The Platform

“Can I bum one of those?”

Thomas turned. The young woman he had noticed inside the station stood several feet away. Up close, she looked younger than he had thought. Twenty-five, perhaps. Maybe thirty. It was difficult to tell.

Her hair had been pulled back and then mostly escaped whatever had been holding it. She wore a thin jacket over a sweatshirt, and the pack on her back seemed large enough to pull her over. Thomas opened the cigarette case.

“Sure.”

He held one out.

She took it. Then looked at it.

“What's this?”

“I roll them myself.”

She turned the cigarette between her fingers.

“No filter?”

“No.”

She looked at him suspiciously.

“Just tobacco.”

“Shit.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow.

“Wouldn't have complained if it wasn't,” she said.

Thomas smiled.

“I suppose it's better for your health.”

She looked at the cigarette.

“Is it?”

“That's what I tell myself.”

The woman laughed. She put it between her lips. Thomas held out the lighter. She leaned toward it, cupping both hands around the flame. The first attempt went out.

“Hold on.”

Thomas stepped closer and turned his back slightly toward the wind. He tried again. The flame held. She inhaled.

“There.”

Thomas closed the lighter.

“Thanks.”

She stepped back. For a while they smoked without speaking. Thomas watched the tracks. The woman watched him. He could feel it. He looked over.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You're looking at me.”

“I know.”

Thomas waited. She took another drag.

“You don't look like you smoke.”

“What does someone who smokes look like?”

“Not you.”

Thomas considered that.

“I'll work on it.”

She laughed again. It was a good laugh. Louder than he expected. The wind moved across the platform. She turned her face away from it and pulled the jacket tighter around herself.

“You cold?”

“Freezing my ass off.”

Thomas looked at the thin jacket.

“You don't have anything warmer?”

“This is the warmer one.”

He nodded. She looked toward the tracks.

“How long?” she asked.

“Shouldn't be long.”

“You know that or are you just saying it?”

“I know it.”

She glanced at him.

“You work for Amtrak?”

“No.”

“Then you're just saying it.”

Thomas smiled.

“I suppose I am.”

The woman took another drag. Her hand shook slightly. Thomas could not tell whether it was the cold. She noticed him looking.

“I'm fine.”

“I didn't ask.”

“You were going to.”

“I wasn't.”

She studied him.

“No?”

“No.”

“Huh.”

She looked away. Another gust came across the tracks. Thomas pulled his coat closer. The woman stamped one foot against the platform.

“You always stand around freezing your ass off with strangers?”

“Only on days I'm traveling.”

“And where are you going?”

“East.”

She waited. Thomas didn't add anything.

“East.”

“Yes.”

“That's mysterious.”

“It isn't meant to be.”

“How far east?”

“Boston.”

She looked at him again.

“That's pretty fucking east.”

Thomas smiled.

“Yes.”

“You going all the way on this?”

“Chicago first.”

“Then?”

“Another train.”

She shook her head.

“You know airplanes exist, right?”

“I've heard.”

“And?”

“I wanted the train.”

The woman took another drag.

“Why?”

Thomas looked down the tracks.

“I had the time.”

“That doesn't answer the question.”

“No.”

She smiled.

“Okay.”

Thomas smoked. The cigarette had burned nearly halfway down. He flicked the ash toward the tracks.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Where are you going?”

She looked toward the train that had not yet appeared.

“East.”

Thomas glanced at her. She smiled.

“See? Mysterious.”

“How far east?”

“Albuquerque.”

“That's east.”

“Technically.”

Thomas nodded.

“Technically counts.”

She shifted the pack on her shoulders.

“I might keep going.”

“Where?”

She shrugged.

“Don't know.”

Thomas waited. The woman looked at him.

“You're supposed to ask why.”

“Am I?”

“That's usually what people do.”

“You'll tell me if you want to.”

She stared at him for a moment. Then looked away.

“That's weird.”

“What is?”

“Most people want to know everything.”

Thomas took another drag.

“Do they?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“So they can decide what they think about you.”

Thomas considered that.

“That sounds tiring.”

“It is.”

She smiled, but only briefly. The platform had begun to fill behind them. A family came through the station doors carrying more luggage than Thomas thought they could possibly need. The two children he had seen inside were awake now. One dragged a small red suitcase. It tipped over. The boy pulled harder. His mother stopped and righted it. They continued. The young woman watched them.

“You got kids?”

Thomas looked at her.

She was still watching the family.

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“One.”

She nodded.

“Boy or girl?”

Thomas looked toward the tracks.

“Girl.”

The woman waited. Thomas smoked.

“How old?”

He took the cigarette from his mouth.

“She's grown.”

“Oh.”

The woman nodded. She seemed to sense something in the answer. Or perhaps Thomas only imagined it. She didn't ask anything else. The boy's suitcase fell over again. This time his sister picked it up. The woman beside Thomas smiled.

“I always wanted one of those.”

“A suitcase?”

“A kid.”

Thomas looked at her.

She laughed.

“Jesus. No. A brother.”

Thomas smiled.

“Ah.”

“I had sisters.”

“How many?”

“Three.”

“That's a lot.”

“You have no idea.”

“Older?”

“All of them.”

“That sounds difficult.”

“It was fucking awful.”

Thomas laughed. She looked pleased with herself.

“They still around?” Thomas asked.

The smile changed.

“Somewhere.”

Thomas nodded. She took another drag.

“I haven't talked to them in a while.”

The cigarette glowed between her fingers.

“My oldest sister has kids now.”

Thomas waited.

“I've never met them.”

The woman looked toward the tracks. Thomas said nothing.

“See?”

She glanced at him.

“Now you're supposed to tell me I should call her.”

“I don't know your sister.”

“Doesn't stop most people.”

“No.”

“So you're not going to?”

“Do you want to call her?”

The woman looked down at the cigarette.

“No.”

Thomas nodded.

“There you go.”

She laughed once.

“You're kind of shitty at advice.”

“I've been told.”

They smoked. Thomas heard the station door open again behind them. Someone rolled a suitcase onto the platform. The wheels clicked over the seams in the concrete. The woman shifted her weight.

“I had an apartment in Albuquerque.”

Thomas looked at her. She was no longer looking at him.

“Not a nice one.”

Thomas waited.

“But it was mine.”

She took a drag.

“I worked at this place off Central. Kitchen. Mostly prep. Sometimes line if somebody didn't show.”

“You liked it?”

“No.”

Thomas smiled. She did too.

“But I was good at it.”

“That's something.”

“Yeah.”

She exhaled.

“I smelled like grease all the time.”

“There are worse things.”

“Name one.”

Thomas thought.

“Fish.”

She laughed.

“Okay.”

“Gasoline.”

“That's not bad.”

“Wet dog.”

She looked at him.

“You win.”

Thomas smiled. The woman shook her head.

“Anyway.”

She looked down at her cigarette.

“I had the apartment.”

Thomas waited.

“Then I had a roommate.”

A pause.

“Then I had a boyfriend.”

Another pause.

“Then I didn't have an apartment.”

She laughed. Quickly. Thomas didn't. The laugh disappeared.

“I'm real good at that.”

“At what?”

“Turning one bad decision into five.”

Thomas looked toward the tracks.

“Most of us are.”

“Not you.”

“You don't know me.”

She looked at him.

“No.”

Thomas took another drag.

“But you don't look like it.”

“Like what?”

“Like you make bad decisions.”

Thomas smiled.

“I've made a few.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

Thomas looked at her. She grinned.

“Worth a try.”

“It was.”

The cigarette was nearly finished. Thomas took one final drag and dropped it beneath his shoe. The woman continued smoking hers.

“I didn't plan on being like this.”

Thomas looked at her.

She adjusted the strap on her pack.

“I had things I was going to do.”

She shrugged.

“Everybody does, I guess.”

Thomas waited.

“School.”

She looked down.

“A job where I didn't smell like grease.”

Thomas smiled slightly.

“Maybe a dog.”

“What kind?”

She looked surprised.

“What?”

“What kind of dog?”

“I don't know.”

“You said you wanted a dog.”

“Yeah.”

“So what kind?”

She thought about it.

“Big.”

Thomas nodded.

“That's a size.”

“Okay. A big dog.”

“What kind?”

“Jesus.”

Thomas smiled. She laughed.

“I don't know. A German shepherd or something.”

“Good dog.”

“You have one?”

“No.”

“You want one?”

“Sometimes.”

“Why don't you get one?”

Thomas looked toward the tracks.

“I travel.”

“You're on a train.”

“Not usually.”

She nodded. Then she looked at him again.

“You married?”

Thomas was quiet. The woman immediately looked away.

“Sorry.”

“No.”

She waited.

Thomas did not explain.

“Okay.”

She took the last drag from the cigarette.

“Life had other ideas, I guess.”

Thomas looked at her.

“What?” he asked.

“That's what my mom used to say.”

“About what?”

“Everything.”

She dropped the cigarette and crushed it beneath her shoe.

“Any time something went to shit.”

Thomas smiled.

“Life had other ideas.”

“Did that help?”

“Not even a little.”

Thomas laughed.

The woman looked at him.

“You don't sound like you're judging me.”

“I don't see much use for it.”

“Everybody judges.”

“Probably.”

“You do too.”

“Probably.”

She considered him.

“At least you're honest.”

“I try.”

The wind shifted. Thomas reached toward his scarf and loosened it slightly. The collar beneath it showed. The woman's eyes dropped to his throat. Then returned to his face. Her expression changed. Not dramatically. Just enough.

“Oh.”

Thomas waited.

“You're a priest.”

“Yes.”

She looked at the cigarette crushed beneath her shoe. Then at Thomas.

“Well, shit.”

Thomas smiled.

“I guess that counts as my confession.”

“If it does, it's one of the better ones I've heard.”

She stared at him. Then laughed. The laugh came hard enough that she coughed. Thomas waited while she caught her breath.

“Sorry.”

“You're fine.”

“I swear a lot.”

“I noticed.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

She looked at the collar again.

“Catholic?”

“Episcopal.”

She frowned.

“What's the difference?”

“How much time do you have?”

She looked down the tracks.

“Probably not enough.”

“Then we'll save it.”

She smiled.

“I went to Catholic school.”

“Did you?”

“Three years.”

“What happened?”

“I got older.”

Thomas nodded.

“Didn't stick.”

“Most things don't.”

She looked at him.

“That's a weird thing for a priest to say.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah.”

Thomas considered it.

“Maybe.”

The horn sounded in the distance. Conversation stopped across the platform. People turned toward the tracks. Thomas did too. A light appeared far down the line. The woman moved closer to the edge. Thomas watched her.

“Careful.”

She glanced back.

“There. That's priest-y.”

Thomas smiled. The train approached. Its light grew brighter. The rails began to hum. The children behind them became excited. Their mother told them to step back. The woman lifted her pack higher on her shoulders.

“So.”

Thomas looked at her.

“Guess this is where we part ways.”

“For now.”

She smiled.

“You think we're going to see each other again?”

“We're getting on the same train.”

“Fair point.”

The train entered the station with a long metallic rush. Wind moved across the platform. Thomas steadied his hat. The brakes screamed. Then softened. The cars passed one by one until the train slowed to a stop. Doors opened. A conductor stepped down. People began gathering their things. The woman looked at Thomas. Then held out her hand.

“Thanks.”

Thomas took it.

“For the cigarette?”

“That too.”

They shook.

Her hand was cold.

“Take care of yourself.”

She nodded.

“You too, Father.”

She let go.

Then stopped.

“Thomas.”

She looked at him.

“My name.”

“Oh.”

She smiled.

“Thomas.”

He waited.

“Erin.”

“Nice to meet you, Erin.”

“Yeah.”

She shifted the pack.

“You too.”

The conductor called for boarding. Erin stepped toward the train. Thomas watched her go. At the door she turned.

“Hey, Thomas.”

“Yes?”

“You should get a dog.”

Thomas smiled.

“I'll consider it.”

She lifted her hand. Then disappeared inside. Thomas remained on the platform. People moved around him. Suitcases rolled past. A conductor checked tickets. Thomas looked down the tracks once more. Gallup stretched behind him. The station. The lights. The first pale edge of morning above the buildings. Thomas put one hand inside his coat. His fingers touched the photograph. He left it there.

“Sir?”

Thomas turned.

The conductor was waiting.

“Are you boarding?”

“Yes.”

Thomas removed his hand from his coat. He picked up the suitcase. Then the garment bag. He stepped onto the train. Warm air met him immediately. Thomas stopped inside the vestibule while another passenger moved around him. The door remained open behind him. Cold air entered from the platform. He looked back. From inside the train, the station appeared different. Smaller. The conductor stepped aboard. The door closed. Thomas stood there for a moment. Then he moved.

The corridor was narrow. He carried the garment bag over one arm and pulled the suitcase behind him. Numbers were fixed beside each compartment. Thomas checked his ticket. Then the doors. He passed one room. Then another. A man was already asleep in one, his head tilted against the window. In another, a woman sat arranging several bags around herself. Thomas continued.

He found his room. He slid the door open. The roomette was smaller than it had looked in the photographs. Thomas stood in the doorway. There was a seat beside the window and another facing it. A small table folded against the wall. A narrow shelf ran beneath the glass. He stepped inside. The suitcase fit beneath the seat with some effort. Thomas pushed it farther with his foot. The garment bag was more difficult. He looked around. There was a hook near the door. He hung it there. The bottom rested against the wall. Thomas adjusted it. Then adjusted it again. Good enough.

He removed his hat. Set it on the shelf. Then his gloves. His scarf. His coat. He stopped before taking the coat off completely. The photograph. Thomas reached into the breast pocket. He removed it. For a moment he held it in his hand. Then he opened the book he had packed. He placed the photograph between two pages. Closed the book. He set it on the table.

Thomas removed his coat and hung it beneath the suit. The white collar remained visible at his throat. He sat. The seat was firmer than he expected. Thomas leaned back. Outside the window, people were still boarding. A man hurried across the platform carrying a duffel bag. The mother from the station stood outside while one of her children climbed the steps. She counted their bags. Counted again. A conductor walked past. Thomas looked toward the station. He could see the doors through which he had come. Beyond them was the parking lot. His car was somewhere out there. His house beyond that. The parish. The kitchen. The empty wooden frame on his desk.

Thomas looked down. His hands rested on his knees. The train moved. Only slightly. A pull. Then a stop. Thomas looked up. Another pull. This time it continued. The platform began to move past the window. Slowly at first. The station doors. A bench. A trash can. The place where he had stood smoking. Then the end of the platform. Gallup began to move.

Thomas watched. Buildings passed. Parking lots. Fences. The backs of businesses he had driven past hundreds of times. He knew where he was without seeing the street. The train gathered speed. Thomas leaned closer to the window. The town moved by in pieces. A house. A wall. A road. A billboard. Then open ground. Thomas sat back. He could still turn around. The thought surprised him. Not because he intended to. Because it was true. At Albuquerque he could get off. He could take another train west. He could call someone. He could go home.

Thomas looked at the book on the table. He did not touch it. The train continued east. A knock came at the door. Thomas looked up. Another knock. Gentle but firm. He opened it. A woman stood in the corridor. She wore an Amtrak uniform and a name badge Thomas did not read quickly enough.

“You settling in okay, honey?”

“Yes.”

“You know how everything works?”

“I think so.”

She looked past him into the room.

“First time?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Little bit.”

Thomas smiled. She pointed toward the controls beside the seat.

“Lights there. Call button there. Restroom's down the hall. I'll come around later and help you with the bed if you need it.”

“Thank you.”

“You got dinner?”

“I haven't thought that far ahead.”

“Well, think about it before everybody else does.”

“I will.”

She looked at his collar. Then at him.

“You a priest?”

“Episcopal.”

She nodded as though that answered more than he had said.

“Well.”

She smiled.

“You have everything you need, Father?”

Thomas almost corrected her. He didn't.

“Yes.” Then: “I think so.”

She looked at him for another moment.

“All right, honey. If you don't, you let me know.”

“I will.”

She moved to the next compartment. Thomas closed the door. He sat again. The room was quiet. Not silent. The train made silence impossible. Metal against rail. A low vibration beneath his feet. The occasional shifting of something inside the walls. Thomas took off his shoes. He placed them neatly beneath the seat. He stretched his feet against the carpet. Outside the window, Gallup was gone. The land opened. Thomas watched it. The sky had become pale with morning. For the first time since waking, there was nothing he needed to do. No church to open. No sermon to give. No coffee to make. No suitcase to pack. No door to lock. No train to catch.

Thomas sat beside the window. The book remained closed on the table. The photograph remained inside it. He leaned his head back. He closed his eyes. Not to sleep. The train carried him east.