The Drifter

The man stared out the window at the dark silhouette of the landscape against the mackerel sky, mottled with pink and gold. It was the time of day where the winds are still and the shadows grow long, the sun slowly fading into darkness. This is the scene that has greeted thousands of men, all searching for answers and truth. Men search for their purpose, their destiny, without realizing that perhaps the search for ones purpose is a destiny in itself. But the answer that man by nature is a searcher, a wanderer, has been deemed unacceptable by the teeming masses and so they choose to search for answers everywhere but right in front of them. The pain felt by this gap, this loss of purpose, this wondering blindness, is keen, and so man tries to fill it with money and power and temptations. The search for answers keeps man wondering and wandering until finally the fragile body, mans greatest weakness, wears down to naught. Hopes and dreams will only keep men alive for so long. Because humans, for all their wishing and dreaming and scheming are born of the earth, fragile in their own delicate mortality as they strive to reach new heights in an effort to make their mark upon the world before fate blinks and they are gone, dust and shadows of a fading memory. Perhaps this is what keeps man going.
Perhaps it is something else.

Through a barren landscape, a single rail cuts through the emptiness, a reminder that times are changing. A black train moves through issuing black clouds that ebb into the sky mixing in with the dusk. On board the train there are dozens of dreamers and wanderers all searching for different things. But not all who wander are lost and all those that search have lost. These are the thought that run through one travelers head, if not so eloquently put into words but rather a vague feeling. The man stared out the window for a few more minutes and then turned, pressing his head into the uncomfortable seat. He was tall, his long legs stretched out over the grubby carpet until they almost reached the empty seat across from him. His long fingers had short square nails, his hair was brown and straight, and his face was no more fantastic than the next mans. yet he was handsome in his own way, if only for him having the look of someone you could depend upoun. He seemed tender and sturdy at once, almost a contradiction, at one moment the aspiring dreamer and next the down to earth realist. Tired of mulling over dreams and fairy dust he reached below his seat and pulled out a small black briefcase, its edges frayed and worn. His long fingers fluttered to life and he punched in a code that popped the case open. Inside were a neatly organized set of necessities; two sets of clothing, a tie, a comb, and a razor. Sitting atop the pile was an old book, its cover plain and unadorned, missing a title. He fingered it open and brushed through the pages with the air of a bibliophile who had read and reread these tired pages many times. Just then a distraction arrived in the shape of a young girl opening his compartment door. She was wearing a pink traveling suit, around her long neck a string of pearls, her brunette hair pulled back in a matching comb. her perfectly manicured fingers clutched a small purse the exact shade of her outfit and for a second the man wondered if she had bought it like that or if she had spent hours upon hours sifting through department store after department store for just the right shade of pink.
“Hello. I was wondering if possibly-“ Her wide brown eyes were traveling around the room, taking in the frayed carpet and worn down seats. It was obvious by her outfit that this was not what she was used to but it was to late to go back now. She took and deep breath and plowed on bravely. “I was wondering if possibly my traveling companion and I could trade compartments with you, the other one only had one bed and there are two of us and I know its asking a lot of you considering were perfect strangers and all-“ The girl was becoming more and more flustered as she spoke, bright spots of pink appearing on her cheeks. “Oh look I’ve made such a terrible mess of things and I haven’t even properly introduced myself. I’m Ann. Ann Dempsy.” She said, outstretching her hand. He stared at it for a few minutes, as if perplexed, and then grinned and shook it. “Tom.”
She smiled gratefully at him. “Now that we are properly introduced, do you mind terribly if I sat down for a few minutes until my companion returns?” She did not want to seem to bring up the topic of trading compartments again until she had the support of her friend. In answer to her question, he recoiled his long legs from the empty seat and with a quick flash of dimples she sat down. A few minutes of awkward silence passed and then Ann, Tom guessed more to break the silence than real curiosity, asked cordially “What brings you to Chicago?”
He paused and then grinned wryly. “Business.”
Ann stared out the window for a few seconds and then said slowly “It’s odd—everyone seems to be headlining towards the cities as fast as they can. I almost feel as if we’re leaving something behind.”
“That’s exactly what people are trying to do Miss Dempsy.” Tom said.
“What do you mean?” She asked, and he guessed she had not really been listening.
“People are just trying to escape.”
“Escape from what?”
He grinned. “What everyone is trying to escape from. The past.”
Ann appeared not to know what to say and Tom could see he had made her uncomfortable. “What are you coming to Chicago for Miss Dempsy?” He asked generously.
“I’m here to visit my brother. I’ve never been to Chicago before and I hope to get a taste of the city life before I leave. But my brother says I am forbidden to go anywhere without a proper escort, there are so many bums in the city. Its quite terrible this depression.” She cast her eyes down, the face of a person who knows that she should be feeling sorry. “But I’m sure America will find a way through. We always do.” She looks up, her eyes shining hopefully. She had been well trained.
“Ann they’ve found us a compartment.” A tall blond stands in the doorway, wearing a traveling suit like Ann but in a pastel blue. As she spoke her eyes carefully took in the frayed condition of the compartment.
“Oh that’s wonderful! Then I guess we wont have to switch Tom!” Ann smiled. “Victoria,” She said to her friend. “I’d like you to meet Tom.”
The blonde surveyed him coldly. “Charmed. Well Ann we had better go. Your brother wont be pleased to hear you were up late the night before you arrival.” The blonde said, managing to show each of her perfect white teeth as she spoke.
“Oh. Yes, of course we must do what he thinks is best.” Ann said, smiling and standing up. Ann and the blonde stood across from each other, and Tom saw Ann’s fate. In five, maybe ten years Ann would be turned from a bright young girl to a cold sophisticated socialite, her every move calculated an precise. But now, at this moment, Ann and the blonde could not seem more opposite. Ann was standing, her smile crinkling her brown eyes, as the blonde stood and watched, a perfectly arched eyebrow raised. They were two opposites in a world of extremes. Tom wondered, if they were two extremes, then what was he?
“Goodbye Tom. Maybe we’ll see each other in Chicago.” Ann said hopefully.
“Maybe.”
“Goodnight!” Ann said cheerfully, and darted out the door. Tom felt a pang of sympathy, sorry at the fate to which was handed a girl so full of life. A fate that had destroyed many like her, doomed to a world of silk and lace gently floating through the universe like lilies upon the water. He became aware that the blonde still stood in the compartment door and he came to the terrible realization that she knew exactly what he was thinking. She smiled and he had the sudden urge to rip out everyone one of those perfect white teeth.
“Goodbye Tom.” The blonde said softly, and then they were both gone, no more than a fleeting memory. He stared at the department door and then turned to the window, as night slowly spread her dark curtain of stars over the sky.