Aside from the tea
the hot soothing tea
a kind of scorching bitterness
was searing
inside of my stomach
the bitterness, like a sore bump on the mouth,
kept me awake at night when I was supposed to be tired

having not gotten the preferred eight and surely not come close to the long sought after nine
hours of sleep, having only gotten the feared six hours  
you can imagine how tired I was supposed to be and perhaps
that is what put me in the searing sauce-pan bitter mood

it was a bitterness infused with guilt and disdain for oneself
and I will admit that only once.
Here’s another thing, too, for anyone who is not a semi close friend and who cares to know
I don’t feel like answering any extra questions that I don’t need to answer because guess what
I might not be in the mood to talk to people that day, especially (I might add) if they are the people who sit at wooden desks with folders of paper and decide whether I might remain at the university.

Yes, I want to glide through unnoticed.
No.
I want to glide through noticed only for my achievements.
My perceived achievements.
No.
My earnest achievements.

I simultaneously try to follow the most convenient path while being exceptionally **** about being exceptional.  Grade cards, capital letters A-F.

I want to be more extreme,
be more *****-nilly with the lexicon, the language,
and say that I am experiencing sheer disgust.

It’s a disgust that prefers to be left alone.
A disgust that yearns for some company, but upon being
surrounded by that company, prefers to be left alone.
But after being left alone, wonders what it might have been like
had it stuck around for a couple more minutes.
I am experiencing the after-effects of dizziness right at this very moment.

It is an uncomfortable and shifty way to live.
An uncomfortable seat on a mode of public transportation,
that’s where I’m sitting and I’m in a fine mood otherwise,
just very shifty.  The shiftiness of it all makes me wonder
whether some of the other passengers may have more comfortable seats.
I think to myself, I think, gee, that person looks awfully comfortable.
I am unlucky.
But then I look again and notice that they couldn’t possibly be completely comfortable,
because the seat has a visible deformity that certainly prevents them from being comfortable.
So it’s okay,
and I feel better because of it.
It’s disgusting.

I harbor this kind of attitude and then what happens is
the fellow passenger exits,
leaving me with the opportunity to test out their seat.
Ah, from afar the seat looked splendid.
Plush, really.
But then I sit down and after a couple of seconds (that’s all it takes)
I realize that sitting in the new seat feels exactly like seating in the uncomfortable seat.
I had thought awful thoughts over at my first seat.
I had thought, perhaps if I criticize the other passenger in regards to the seat (that seat makes your outfit look all wrong...the way you seat in that seat, it’s just kind of, I don’t know, the lighting is off) that they might get up and leave the seat.
But then I sit down and realize that this seat is really no different than the first seat.
I’m just a little kid.

Janie pushes the metal book cart back into its parking space in the Document Delivery Department of the St. Louis Public Library and hangs the last sticky note for October 30, 2012 on the wall by the head of the department’s closed door. She retightens her brown scarf under her chin, tucking the wispy hairs above her ears back into hiding. Having your hair begin to prematurely gray as a teenager has dramatic effects on a person. Her mother wore scarves around her wrists when Janie was growing up and when Janie begin to wear scarves to conceal her salt-and-pepper hair, her mother just smiled. The clock hanging on the wall above the children’s section reads 11:28pm.
Two more minutes.
She reorganized the pens and books on her desk and set the box reading NOTES onto the right corner or her desk with three blue pens and a stack of note cards. Her coworkers learned fast that Janie does not like to talk. She does not like eye contact. She loves the silence, and never ever to ask her about her hair. Her manager gave her the NOTES box after about a month of horrible miscommunication and everyday it fills with requests for books or tasks that Janie has to complete. She completes the tasks one by one, alone, in her back office in the Reference Department and hangs the completed sticky notes on the wall by her manager’s door. She works the night shift and locks the library up every night. When she’s alone she can talk out loud to herself and those are the only voices she cares to hear.
“Goodnight, books. Good night, rooms.” Janie shut the heavy wooden door to the library, placed the color-coded keys in the front right pocket of her jacket, and began her walk to the bus stop one corner away. She avoids the main road, taking her first right onto a side street that she knows would spit her out right beside the bus stop.
“Goodnight Taco Bell Sign. Goodnight Rite-Aide. Goodnight Westside Apartments. Goodnight Jack-o-Lantern smile.” She stopped in the middle of the alley and peered up at the Jack-o-Lantern grinning down at her from the third story window above. “Mother wouldn’t’ve liked your smirk, Jack. She would’ve slapped that **** right off your face.” Janie, satisfied the pumpkin was put in its rightful place, smiled as she trotted on.
“Mother carved smiles into her arms and that’s why Daddy left, it is, it is.” She kicked at a crushed Mountain Dew can as she remembered that night from years ago.

“Mommy?” Janie pushed opened the door to her mother’s bedroom and saw the moving-boxes torn open and all their contents scattered across the floor. She tiptoed through piles of scarves and silverware and corkscrews until she reached the bathroom in her mom’s room.
“Come to us like rain, oh lord, come and stay and sting a while more, oh lord…” her mother’s voice was slipping off the tiled bathroom walls. Janie pushed open the door and saw the blood for the first time pouring from her mother’s wrist. Her mother was naked and perched on the bathroom sink, singing to a red razor blade.
“Mommy?”
“GET OUT!” Her mother jumped from the counter and perched on all fours on the floor. She began to growl and speak in a voice too deep to be coming from her own throat.
“Mommy! It’s Janie!” She began to cry as her mother, still naked and bleeding, twisted and writhed onto her back and began to crawl towards the door that Janie hid behind.


“Thirty-Three percent, dear. Just a thirty-three percent chance.” She shivered trying to clear the last memory of her mother with the words that all the shrinks had echoed to her over the years. “Schizophrenia is directly related to genetics, little is known about the type of Schizophrenia mother was diagnosed with except that it is definitely passed on genetically. But, there is only a thirty-three percent chance you could have it, dear. Thirty-three percent.” The sound of the bus stop ahead reminds her it is time to be silent again.
“Disorganized Schizophrenia.” She mouthed to herself as she stepped back out onto the busy street from her alleyway. She tightened her scarf and saw the bus pull into the pickup spot. She walked forward to the bus, again immersed in her self-imposed silence.
Stepping out of the February cold, Janie removes her wool scarf as the bus doors close behind her.
“Where to baby?” The driver smiles a sticky smile. Her nametag reads, “Shannon” and has a decaying Hello-Kitty sticker in the bottom left corner.
“The Clinton Street drop.” She hands the driver her $2.50 fare and avoids the woman’s questioning eyes. The night drivers are always more talkative, curious.
“Your ticket hon.” She tears Janie a ticket stub. “Everything is pretty dead this late, I’ll have you there in ten minutes top.”
Janie begins to shuffle towards the seats, ignoring the woman.
“You mind if I crank up the music?” The bus driver asks, purple fingernails scratching in her thick blonde hair. “I need to keep my eyes open and blood flowing and music is my fire of choice you know?”
“Sure.” Janie shrugs her bag onto her shoulder and walks on before the woman can say anything else.
“Route E-2, homebound.” Shannon’s voice crackles over the loudspeaker.
She shuffles down the bus towards her usual seat; second from the back right side.  Shannon starts the bus rolling before she reaches her seat and Janie can hear her singing along to “Summertime” by Janis Joplin. The bus floor, today, is sticky because of the morning rain. Two years of riding public transportation has taught Janie that staring at the floor as she walks to her seat is better than the risk of making eye contact. The bus is usually empty this late but if there ever happens to be anyone else on, it’s better not to converse. Safer that way.
She plops into her seat filling the indention that ghosts of past passengers left. The seat is still warm and Janie squirms around until the stranger heat is forgotten. She tightens her scarf and sighs. The brown pleather seatback in front of her is peeling towards the top. Janie leans forward and idly picks at the scab-like dangles of brown as she watches the sodden city canvas roll past her out the foggy window. As she picks, the hole grows. She twists and digs her unpainted nails into the seat until her hands feel wet, warm. Looking down, they are covered in blood and mud.
“What. The. Actual. ****.” she whispers, wiping her hands on her pants leg. She cautiously picks off another piece of pleather and a trickle of deep red begins to run from the seat back, clumps of mud now falling onto her knees. A puddle of blood and mire splatter down her legs and pool around her feet as she picks at the seat. Her white tights are definitely beyond saving now, so she digs faster until her thumbnail catches on something, bends back, and cracks. She gasps and withdraws her shaking hand, watching her own blood mix with the clotting muck in the seat, half of her thumbnail completely stripped off.
Looking around, all else seems normal. The driver is now muttering along to some banter by Kanye West, completely unaware of Janie’s predicament. She closes her eyes.
This is a dream, this is a dream, wake the **** up.
She opens her eyes to see the pool of filth around her feet trickling towards the front of the bus. Panic sets in with a whisper, They’re going to think it was you, your fault, you’ll be thrown in jail.
“But I didn’t do this.” She lashes out to herself. “I didn’t hurt anyone.”
Next stop, E-2. Shannon blares on the intercom.
“It’s just a dream, get your **** together, Janie.” She laughs at herself, manic.
Prove it! Her subconscious screams.
Convinced to end this moment she has to continue; Janie plunges her hand into the pleather grave one more time. Frantic and confused she laughs as she digs, spittle of muck splashing on her bus window.
Faster, faster, faster.
Deeper, deeper, deeper.
Realer, realer, real.
Wake up, now!
Then, as the bus slows, one last chuck of mud splatters to the floor and Janie sees a pink piece of her thumbnail stabbed into the white of a bone in the bottom of the seatback pit. Her white Ked’s were becoming so red they were almost black. She pulls her knees up to her chest and begins to rock back and forth. Clenching shut her eyes she begins to hum. Janie’s sweet soprano harmonizes with the buses deep droning purr, their wet melody interweaving with the driver’s alto and Lil Wayne’s screech made her feel dizzy as the bus turned right.
She take my money when I'm in need
Yeah she's a trifling friend indeed
Oh she's a gold digger way over town
That dig's on me
The bus slows to a stop and the bass is shaking. Janie is cold. She slowly peeks out of her right eye, expecting to be instantly immersed into the same dismal scene. The seatback is whole again. Releasing her knees, her feet fall back to the floor and her shaking fingers stroke the solid pleather.

“Ma’am? We’re at the Clinton Drop.”
Janie hurriedly picks up her bag and flees down the aisle to the bus doors.
“Everything alright, dear?” The bus driver asks, smiling.
“Fine, just fine.”
“You be safe out there tonight. The night is dark and only ghouls stroll the streets this late.”  Shannon laughed as Janie’s jaw dropped. “Happy Halloween, dear. It’s midnight, today is October 31st.”
The bus doors opened and a cold wind ****** the warm bot-air surrounding Janie into the streets. She begrudgingly followed, her mind spinning as she stepped onto the pavement. The doors slammed behind her and she turned to see Shannon pull out a tube of lipstick and smear it, red, across her cracked lips. Shannon made a duck-face in the mirror and reached down to crank up the music as loud as it would go. The bus exhaled and rolled forward, leaving Janie behind as it splashed through the potholes.
She surveys the surrounding midnight gloom and the street is quiet and dark. Even the stars are hidden behind swirling clouds. She begins to hum, hands in her pocket, and shuffle towards her apartment.
“Goodnight, stars. Goodnight, street.”
As she approaches her single-bedroom apartment, digging through her coat pocket for her keys, her thumb pulsates. She grasps the keys and pulls them out as she steps up to the apartment. Sticking the cold, silver key in the lock she looks down at her thumb and in the shadows of the porch sees half of the nail completely missing. She laughs as she pushes the door open to her bare apartment, light flooding out. Without any hesitation she closes the door behind her, sheds her clothes, and slips onto the mattress in the corner of the room gripping her thumb tight. She reaches out for the glass of milk on the floor beside her bed from the morning and it’s still cold. Nursing the milk, surrounded by blankets and solitude, she reminds herself,  “Only a thirty-three percent chance. A nice, small, round number. Small.”  
She sets down the empty glass and curls into the fetal position under the heavy blankets, pointer finger tracing circles on her thumb. Only when she has heated her blanket cocoon enough to feel safe does she remove her scarf and allow her thick white hair to fall around her face.
“Goodnight, room. Goodnight, mother,”

Mmmm
That dress brings out your eyes
Mmmm
You're the one who lights up my life
I wanna take a drive
With you at my side
Let's take a drive
Just you and I
Take control of my stereo
Let's go somewhere beautiful
Because girl you know
That you're beautiful to me

Who would have thought
you'd be the girl
To fill the front seat
Let's take a ride
Out to the meadow
Down to the beach
Doesn't matter where we go
So long as it's you
Next to me
Riding front seat

Girl put your hand in mine
When I look over at you
Can't help but smile
It's cute how you sing along
to every song that comes on
Pretty sure that you
could do no wrong
And I want this moment to last forever
This is where I'm happiest
This is where I feel I should be
What does it matter
All that matters is that you're with me

Who would have thought
you'd be the girl
To fill the front seat
Let's take a ride
Out to the meadow
Down to the beach
Doesn't matter where we go
So long as it's you
Next to me
Riding front seat

And I'd drive 1000 miles
Just to see you smile
Yeah I'd drive a thousand more
Just to prove
that you're the girl that I adore
Windows down, hair flowing in the breeze
Look any more beautiful
and I'll hardly be able to breathe
You're everything to me
And it completely seems
You've unchained my heart
Oh free to fall in love

Who would have thought
you'd be the girl
To fill the front seat
Let's take a ride
Out to the meadow
Down to the beach
Doesn't matter where we go
So long as it's you
Next to me
Riding front seat

You're the release that is need
You helped me to see
Those good things will come,
To those who wait
Thought my fate
Was to grow old alone
But now I know
Life was just waiting for the right time
To bring you into my life
And I've opened up my heart
To let your light shine in
To let you show me how to love again

Who would have thought
you'd be the girl
To fill the front seat
Let's take a ride
Out to the meadow
Down to the beach
Doesn't matter where we go
So long as it's you
Next to me
Riding front seat

Every moment is perfectly worth it
You're showing me, it's okay
To trust, it's okay to open up
And as we sing along to the radio
I feel that you know
My heart only beats for you
Your lips are all I want to kiss
It's all these thoughts
That make moments like this
Absolute bliss
And I never thought
I'd deserve something like this
Yeah, girl, you're perfectly worth it

Who would have thought
you'd be the girl
To fill the front seat
Let's take a ride
Out to the meadow
Down to the beach
Doesn't matter where we go
So long as it's you
Next to me
Riding front seat

©2017 Written By Benji James

I'm on a train.

One of those red ones with black trimmed windows you can imagine rolling through the suburbs on the way to NYC. Not a subway car but a classier vintage with proper rows of cushioned seats and a lever to pull if there is an emergency. There are sparse shrubberies on one side of the tracks and the ocean on the other. Young trees and bushes stroll by.  A little wind is pushing off the ocean, massaging the car ever so gently back and forth as we move along. A gentle click-clack is on the tips of our ears.

We got on together. I hadn't known you for very long but the connection was stronger than anything I had ever felt or have since. You practically sat on top of me for the first few miles. Couldn't keep your hands off me,  staring in my eyes like you were searching for something lost but you couldn't remember what. The edges of your lips turned upwards permanently as if you were always at the verge of a laugh. You interlaced my fingers with yours and held on like you would be ripped away if your grip loosened for even a second. Slender fingers holding so tightly that they were becoming red.

You were excited to to be riding with me, about where we were going and all the things we would do when we got there. I would see you peer out of the corner of your eye, then lean over to brush your soft cheek against my budding stubble. Kissing and gently biting my lips insatiably. The suns rays coming in at an angle and lighting up your perfect smile and dimple.

I had to remind you we were in public.

I was lost in your blonde curls and the incense of your neck. I had fallen incredibly hard and so fast that my face hurt from smiling and my heart beat with vibrations I had never known. Not even a whiff of anxiety or neurosis. Some of the best memories of my life, as fleeting as they turned out to be.

I yawned and you put your finger in my mouth. I bent over to tie my shoe and you would poke my **** and laugh with your own reflection in the window, like this was the first and best joke of all time. Maybe it was and maybe it is.

The waiter came and informed us that a thing called "the bar car" existed. We both jumped at the idea. I didn't exactly notice at the time, during our excitement, but that's when the train started going faster and everything out the windows began to blur.

The bar car was a wild ride and we took advantage of our lo'cal. All kinds of fine wine, liquors and illicit substances were available. We tried them all. You were beautiful, your laugh infecting everyone around you, I was charming and held a captive audience.   It was a dark, loud and glorious blur. We were the life of the party and it chugged on till dawn.

We woke up in our seats, disheveled and discombobulated. It was dark out already. Did we sleep through the entire day? The train was slowing down, maybe approaching a station. The party was amazing but we were certainly paying the price for the black out. You moved over to the seat across from me to have some more space and lay down. I saw myself in the reflection. My hat, charm and smile from the night before had vanished. I must have left them in the bar car the night before.
      You had changed, beauty uninterrupted but different somehow. I couldn't put my finger on it. Irritated maybe? I invited you to cuddle and battle the hangover together but you ignored me. Like you couldn't hear me or didn't want to. I decided to let you be.

I got up to use the bathroom and thought I would go look for my scattered belongings. Maybe I could find a scrap of leftover dignity while you rested. I inquired to the conductor who directed me to the bartender in the bar car. He hadn't changed a bit, somehow untouched and unaffected by last nights antics that had effected me so dramatically.  Same black suspenders and white pressed shirt with impeccably slicked hair. I asked him what happened and if I had an open tab. While slowly polishing a rocks glass he looked up and made eye contact for a split second before looking away.
He said:  "Oh the bar car takes its toll. In the end we all end up paying one way or another". I still don't know what he meant by that or if he knew.
      I asked him if he found my hat and he said he would check the camera. We walked in to a small back room, while he was reviewing the tape, over his shoulder I noticed a tragedy.

We were drunk. I was going on to a group of new friends on one side of the bar, they were hanging on my words and I was eagerly explaining whatever nonsense they were drooling over. You were in the corner wearing that red dress I love, with your hair up in a tight bun. A few curls had escaped and brushed your high cheekbones, a thin line of pearls dancing delicately across your perfectly symmetrical collar. You were stunning and inebriated, swaying with each bump and motion of the train. A man wearing my hat put his hand on your side to keep you from swaying over and then he left it there.
I took a sharp breath.

It looked like you put your hand on his hand to move it but then it stayed and you both swayed together. As the air left my lungs and the blood drained out of my face I watched your lips touch the strangers. A small piece of my soul slipped away forever. I couldn't watch any further. When I asked the bartender how long it went on he fidgeted for a moment and uncomfortably muttered "quite some time". I never found my hat or the other part of me that left that day.  

The train slowed. I walked to the back, as far away from you as I could get, in utter disbelief. How could you? I thought to myself.
I mourned the loss of the you as I knew you yesterday, quietly and to myself. A tear  escaped my eye and rolled down my now fully formed stubble as I fell in to a random seat in mild shock. There were a few passengers back there so I had to pull together relatively quickly. After gaining some composure I knew it was time to get off. I knew we could never get back to yesterday morning though I would have said or done anything to do so.

The train had stopped. I went back to my seat and you were sleeping. I took my coat and gathered my things. The conductor looked at me confused as to why I would leave something so magnificent, I assume he had no idea what had transpired.   

I walked to the rear of the car and slid the door open slower than required. I stepped to the stairs and put one foot down on the step and the other on the ground. I stopped, rooted with my hand on the railing, lingering between two very different paths.
     I knew that it was time to get off, I knew this was the sensible thing to do, that I couldn't get past this offense regardless of how I had felt earlier the day before. The whistle screamed from the locomotive. The conductor looked at me and shook his head, I'm not sure if he was trying to tell me to stay or go but a decision had to be made.

The train lurched forward and I watched as the station slip away slowly. I sat in between the cars for a while and watched the ocean and birds. With a heavy heart and shoes I walked back to my seat. You were waiting. Crying. You knew. The bartender had told you. You didn't mean do do it, didn't realize what you were doing and thought it was me. He was wearing my hat and the whole world was blurry and dark.

I believed you. Self anguish mixed with alcohol was dripping from your pores. I knew you didn't mean it and were drunk, but could I ever forgive you or trust you again?

I loved you still.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection, a weaker version of myself looked back. As if an invisible chip in my teeth had developed and my shoulders lowered. The charming, confident man from the bar car the day before had been replaced. Something was off but not enough for anyone else to notice, just enough to know a change has happened.
       The train started to pick up speed again as we distanced ourselves from the station.  I second guessed my decision to stay but I didn't look back.

I found the man with my hat and punished him with a few blows in the dark. He knew he ****** up, apologized and took the beating like a man. I never got the hat back.

The engineer announced that we would be going through a tunnel soon and to turn on our lights and keep our hands in the windows.

It would be dark.  

We stayed away from the bar car for a while but the draw was irresistible. After a few hours we were there again but you never left my side.  Then you did. I was looking for you but you would disappear and not answer me when I called you name. The tunnel went deeper and darker and I didn't know where you were and I suspected you liked it that way. The train began to slow down again as we exited the tunnel.

I finally found you back at our seat, you had moved one row away from me. I asked you to come back, tried to hold your hands but you pulled away with vehemence. When I came back from the bathroom you had moved another row farther.
I knew I was losing you.
I begged you to return but you told me calmly that it was time for you to get off. At some point in the tunnel you had decided that you didn't want to go anymore . Your mind was made. You were going to catch another train at the next station.

When the train stopped I thought for sure you would reconsider but you didn't. Didn't even give it a thought. You just grabbed your coat and hat with one big bag under your arm. You kissed me on the cheek like a french stranger and were off. Going somewhere else on a different train. Just like that.

I rode the rails for quite some time by myself , many people getting on and getting off, passing me by. Every once in a while I would think I saw you at a station or in a **** though the window of another train. I often thought I could smell you but when I breathed deeper it was always gone. A ghost dancing on the edge of my senses.

A young girl in a headband got on the train. She was listening to headphones and dancing to herself as she bobbed along. She sat down in the seat next to me flashing a smile. She had a wedding ring on and I dismissed her immediately.  She didn't move from the seat or stop glancing my way. Eventually she confessed that she wanted to talk. I told her I wasn't interested but she persisted.  I hadn't talked to anyone on the train for quite some time and after some more mild persistence, I gave in.

We had a lot in common. We were both riding alone, desperately wanted attention and were thrilled to receive some.  After a few laughs she slid her hand in to mine and interlaced her fingers. I left it there. It was warm, comforting and wrong. She was married but I had been riding alone so long it felt good to have some company. She stayed and we talked. She was broken and I had a knack for fixing things. After a few hours of dramatic conversation I fell asleep with her head on my shoulder.

When I woke up  the train was flying up the track on the side of a mountain. Trees and rocks were a blur of green and grey. The engineer must be trying to make up for lost time I thought to myself.

The girl was asleep with her head on my lap. I looked down at her hand and the rings were gone. I woke her briefly to ask where they went. She said she didn't need them anymore and had thrown  them out the window.  She could of sold them, I said, but she said she just wanted them gone so she could be mine and fell back to sleep.  All of a sudden I couldn't breath. This train was roaring down the tracks, the once gentle click clack had become a loud hum. Suddenly too loud. This girl in my lap who had just gotten on the train wanted to stay. I considered her for a while as she looked up at me with big blue eyes, shining and wet, like a puppy in the shelter, terrified of rejection and desperate to be adopted.

At the peak of the mountain, just when the train began to even out, you waltzed back in to the car with a champagne flute in one hand and your bag in the other.

I don't know when or where you got back on, must have been a few stations ago when I stopped looking for you. Maybe you were wearing a disguise, who knows what you had been up to while you were gone. I'm not sure how long you were away but it was quite some time. That you had been through something was obvious, a new wrinkle had formed on your brow and you're once confident stride had changed to a cautious stroll. What actually happened out there I don't know.  I never asked and I don't want answers.

You looked at me and smiled. It was good to see that smile, like sun on my face on a brisk day.  You took a step toward me and then I looked down in my lap at the girl at the same time you did. I looked up. You and your smile were gone.

Everything I had begun to feel for this broken, head banded girl in my lap dried up like a puddle in  the dessert.  I quietly and gently nudged her awake and told her I had to use the bathroom. She put her head down on my coat and fell back into what ever trance she had been in, eyelids gently fluttering, eyes searching beneath them for what I would never give her.

I dashed up the isle and threw open the door, almost shattering the glass. The conductor glared at me and rolled his eyes as I barged past to the space between the cars.

There you were. Standing on the stairs with your head out the opening. The wind was blowing your perfectly formed curls around your head like a blonde explosion of familiarity. I yelled your name and you dove in to me. My senses erupted, my mind went numb as the train was nearing another station and I inhaled your essence greedily.

We moved to another car. I abandoned my coat with the married girl and never looked back. I hope she found what she was looking for. I  never could have been the answer she was so desperately seeking but I know I  helped steer her towards it.

You told me you had encountered some other people out there on the rails and they had reminded you of what we had when we first left the station. I never forgot.  

The train started to rock and get going again. We were back in the bar car and starting to brown out. We had to get off of this train right ******* now. In a desperate moment we looked at each other and put our hands, together, on the emergency brake cord. I looked in your eyes with your hand on top of mine. You kissed me while yanking down on the cord. Time slowed, the breaks squealed and everything exploded throwing luggage, people and the entire contents of the bar car in to a nondiscriminatory chaos . We got up off the ground, ran to the end of the car, dove off the side in to a soft patch of grass and rolled down a small incline. We watched as the conductor sifted through  the mess and interrogated the passengers, trying to ferret out the party responsible for pulling the brake. He spotted us off the side of the tracks and shook his fist while shouting every conceivable obscenity combination.

We laughed, held each other in the grass and kissed deeply.

We watched the train pick up speed and disappear in to the hills as relief spread over me.

You interlaced your fingers in to mine and we both looked out to where the tracks disappeared into the horizon, wondering how far of a walk it was to the next station.

I want the seat closest to the window.
Boat, plane, bus, passenger seat
Ma'am if you don't mind,
could you please scoot down
while I take my seat.
My feet are tired.
I have been standing on this concrete all day.
Almost sleep on my feet,
The same problems exist at the front of the bus
just as the back.
If you could see past me, you'd see.
Yet you turn your nose and grab your purse.
All I want is a seat to rest my feet.
Lay my head back and dream.
I don't want to wear your chains today.
The chains used to justify what you see on the news.
How you can't see anything past me.
How you've wrapped me in chain from shoulder to feet.
You don't try to hide your look,
I can feel the heat on the back of my neck.
How you pick and choose what you like,
There is no difference between you nor I,
Except color,
Other than gender.
You watch me from the corner of your eye while I take my seat.
There once was a time when I'd have no choice but to sit in the back.
Now that I take my seat in the front you move to the back
A look of disgust across your face.
Boat, plane, bus, passenger seat.
Ma'am if you could,
would you please scoot down
While I take my seat.
All I want is a seat beside the window without having to explain why
I want to sit this close to the window

Hello there, I’m Heidi.  I’m 17 years old but I’m no longer alive.  I was 16 years old when I died.  It’s been a year since I’ve breathed the earthly oxygen.  The air up here is so much fresher than down there.  It’s quite unbelievable.  If you listen closely, I’ll happily tell you my story even though it’s not very happy.  If you're emotional, please take a moment to make sure there's a box of tissues handy, because by the time I reach the end, you might need some.  I’m just letting you know.  It’s not a happy ending.  Anyways, have you ever fallen in love?  Not the kind of love that you confused with the real kind.  I’m talking about true, heart pumping love.  The kind where you'll do absolutely anything for, anything in the world.  Even if it kills you.  The kind that if it starts slipping away, you'll do whatever it takes to hold it together.  You’re probably asking yourself, "16 and in love?"  Yea.  Well, here is my story.  
It all started with the day Sammy’s dad got a new job out of state.  We lived in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania for as long as I could remember and her dad's new job was all the way over in Long Beach, California.  "This can’t be happening," I thought to myself.  "How will I survive without Sammy?  She’s literally my life, the air I simply breathe every day.  She’s the only person I fully trust with my whole heart.  She’s the only person in my life worth talking to.  She’s so incredibly sweet, the sweetest girl I’ve ever met.  She doesn’t judge, she doesn’t cause any trouble, she’s real down to earth, well put together, and smart.  Everything."  It seemed too perfect, almost dream-like.  You know, the dream that you never want to wake up from.  Well, there I was living it and I didn’t ever want to wake up.  
People use to call me "The Dreamer" because I was always in a great mood.  I was always smiling and taking big risks.  I only took those risks if I absolutely thought it was worth it.  Which most of the time I thought it was.  In my opinion, I thought I was too positive but not cocky.  I was definitely not cocky at all.  I was simply positive and cheerful and constantly trying to cheer everyone else up.  Especially Sammy, I secretly thought that I had super powers.  I somehow summoned a power deep within myself that could make real smiles appear on people’s faces.  Real smiles!  The ones that create a bundle of energy instead of taking it away.  You know, fake smiles, they are forced as a result of wasted energy.  The only thing better than real smiles are real laughs.  My energy comes from laughs and smiles from other people.  When I created laughter and smiles, my energy level would rise to the top of the meter and I would be confident about everything.  I would feel indestructible, and nothing could ever hurt me.  So I thought.
When Sammy and I said our goodbyes that day, I surely didn’t want that to be the end.  I didn’t want that moment to be the last.  So I promised her that I would look for her in the future and we could get back together.  We’d keep in touch everyday with texts, calls, and the internet.  She got on the plane and that was that.  I didn’t cry.  She didn’t cry.  Until our backs were toward each other, then I couldn’t hold it.  We knew we’d see each other again and we were sure of it.  She knew I had a plan up my sleeve and that I was going to make sure everything was going to be alright.  Trust, number one thing in a relationship.
The next day I couldn’t stand it.  I couldn’t put up with the empty feeling anymore.  She wasn’t physically here.  I missed seeing her face, her smile, and her eyes.  I missed her laughter and her hugs the most.  My energy was dying.  So I thought up a scheme and I was going to follow through with it.  I called her up and told her that I was coming to see her.  Soon.  
I searched all my drawers and pockets for all my money.  I was going to have to be able to afford a one-way plane ticket and maybe a hotel if Sammy's parents wouldn't let me stay with them.  I wanted to plan for the worst just in case.  I wouldn't want to show up with no money and assume they'd let me live with them.  What if they wouldn't, then I'd be *******.  So after a while of looking around, I came up with 510 dollars.  Enough for a plane ticket and a cheap hotel for a few days.  I’ll have to find a job for sure.  But first, I'd have to go online and find the cheapest airline to use.
I picked out a few sets of clothes and fit them into a single bag.  I didn’t want anything slowing me down.  I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving or where I was going.  Besides Steve, my neighbor, I got him to drop me off at the airport.  We waited in line to buy a ticket to the first flight to California.  Fortunately, the soonest one was in a few hours and there was still a few seats left.  He walked me to the security check and then they wouldn't let him past without a ticket, so he wrapped his arms around me gave me a tight squeeze and he told me that he'd miss me an awful lot and if I ever needed any help to just call him and he would help out as best he could.  Which made me feel a ton more relaxed.  He had tears in his eyes when we separated.  I remembered saying, "I’ll text you when I get there."  I assured him that I would be just fine and he had nothing to worry about.  I also thanked him for being such a great friend.  He really was and always will be.  He stood there as I attempted to walk away, but then I turned and had to go back for another hug.  Then I was sure I was ready to go.  The second attempt to walk away was more successful than the first.  I felt him watch me the whole way till I turned the corner, out of his sight.  
I sat in the terminal for a long time, analyzing the room.  I remember that there was a cute little blonde girl with her dad, a guy with a mysterious black hat and matching trench coat, a tall thin girl with a guitar, an average looking group of 20 year old guys and a few old women.  Those were the only people that stood out, there was many more but I don’t particularly remember them.  After a while, they started calling seat numbers that were allowed to board, starting with the back.  My ticket said that I was seat number 22.  When they called 20 through 30, I got up and found my seat in the big jet.  The butterflies in my tummy are as hyper as possible.  I imagined myself with a butterfly net trying to capture all the fluttering creatures inside me so I could release them on the outside.  They were all crammed in there, fighting each other for space, and it was an unbalanced feeling.  I put my bag under my seat, sat down in seat 22 and decided to make a quick call to Sammy.  I told her I was on my way and I should be there in a few hours.  She sounded extraordinarily excited which made my heart pound.  She made the violent butterflies stop their fighting.  She also told me that her parents agreed to pick me up at the airport.  How nice of them!  Then a lady told me to get off the phone.  I thought it was rude of her to say that to me, but I don’t like making people mad, so I listened to her.  The thing I remember the most is when I told Sammy that I love her, with honesty in her voice she said it back.  Then I hung up and then I finally turn my phone off.  As soon as everyone was in and completely ready, a woman’s voice spoke on the income system.  She said something about there being flight attendants going around checking everyone’s bags and seatbelts to make sure they're secure.  There was the sound of my pulse in my ears and it was louder than anything else.  It was difficult to catch everything she was saying.  I buckled my seat belt but I left a lot of room for movement.  Before I knew it, we were up in the air.  Then I closed my eyes and that’s all I remember.  Don’t ask me how I fell asleep.  All the excitement must've made me exhausted.
The next thing I know, all of a sudden, I was thrown from my seat and I hit my head off the window and it sent sharp shooting pains through my nerves.  Everyone gasped at the same exact moment, and I had no idea what was going on.  I don’t think anyone did but I think we all knew it wasn’t good.  The feeling was like standing in an elevator, having the cables snap, and being dropped from 100 stories high.  Only it was a million times worse.  I was being thrown around everywhere.  I couldn't hold on or even fight back.  Everyone was in mad panic trying to grasp anything near to sturdy themselves.  I managed to get a glimpse out the window to see the clouds shaking.  That told me that the plane wasn’t working right.  Something absolutely horrible was going to happen, the feeling was so strong.  I heard a loud click and then a thud and I caught a glance of the little blonde girl across the aisle from me get hit in the face with a huge metal suite case.  It hit her so hard that it knocked her clear out of this world.  She fell limp and her head lay still on the floor, blood oozing out.  The puddle started streaking toward me, it told me that the plane was tilting or rolling over.  I noticed that her dad wasn’t around.  I stumbled across the aisle and held her in my arms.  I remember my vision being really blurry probably from tears or the plane shaking, or both.  I patted her cheeks to try and wake her, but she was out.  I held her tight and quickly took the time to look around for help but then realized there was no help.  Every ounce of calmness was clearly gone.  I set the girl in the seat and buckled her in.  I wasn’t sure if that would do anything but it seemed like a good idea.  The plane stayed tilted on its side then shook and it literally felt like an earth quake.  My stomach started twisting; the nose of the plane was dipping forward.  I took another look out the window.  My head was spinning, thoughts scattered everywhere.  Everything was moving way too fast and I couldn’t keep up.  I couldn’t concentrate or focus on anything.  I stood up and that was it.  After that, everything went black and then a bright white light took over.  Eventually something happened and I was floating above looking down.  It was a horrid sight, everything so lifeless and dead, unmoving.  Besides for the flames, they were more alive than anything.  Smashed metal, sparks and fire, soundless noise, and in the middle of nowhere, what was going to happen to all these bodies?  
Later, I somehow channeled my sight into a different location.  It’s been hours later and I saw Sammy and her parents in the airport.  They were anxiously waiting for my plane to arrive.  Little did they know, I wasn’t coming.  Hours and hours passed only making them more and more worried and confused.  I felt horrible.  I wish I could send them a message from up here.  They went to look at the departure and arrival screen and there was no time recorded on the screen for the flight they were looking for.  It was completely wiped off the board.  Her dad led them to the main desk to ask the man behind the counter if the plane had arrived yet.  A sorrowful look fell upon the man’s face.  He blinked away tears and you could tell he was searching for the right words to say.  He started to open his mouth but then failed to force words out.  He swallowed a gulp of air and he shook his head.  Something turned all their attention to the 40 inch flat screen on the wall where there was a lady reporting “heart breaking news” about a tragic accident.  He pointed Sammy’s attention to the television behind him, although she was already deeply fascinated.  The news reporter explained and then there were live videos being shown from a chopper that was looking down at the accident.  Sammy cupped her hands over her mouth.  Tears immediately leaked down her face.  Her parents were crying too.  Sammy collapsed to her knees.  I felt like I was standing right there watching everything but I couldn’t feel my feet.  I floated over to Sammy who was sitting on the floor with her face buried in her hands.  Her mom knelt next to her with her arms braced around her.  I waved my arms and shouted, "Look I’m right here!  Please stop crying."  But no one saw me or heard me.  I went over to Sammy and tried to grab her face to make her look at me, but I couldn’t feel anything.  I looked down at my hands and they were transparent.  I panicked and I knew this couldn’t be happening.  But it was.  I was dead.  
I channeled into another location, my house.  My parents were watching the same news channel but they didn’t know I was on that plane.  They didn’t know I was missing.  They didn’t know I was dead until weeks later.  When I didn’t come home that night, they called the cops and sent out search parties.  Whelp, they found me.  They identified my body in the plane.  My parents didn’t believe it because they had no idea how I would've got on the plane in the first place.  Then when they brought my body back to bury it, it was proof to them that it was fact me.  I absolutely hated watching everyone cry.  I hated that I couldn’t do anything about it.  Everyone that I left was left in silence.  I at least got to tell Sammy that I love her.  I got a last hug out of Steve.  Those were the most important people in my life.  I couldn’t feel worse at this moment.  
I felt like I was doing the right thing, chasing my dreams.
The dreamer thought she could fly.

THE FERRIS WHEEL

I’ve always trusted machines, especially big ones. Like the ones at the annual county fair held at the Oklahoma City fairgrounds. After 2 weeks, the closing ceremony was always held in the main bull riding arena with a captivating routine performed by Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. Even their dead horse was on display throughout the whole time of the fair. His name was Trigger and he was stuffed. Roy Rogers was so in love with Trigger that he couldn’t go on without him. So he had him stuffed and carted him around whatever circuit they might be on. It was a sad but interesting display. But now he had a new Trigger and new tricks which were somewhat entertaining.

In the fall of 1971, upon this particular day Matt, a friend of mine and I convinced my little brother Wayne to go on the biggest ride at the fair, the double Ferris wheel.  It was a Ferris wheel shaped like an 8. The two wheels were loaded one after the other. As the seats were filled the ride would continue going up, up, and up then reaching the apex of two circles, sitting in a little grated seat, held in by a bar that locked you in at the at the beginning of the ride. When you reached the top it felt like you were riding a cloud. Going over the top of the Ferris wheel was an unimaginable thrill, it was built to guarantee a belief that you would in no way survive. Then you would swing back and forth, waiting for the other circle of seats to be filled before the real ride began.

As Matt and I got into our seat, Wayne hopped in next to me. We heard the clangs of the operator shutting the bars over the riders locking them into place. But when we got to the operator, the familiar clang was more like a clunk. The bar had not latched. We were not locked in. Now in the back of my head I took this in, but I chose to ignore it. We went up a little higher as other patrons were clanged tightly into their seats. Then as we went up, people started getting bold, swinging their legs, rocking their seats like a swing chair. After moving up about 80 feet, Matt began to swing ours. ”This is cool, huh” he said, trying to hide any little creep of fear. “Yeah, this is really great”, I agreed. But I didn’t do anything to cause the seat to rock anymore than it already was. Wayne was silent, his eyes clenched shut.

All of a sudden, the whole apparatus raised us up into the atmosphere. I swear we were at least as high as the tallest building in the Oklahoma City skyline. I could tell Matt was truly scared and he had quit rocking the chair. That didn’t matter. One last jolt threw us over the top and the “safety” bar swung wide open, out and away before coming back slowly to rest on our laps providing no safety whatsoever. After the bar swung out a couple of more times I was convinced we were going to fall to our deaths and become county fair legends. All three of us clung to the grated back of the seat, our fingers drained of blood by holding on so tight. We came down three times past the operator of the Ferris wheel before we got his attention. But Wayne was clutched so tightly to the back of the seat; you couldn’t have separated him with a paint scraper. He would have died there had we finally not gotten the attention of the operator and the operator’s boss.

It was becoming apparent that something was dreadfully wrong, so the ride slowly and painfully came to a stop. Passengers at the top were swinging their seats unaware of our impending death. Finally the double wheel cranked our seat to the exit platform. We couldn’t speak. The breath was out of us. Yelling at this time was impossible. Everyone remembered Wayne. He was white as a ghost and his lips were blue. He had clutched so hard to the back of the seat the whole side of his face was imprinted with the grate. I found this very curious. There was a pattern similar to a waffle imprinted from his forehead to his chin. He was still white but the lines in the imprint were deep red. His eyes remained closed until I was able to convince him that the ground was 2 feet below him. Finally he let go, and all three of us were pried from the seat. The ground never felt as good as it did that day.

We were still crying and shaking when the Manager of the fairgrounds arrived and removed us to the calming area which also doubled as the baby animal petting zoo.  We sat down in the petting area allowing the straw to dry our pants as all three of us had literally peed in them. As our pants became drier, we became a little calmer and we began petting baby lambs and chicks.   Then I looked across the way at the oddities booth. I had been in there that day. They had all sorts of gross weird things in there. I was fascinated. Some of the exhibits were pickled and some were still living.  I saw 2-headed babies in pickle jars and a calf with a leg sticking out of its forehead. I didn’t even want to think about that now. Too late. I bent over and puked so hard my eyes bulged.

you could get caught up in all that nonsense like you wanted to, or you could just jump right into the fray like you did last night--the choice is yours, but you shouldn't mistake one for the other: the former is filled with nothingness and lifeless characters who are only ghosts in your mind, while the latter is at least a struggle to figure out what all this **** really means and where you need to go, what you need to do to make it all work--take what happened last night when you got on the bus: there was no room left except in the space right behind the punk girl who was chewing gum--now, you knew it was a bad idea, but what were you going to do, grab some ceiling bar and sway, and lurch, sway and lurch till you got where you were going?--hell no, it was supposed to be a civilized world, and so you'd wanted to sit--in your head, you'd already earned the right to sit just by virtue of there being a seat, just by you wanting to sit down without ever wanting to push someone else out of the way to get it...so when you finally did change your own mind and convince yourself that she was just some kid trying to act cool, that there weren't going to be any problems, that's just when she pressed that button underneath the armrest that adjusts the angle of the chair, and the whole thing headrest and all, came crushing down on you so that you had to look across at the women you'd come onto the bus with, the one who was supposed to be your lover and your friend, and you knew from the reaction on her face, which was fear and horror mixed with laughter, that you were once again allowing yourself to play the ******* clown, and all so that it would take the edge off of what you really wanted to do and say--who the hell did that little ***** think she was, anyway?--she knew you weren't supposed to lean the chair back that far, she knew there was next to no legroom back here--it was between the rear of the bus and her chair for christ's sake!--and yet as you felt your face pinging with both the pain of sudden discomfort and with the u deniable and stinking presence of the upholstery that had been filthied by years and years of ***** hands, *****, sneezes, and smoke, you also felt through all this that she was getting comfortable in her chair, that punk girl, that she was maybe even readying herself for a nap as you were living through a new experience of being torn between losing your **** asking who the **** she thought she was and the civil propriety expected of you to solve all of this amicably, or at least without harsh words and ***** looks...but if anything had been the story of your life, it'd been this very thing: how to not lose your mind when almost every ******* button was being pushed and pressed over and over to make you do just that--it wasn't an easy thing to first wrest your whole head from between the wall and her headrest and then lean to the side and whisper to your friend that you really needed to move, that you'd meet her at the next stop if you lost each other on the bus, and her silence meant exactly that: she wasn't giving up her seat for anyone or anything--she'd seen it first and had gotten there first and it was hers by right of this layman's etiquette, it wasn't like you were going to argue the point with her because you knew she was right--the seat she was sitting in was hers, you weren't suggesting that she change seats just go be closer to you, just because the two of you were together--what was this, middle school?--it's not like this was a nightmare or something, you'd just have to find each other later on, no big deal, right?--except that for you, it was a big deal: it wasn't that you were asking her to trade places with you or surrender her place and that she should go find another because she was smaller than you, no--you were just hoping she'd want to give up her seat in order to be closer to you, and you couldn't help but feel a little slighted and you knew it wouldn't take very long before this "slighted" feeling made you feel put out, that once more, you'd be expected to hold your tongue and get over it because when compared with the "big things" in life, what the hell was her not wanting to exchange her comfort alone for being uncomfortable with you possibly in a standing position till the bus pulled into the station?--it wasn't a big deal at all, you knew it, but it did feel a little "larger than life" just because of the physical discomfort you'd been put through just now...seriously, what ***** would've just stayed there being squished like a bug between the wall and that punk girl's seat?--in your head you were playing alternate ways you could've handled that whole thing that wouldn't have resulted in you squeezing yourself out of what had felt like the jaws of death around your skull, you had started imagining what might've happened if you'd simply asked her to put her seat up a few degrees so you could pretend you weren't a ******* veal being prepped for slaughter, imagined her response to be, "it's my chair," and doing nothing about it, which would've prompted you to say, "but it's my fist," and what kind of trouble could you have expected after that bus ride when the thing finally pulled into the station?--she would've taken a picture of you with her phone, gotten a cop, and you would've been right back in trouble just like you felt you always were, like your old man had always told you you'd be because of that mouth of yours--and in the life you'd always wanted to live, the one where people did sort through their problems using communication, using the experienced gleaned from previous and present relationships, the life you often lived yourself where you heard yourself speaking the words in the way that you'd always wanted to speak them where you could convince yourself that you really and truly were that person, that man who could refrain from all violence in order to serve the greater good of actuating all desire through talk and thought and connecting with other people, like this you had convinced yourself this was the norm, that everyone should just ask things politely and be gentle about getting rejected or when life handed down some pretty rough **** to deal with...how many times had you heard yourself speak such words that you couldn't help but think we're too soft or seemed too obsequious...but were they "civilized," were they peaceful?--yes, they had been, but maybe they'd been too civilized, too peaceful, and maybe the propel who'd been listening, those you'd been dealing with had mistaken your kindness and respectfulness for weakness--hadn't it happened before, and hadn't it brought out the very worst in you?--because, in unwind response, you had become the animal: it started with that look of yours they used to call part of your "black mood" and then sometimes it would escalate into the kind of cursing that pre-empted a scene of violence--between these two things, people usually caved or the situation resolved itself, but how had you felt afterward?: always like an animal and never like the educated man you'd spent all your life cultivating from the deadness they'd given you to work with, from the nothing they'd given you as a blueprint for success in this world--yes, you were a wolf, but life had made you a lone wolf, and now you were growing tired of all of it, tired of being put into these situations, tired of having to do the exact right thing in any given situation even if you knew it was someone else's version of what was right you were being judged by...and what were you going to do?: dump her on her *** because you were expected to "be a man" both by finding another seat and by intimidating the punk girl into submitted to your will?--who could satisfy both at once?--you didn't need this kind of judgment, it was bad enough already that you all "all this" just having a blast with ******* yourself up with all these options that weren't really options at all--if you gave the girl a ***** look, your woman would snub you because if it and she wouldn't let you forget it--for years later, you'd be called out for behaving like an animal...and yet if you said nothing and found another seat, she'd be mortified that she had chosen someone who wasn't a "real man"--god, how many times had you wanted to show her that if being a "real man" meant using violence or the penchant for using violence as a first response to any and all problems, then you would always be the "real"-est of men...there was no way to win this, it was the hallmark of civilization after all--you might've wanted to think you were a "lone wolf," but weren't you with that woman not giving up her seat back there, weren't you on a bus full of people?--weren't you going to busy yourself for the rest of this day and most of the next trying to get your mind off of this flashpoint that had almost become an outburst not "then and there" but in the here and now?--and what had been the chances of you coming out of all of this looking good, what were the chances that you'd find her at the station after you'd both gotten off the bus without a moue of disgust on her face you'd be expected to ignore and also ask her about because both would show you cared too much, both would show you'd ****** up, both would show there was no way to win, which was something you knew in advance, that you'd known just as soon as you got up lurching and swaying from ceiling bar to ceiling bar looking for another seat...but that didn't mean you were used to it, not yet anyway--