That was it. Nothing about whether I was okay or safe, just a reminder. After thirty years of marriage, that was it. He always promised once the kids were gone we would travel or at least do something. Henry, the youngest, left last fall for college. And if anything, we stayed home even more‌. Steve says he just wants to enjoy the quiet for a bit.

A thousand insults and points of argument raced through my head, watching the blinking cursor in the text box begging me to respond. Slipping the phone back into my purse, the unicorn still waiting for a decision, and so was the kiosk's glowing screen.

Choosing a third option, “Are you from around here?” calling down the platform.

The pair, snapping their heads up, looked at me with complete surprise as if I were the one out of place here. Glancing at each other before the young man spoke. “No. Just passing through on the rails.”

“Rail hobos,” the words slipped free before I could stop them. “I mean, isn’t that dangerous?”

The man giving a shrug. “Even crossing the road can be dangerous.” Cocking his head to the side, giving a good impression of the birds at their feet. “Regret is dangerous, too.”

Opening my mouth to argue, and shutting it just as quickly, remembering something my mother once told me, ‘Nothing stings worse than a truth you haven't admitted to.’

The woman, tugging at his sleeve, said something I couldn’t hear, but glancing at me as she said it. Sitting straight up again. “My apologies, have you ever been on the rails?”

“My parents took my brother and me on a trip when we were young.”

The pair of them, looking at me with poorly suppressed amusement, in the same way parents look at their children when they say something dumb.

“We hope you enjoy your train ride,” the man said.

“By the way, what time is it?” This time the woman was speaking with a thick accent that made me think of the Baltic states.

Annoyed at their attitudes, but answering anyway. “Almost three.”

The guy nudging her up. “We should go," tossing the rest of the popcorn, following him. “Ma'am, spaces like these can be dangerous, so be careful," she said.

Catching my purse with my elbow, shoving it into my side. “It’s a tourist town, there are always cops around.”

The Korean sign buzzing again before struggling back to life. Turning back, the couple was gone just as they had come, leaving behind the pair of grackles cleaning up the last of the stale popcorn.

‘Regret can be dangerous too.’ Replaying it in my mind as I stared at Steve's text message. Back in front of the kiosk before I could think, jamming my card into the slot and picking the destination based on the quickest departure time. Out of pure spite, upgrading to the deluxe package with a private cabin and meals included.

The internal arguments started before I even sat back down; I earned that money too. What would Steve say, or the kids? I didn't even have toiletries with me. Checking the ticket for the first time, six hundred dollars plus tax. That was bill money. Scanning further down, to Benson, Arizona, a place I knew nothing about. I wanted to cry. If I get home quickly, I can try to reverse the charge.

Even with the panic of wasting money I couldn’t make myself head back to the car. Ticket in one hand and the keys in the other. I just sat watching the grackles chasing bits of rubbish in the twisting breeze. Picking at a tangled-up bit of string only to have it tugged out of reach by the cool breeze pushing it ferther down the nerrow part of the platform.

Typing in Benson Arasona, the young man's remarks still playing through my head. What an odd thing to throw into a conversation with a stranger. Behind me the sign gave one last buzzing before falling silent. Glancing at it, the red sign was gone, it must have finally given up. Standing and stratching, the train was scheduled to arrive at three fifteen and I really didn't want to be here when it arrived. Down the corridor where the grackles had disappeared was the bright glow of snack machines I had never noticed before. A cement block wall painted white blocked off over half the width of the platform leaving a nerrow corridor pressed against the tracks before hitting a dead end were the machines now sat caged in with metal bars padlocked to the wall.

Reaching them, I was relieved to see they accepted credit cards, looking over my choices. The pair of grackles hopping around my feet were still pecking at the tangled-up string with leaves and twigs caught in the mess. Snatching it up before either of them could get it caught in their throats. Almost dropping it when a stem poked at me. I picked through the mess, trying to free the trapped bug, but I was jabbed twice more for my trouble. Turning it in my palm to face me, if that's what you could call it, raising up on multiple twig legs, a crumpled receipt and a brown leaf passing for a face. Forgetting about the snacks for a moment. The grackles complaining behind me about their promised meal. Carrying the odd thing back toward the platform for a better view. Gently turning it this way and trying to see better.

Stopping short. The only thing that was how I left i just seconds ago was the platform. Beyond the island of cement and steel, the first coloring of morning light was just beginning to warm the eastern sky. Where the row of restaurants and hotels had been was nothing but open fields. The slow-sloping fields stretching out in every direction. Stepping down the tall grass, wet with morning dew, reaching my hips.

Petting the little thing in my hand, it pushed up in response. Wondering further out away from the familiarity of the train station I felt like I had just stepped out into a dream. There shouldn't be sunlight for another three hours.

“I told you.” a loud Baltic accent cutting through the morning air, laughing, the couple was ahead of me by several yards. The woman gave a warm laugh and a slow pirouette, with an exaggerated bow, losing sight of her among the tall grass for a moment.

“Come on, we have ways to go.” Waving me on.

Adjusting my course to theirs for the first time in a long time, something forgotten filling my chest and quickening my stride.

Excitement.