Time Machine Clouds
She’s scared of me I can tell.
Not that I’ll do some horrible damage.
But that I’ll just mess up my own heart and mind with memories that aren’t even mine.
Because I’m a train with several wings.
And the stops we make are to all sorts of different places at the same time.
The steam stack release like time machine clouds… Puffing.
The whistle long and guttural and hopeful.
People pattering about on the platforms in clothes appropriate for the various times.
But I have no idea where to get off or if I even can.
I’m somehow glued to the seat like in a dream.
All I can do is look out the window and scream.
But then I settle into the movement, a verdant massage.
Like somewhere in Italy, the sky is hot, the clouds are sweating, the blue is melting.
My guts are wallowing in upended nerves, I need to catch my breath for just a moment.
The conductor walks by and hands me a package wrapped in yellow.
He tells me not to open it until I get to my final destination.
“In case it’s a bomb,” he bends and whispers. He straightens up and reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. “Peanuts?” he asks.
“If only there were an ocean,” I answer. “I’m afraid of choking.”
He takes offense, snaps his heels together and walks off. I can hear his voice in the narrow distance trail off. “Peanuts…”
I look out the window to remind myself I’m on a train and not an airplane, but then that’s where I am wrong. The meadows of white clouds below my feet correct my thinking, my dreaming, my pure reality.
I look down into my lap and I am still holding the package wrapped in yellow. I don’t care what he said, and I open it anyways. The sound of ripping paper wrestles some others from sleep. Some moan and groan and look around. There’s a small box beneath the paper. I hold it to my ear, and I can hear something skittering about and breathing.
I open the box and a yellow canary flies out. It flutters all about the cabin. It bumps into people’s heads, chirps, and claws. Other passengers are flailing their arms and hands and teeth. One man tried to swallow it. Another man was screaming and tried to open the emergency exit door. Because of a bird? A canary? What a fool, I thought. And yet another man had to punch him in the face to knock him out and tame his irrational outburst.
Then the turbulence came as we were descending into… Denver, I suppose. The Rocky Mountains can be a bit rocky. The toasted landscape below is topped with a tab of buttered pollution. It grossly melts. The skyscrapers poke through it all.
I get that weird feeling in my stomach as we quickly come down, the ground is rushing by, the wheels hit and there’s that momentary rough nudge. The voice of the pilot comes on over the sound system. Most of the time, you can never understand a damn word they say. But this time it was clear. “Nailed it!” she said. The other passengers laughed and cheered. Had we been in some sort of danger? I wondered to myself. I guess it didn’t matter anymore.
Inside the terminal of Denver International, I was the only one remaining at the luggage carousel. I watched it go around and around and around. There were no more bags. They finally shut it down. A man came along. His head was down, and he was sweeping the floor. Then all the lights went out and it was very quiet. I ignited the flashlight on my cell phone and began to walk. My footsteps fell heavy and loud on the tiled floor. I was always the last one to depart.
END
