A Train Ride Away

“Hey dad. Dad! Daaaaad,” Jack whined as he watched his dad rush around the cramped apartment. “Am I going to mums tonight?” No answer. “Also I can’t find my school shorts.”
Paul, a middle-aged slightly over-weight man, stopped mid stride and turned towards his son, “Jackson, I don’t have time for this. I have a very important presentation today and I cannot be late.”
Jack rolled his eyes, crossed his arms and grumbled, “Yes I know, you’ve told me a hundred times. I wish I didn’t have to come here every week.” Paul shuffled over to his son, looked down and sighed. Jack wrinkled his nose from the mixed scent of burnt bacon and black coffee.
“Your mum said there was a clean pair of shorts in your duffle bag. Now give me a quick hug before I leave for work.” Jack grudgingly wrapped his arms around his dad’s waist, gave a slight squeeze and said goodbye.

* * *

Paul wiped the beads of sweat descending from his brow and glanced down to his watch as he hurried for the departing train. Six minutes. He readjusted his fat, sweaty grip on his leather briefcase and urged his corpulent body forward, just scraping through the gate opening with a rough swipe of his go card. No time to waste, the boss man won’t be happy. Paul’s cheap suit, recently bought from Lowes, was already drenched with sweat and smelt of generic aftershave mixed with BO. To bystanders, he was just a typical businessman at rush hour on his way to complete another day of work.

Alongside him, twenty or so other commuters, all rudely wrapped in their own worlds (their iPhone), rushed towards the sliding doors of an already full train, bumping and knocking anyone who stood in the way of their objective.
“Those papers better be on my desk by 9am or else—“
“—make that a double shot of espresso.”
“Fine, I’ll do pick up today—“
“Hey! Watch it,” called a young, arrogant man as Paul tried to weave his way through. He hustled his aching body through the crowd, wheezing forcefully through his nostrils to regain breath. Fifteen feet from the train, Paul felt an eruption in his chest. It was like a burning flame, licking at his insides. He doubled over, waiting for the pressure to subside but Paul had no time to waste. His determination got the better of him as he forced himself up and hauled his rotund body onto the railcar. Just as he did this, the crowd seemed to disperse and leave a clear path towards the entrance. Behind the glass sliding door, Paul heard the commotion and glanced back in confusion at the mob. He saw a crowd huddling over something, some frantic and shouting while others looked on in confusion. The train rolled out of the station before Paul was able to glimpse any more.

He turned from the door to locate a seat and was surprised to find the cart empty, devoid of people. He was sure it had been packed earlier when he rushed towards it. Realizing the discomfort in his chest had subsided, a pain that came and went as quick as a heartbeat, Paul suddenly felt weary. He sat on the closest seat and fell asleep almost instantly.

Paul awoke with a start. Still seated in the empty carriage, eyes wide and mouth agape he stared at the landscape rushing past. Stretching toward the horizon of a setting sun was nothing but endless fields of long, swaying grass. Oddly enough, he could smell the salty tang of the ocean, hear only the hum of the gliding train and noticed the bitter after-taste of coffee had disappeared. Slowly, his thoughts started to clear. Where am I? Where are we going? A sharp intake of breath. I’m late. Now panicked, Paul hugged the briefcase to his chest and tried to figure the situation out logically. I didn’t even know the tracks came out this far from the station. How long was I asleep? Paul glanced to his watch, tapped its glass a few times and swore under his breath. It had stopped working at the time his train departed. Must be a dead battery. He scrambled for his phone next and it came up blank. Isn’t functioning either. Dumbfounded and left with only one option, Paul dragged himself along the train looking for an answer.

Six carts later and not a soul in sight. Paul smashed his briefcase against the dead end in frustration and noticed the ‘Restricted Access’ sign. Surely someone must be operating this thing. Paul twisted the handle of the controls room door, was surprised to find it wasn’t locked and edged it open. Seated with his back to Paul was a man. He was bald and wore a white silk suit. Taken aback, Paul cleared his dry throat, “excuse me but-”
“Oh good, your awake,” the man interrupted, without turning, in a calm but authoritative voice. Paul waited for him to continue but only the hum of the train filled the silence. Tentatively, Paul tried again, “What I wanted to ask is where exactly are we? Where is everyone? What is going on?”
“You’ll find out soon enough Paul, we’re almost there.”
“But where is there? And how do you know my name?”
“I know everything about you Paul. I’ve been there and experienced it all right beside you. I was there when you broke you arm at the skate rink, I was there when you tattooed Samantha’s name on your bum, I was at your wedding and five months later when Jack was born, I’ve been with you for the past twenty years as you slaved away at that taxation company and I’m with you now for the very last time.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m your guardian angel of course.”
Paul slumped against the door and slid down slowly. He looked up and in a coarse voice asked the angel a question he already knew the answer to, “Am I dead?”
“Yes.”

* * *

“Poor guy,” said the paramedic back at the station, “had a heart attack at just 40. He had a kid as well.” He pulled the white sheet over Paul’s lifeless body and lifted him into the back of the ambulance.