A Free Ride

 

Climbing into the empty boxcar in the railyard, it smelled like a stagnant sock drawer that had held tight to the memories of feet.  Sunlight poked in through cracks and splits in the old wood.  This was not going to be a pleasant ride, but free.

The boxcar felt like a lung, exhaling the ghosts of a thousand workdays. The air is thick with the nostalgia of old boots and long miles, as if the wood itself has been marinating in the sweat of travelers who never meant to leave a trace. Those thin blades of sunlight slicing through the cracks don’t illuminate so much as an accuse, but it did light up the little passengers of dust drifting like exhausted fireflies.

The moment I settled in, I could almost feel the rattle of the rails waiting beneath me, like a creature that hasn’t decided whether it’s going to carry me gently or shake me apart. It’s the kind of ride where you brace yourself not just for discomfort, but for whatever strange nightmare might crawl out of the shadows between stops.

My last bit of food is a small box of Sun Maid raisins.  I’d have to make this last until tonight or until I am discovered, whichever comes first.  I have the feeling once this thing starts moving, I’m going to be wishing for earplugs.  That’s when I’ll be able to ignore the corners of the raisin box poking me through my pocket.

The first jolt of movement was like the yank of a parachute opening, snapping me backwards.  I wasn't ready.  Now that I'm down here on the floor, I'll try to get some sleep.