TrainWrite

A Moon Over the Rails

Peter and his wife Mimi had been riding for the last two days. They were on a train from Los Angeles to New York.

They slipped away from the coast just as the afternoon rush was building. Mimi, who worked downtown, met Peter in the cavernous station still in her work clothes. She looked distraught, dragging her heavy suitcase across the concourse toward him.

Now, it was nine o’clock and black outside and they had settled into a routine which to them was defined only by sitting, eating, and sleeping. Their first night out, Peter felt the train slow, stop, and then sit still on the tracks. There was no sound. He struggled to his elbows. Peter could not see his hand in front of his face. The darkness in their roomette was as thick and complete as a tomb.

“Mimi?”

He looked up at the underside of her bunk. There was no response. Peter tried again, this time sitting up more completely, raising his voice. When he finally stood and reached up to touch her shoulder, he found only a warm spot on the mattress. Peter grew frantic, irrational, caught up in a fear he could not explain. Groping in the dark, he dressed quickly and exited their little compartment. Moments later, Peter found her, wrapped in a blanket, sitting alone in the observation car. The overhead lights had not been shut off completely, only dimmed.

“Mimi, it’s the middle of the night.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m sorry. The motion of the train. I didn’t feel it anymore.” She drew the blanket closer around her.

“I guess it woke me, too,” he admitted.

“Look outside. The moon, the landscape. Look how beautiful it is.” She invited his gaze.

Peter could see the outline of their faces reflected in the cold glass and the little orbs left by the touch of her fingers hovering in front of him. He watched himself sit beside her. Beyond the window a gigantic buttery moon hung suspended over the flat landscape like a brilliant bulb. Despite the black night, there was so much for his eyes to capture that for a moment he saw nothing. Peter had no idea where they were, though there was contrast enough for him to make out a meandering dirt road snaking off into a vast, uncluttered plain. There was a crooked line of telephone poles lining the road to one side. Otherwise, there was not a thing to see.

He curled up to her, listening to her breathe, and for a while, neither spoke. From underneath her blanket, Peter felt Mimi’s hand reach over to find his and they sat there together in the dark. Sometime later, he felt the coach jerk softly, then slowly the train gathered speed, though the moonscape did not change. Peter wondered whether he was dreaming. He didn’t feel awake, but only semi-conscious, afloat in a dream-like void.

Then, quietly, without speaking, as if comforted because they were again underway, Mimi stirred and stood and they went off to bed. Mimi led the way, trailing her blanket like a child while Peter followed, holding on to her in the narrow corridor because he worried she might go back to sleep.

J. R. Rogers has been writing short stories for many years while pursuing an eclectic career in management consulting, aircraft manufacturing, and electronics. His first short story was published in 2011 in Steam Ticket: A Third Coast Review. He has also published two e-book novels, The Counterfeit Consul and Leopold’s Assassin, and is at work on a third. Follow his tweets about books, literature, writers, and writing @authorjrrogers.